Dolled Up For Murder

by Deb Baker

  Nina appeared behind Gretchen as she paid at the cash register. Gretchen glanced at her watch. “Let the games begin,” she said.

  Caroline tapped into the eBay site and keyed in the words antique dolls. She heard the computer churning and watched the list of auction dolls appear on her screen. Her eyes were red-rimmed from countless hours spent monitoring the site.

  She scrolled down. Closed the site. Keyed in the Mc-Masters Harris Auction Company site and scrolled through the auction lot listings. Then Theriault’s. She scanned every online doll auction house. The Internet sites had highly specialized bidding technology, some with audio and video of the live auctions, offering customers the ability to participate with the touch of a keystroke.

  Caroline sank into the center of the lumpy motel bed and closed her eyes. An hour later she awoke, startled. A door slammed in the hall, and she could hear muffled voices in the next room through the paper-thin walls.

  She struggled up, unaware of the time or the day. She bent over, stretching the taut muscles in the small of her back.

  Caroline went back to work, the computer startup display glowing green.

  An audible gasp. She rubbed her eyes and looked again.

  “French Jumeau Bébé, 1910, paperweight eyes, holding a Steiff monkey.”

  Caroline knew the inventory list by heart. She clicked on a tiny photograph, and the image opened up. Large and bold. Worth the long wait.

  Another of Martha’s dolls.

  20

  Little French girls eventually tired of playing with miniature copies of their mothers. Instead they wanted to play with versions of themselves. The Bébé doll, created in the image of young girls, was born in the late eighteen hundreds. Emile Jumeau took credit as the original designer. While some may dispute his claim, no one can challenge the beauty of his dolls’ faces or the exquisite detail of the costumes they wore.

  – From World of Dolls by Caroline Birch

  Bonnie Albright worked part-time in the lingerie department at Saks Fifth Avenue. They found her in a back room, opening a box of bras. She had a box cutter in her hand and red lipstick smeared above her lip. Bonnie had been selected by Gretchen and Nina for several reasons; she was the club’s president, and she was the most indefatigable gossip of the bunch. She would help them with the leg-work. Or in this case, the lipwork.

  “Here’s the list you asked for,” Bonnie said, opening a locker and removing a sheet of paper from her purse. “I’ve highlighted the active members. Now tell me what this is all about?”

  A snarl filled the room, and one of Bonnie’s penciled eyebrows shot up. “What’s that?” she asked.

  “Shhh,” Nina said into the purse. “That’s just Enrico. Ignore him.”

  “I’d like to call each of the club members,” Gretchen explained, “and ask them about Martha and my mother. It’s been six days since Martha died and my mother disappeared, and we still don’t know what happened.”

  “Matty’s working on it,” Bonnie said with exaggerated pride. “You don’t need to get involved. He’ll solve it.”

  “I need to keep busy.”

  “Should we tell her?” Nina said to Gretchen, and both of Bonnie’s penciled eyebrows quivered.

  Gretchen nodded on cue.

  “We found a bag of Martha’s belongings,” Nina said. “One of her friends gave it to us, and it has a few very interesting items inside.”

  “What?” Bonnie said, wringing her hands in anticipation. “What?”

  “I don’t think we should say until we know more,” Gretchen said. “It wouldn’t be right.”

  Nina nodded. “We’ll keep the bag in Caroline’s workshop for now.”

  “We should probably notify the police,” Gretchen said.

  “Soon,” Nina agreed.

  “Well, my, my,” Bonnie said, running her hand over her stiff hair. “Isn’t this a new wrinkle.”

  Afterwards they strolled through the open-air mall.

  “I bet she’s on the phone right this minute,” Nina said, handing her cell phone to Gretchen.

  “I have to get another phone,” Gretchen said, dialing. “Hey, April, how are you?”

  “Tired, achy, I think I need to rest more. This valley fever has me down in bed. I shouldn’t have worked out so soon.”

  Gretchen repeated the same story she had told Bonnie, with the same response.

  “Well, isn’t that something?” April said. “I’ll call around for you and see if any of the club members have any information. There weren’t any dolls in that bag, were there?”

  “I really can’t say right now. Police orders.”

  “Ahhhhh,” April said.

  After several more calls, Nina nudged Gretchen. “Don’t look behind you, but we’ve picked up a tail.”

  Gretchen stopped at a shop window beside a garden courtyard and slowly turned her head.

  Their eyes met. Matt smiled, bright and warmly, wearing casual, Southwestern garb as usual. No hint in his attire of his real occupation. Tan. A certain scrappiness about his walk as he approached them.

  “Are you always undercover?” Gretchen said.

  “Usually,” he replied. “I’m coming from a visit with Daisy at the hospital, on my way to Saks to see my mother. I’m off-duty.” His eyes traveled over the purses, noting their contents, gazing at Gretchen. “There’s something new about you since I saw you last.” He ran one finger along his jawline. “I know, new makeup, a slightly pinker shade than before.”

  “You should never comment on a woman’s cosmetics,” Nina advised. “You aren’t supposed to notice that we wear anything.”

  “It goes well with the cast on your wrist; sharp contrast. And it matches the color of your feet. Nice.”

  “She’s a pro at accessorizing,” Nina said.

  “Now that you’ve had your fun,” Gretchen said, “maybe you can tell us how Daisy’s doing?”

  “I’ll tell you over coffee,” he said, guiding them toward the Cheesecake Factory.

  It was just after five o’clock, and Gretchen realized how hungry she was. With Nimrod and Enrico in hide mode, they slid into a corner booth and kept a careful eye out for waitresses and management staff while stowing the pups in the purses on their laps. Matt seemed amused at their efforts but refrained from comment.

  They ordered a large pizza and two cheesecakes to share-White Chocolate Chunk Macadamia Nut and Tiramisu-both selected by Nina.

  “Daisy’s fine,” Matt said. “She’s settled right in and isn’t in any hurry to be released, but the doctors say she’s ready to go if she can find a quiet place to recover.” He wrapped his hands around a cup of coffee. “The investigation into her accident didn’t reveal any conclusive evidence, but the team found inconsistent paint chips on the back bumper.”

  “Inconsistent?” Gretchen said.

  “They didn’t match the car paint,” Nina said.

  “We aren’t taking Daisy’s word for it. She isn’t a very reliable witness,” Matt said.

  “Why? Because she doesn’t have a mailing address?”

  “No,” Matt said carefully. “Because she’s the driver and there weren’t any other witnesses.”

  “She seemed confident of the facts when I talked to her.”

  Matt shrugged. The waitress brought the pizza, and the pups stayed out of sight. Nina plucked sausage from the pizza, and her hand disappeared under the table. The waitress returned with the cheesecakes and a pot of coffee. She refilled Matt’s cup. A growl grew under the table.

  “What’s that?” the waitress said, glancing quickly at Nina.

  Nina rubbed her hand on her stomach. “I must be really hungry.”

  “We won’t need any more coffee refills,” Matt said. “In fact, we won’t need anything else.”

  “Smart thinking,” Nina said to him when the waitress walked away. “I don’t mind getting kicked out, but I’d like to finish eating first.”

  “Good thing I’m off-duty, Nina, or I’d have to arrest
you.”

  Nina laughed.

  “Why would someone run Daisy off the road?” Gretchen said. “Unless they thought she was my mother.”

  “If we can believe her account,” Matt said, “that would be a logical assumption. But why? Where’s the motive? I think she’s covering for herself, making excuses for her own inattentive driving.”

  “I don’t think Caroline ran away from the police,” Nina said. “I think she’s hiding from someone. The attack on Daisy proves she’s in danger.”

  “Sounds melodramatic,” Matt said, biting into a piece of pizza.

  “Is Daisy being charged with anything?” Gretchen asked.

  “No. She had a valid driver’s license and cooperated with the investigation. We could find something to charge her with, but why bother? There’s an issue of whether she had permission to drive the car, but until we locate Caroline, we have to assume she drove it with the proper approval. Unless you know something we don’t.”

  Gretchen shook her head distractedly. She was surprised that Daisy had a driver’s license. She sliced into the macadamia nut cheesecake with the side of her fork.

  “Do either of you know someone named the Inspector?” Matt asked.

  “I’ve heard that name before,” Nina said, frowning in concentration.

  Gretchen remembered exactly where she’d heard the name. Martha had complained to Joseph about someone called the Inspector. “Why do you ask?” she said.

  “Martha mentioned him to Daisy. According to Daisy, she was extremely upset over something he had done. Daisy said she never saw Martha so angry. I want to find him.”

  “Or her,” Nina said. “This Inspector could be a woman. Right?”

  “I suppose,” Matt said, reluctantly. “I just assumed it was a man.”

  “What kind of inspector? A building inspector?” Gretchen asked. “Housing inspector?” Gretchen thought about Nacho’s makeshift home and wondered if the state had laws against cardboard construction on public land. Probably.

  They rearranged the puppies in their respective purses, and Gretchen wandered ahead while Nina and Matt traded witty repartees. Their laughter floated on the breeze. The palm trees in the mall’s courtyard swayed, and the sun vanished in a darkening sky. The monsoon and another rain squall were moving in.

  Gretchen felt useless here. She seriously considered going back to Boston to deal with her own crumbling personal life, which was spiraling out of control.

  She needed a steady job and income, and she needed to decide what to do about Steve. In a brief interlude of self-pity she listed her current problems. A mother wanted for questioning in a murder, clearly the most pressing problem at the moment. A cheating long-term boyfriend who was afraid of commitment, another monumental problem. Her lack of employment and a dwindling savings account. Right this minute she didn’t even own a phone.

  Anything else? Oh yes, let’s add a few physical problems. A broken wrist and second-degree burns on her face and feet.

  And she had absolutely nothing to show for her efforts to save her mother except a key of unknown origin. Instead of clearing her mother’s name, she’d implicated her further. If she stayed longer, who knew how much more physical harm she could inflict on herself, how much more physical evidence she could dredge up against her mother.

  She decided to call Steve from the house, then catch the next flight home before Courtney permanently displaced her.

  She lifted Nimrod out of his purse and held him on her shoulder. He licked her ear. “Right now,” Gretchen said to him, “you’re the best thing I’ve got going for me, and you’re only a temporary visitor. Sad, isn’t it?”

  “You can’t go home!” Nina wailed. “I can’t handle this by myself. What about the key? It’s going to open the right door. You’ll see. If you don’t stay and fight for Caroline, who will?”

  “Why isn’t she here fighting for herself?” Gretchen threw clothes into her open suitcase lying on the bed. Wobbles watched the action with a steady gaze, his ears flatter on his head than usual.

  “What about a flight? You can’t go to the airport without a ticket.”

  “I’ll wait on standby. Nina, I’m desperate. I can’t let my whole life pass before my eyes.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Name one thing that’s going right in my life.”

  “Let me make you a cup of green tea.” Nina pulled several pairs of shorts out of the suitcase and returned them to the dresser. “This is impulsive. Let’s talk about it. I know, call Steve. Work it out on the phone.”

  Gretchen tossed her hiking boots into the suitcase and stomped into the kitchen to retrieve the cordless phone. “I’ll call and let him know I’m on my way,” she said, carrying the phone into the bedroom and closing the door.

  “Explain,” she said to him after waiting an inordinate amount of time while his secretary located him, annoyed that she still wasn’t on the interruptible list, that special group of coddled clients that commanded instant attention. Instead she had to resort to intimidating an overworked secretary.

  “This is bad timing, Gretchen.” Steve said, sounding rushed. “I’m in the middle of sensitive negotiations. Why didn’t you return my call earlier?”

  In a meeting at 9:30 in the evening, Boston time? “I needed time to think.”

  “I don’t know what to say for myself. I love you, you know. Sometimes, I admit, I’m a bit misguided.”

  “That’s it?” Gretchen said. “That’s all you have to say?”

  “It’s over with Courtney. It hadn’t really even started. She got carried away.”

  “Does she understand that? That you were a little misguided and she expected more than you were willing to deliver?”

  Steve hesitated, and Gretchen could hear his breath, labored and anxious. “Yes. She understands clearly.”

  “Maybe I should give her a call,” Gretchen suggested lightly. “After all, she’s practically a child. She must be devastated.”

  “Ah. That wouldn’t be wise. Might even make the situation worse. Besides, she’s on vacation. Someplace in South Carolina.”

  How convenient, Gretchen thought. She watched Wobbles snuggle into the suitcase surrounded by her clothes. “You haven’t asked about me or my mother, about what’s happening in Phoenix.”

  “I really don’t have time right now, but I want to ask. I’ve been thinking about you. Later. I’ll call later after my meetings.”

  Later, Gretchen thought wearily, wait till later. Wasn’t that always the response? Maybe later. Gretchen had waited all these years for a later that never arrived.

  She saw a flash of lightning out the window and heard the immediate crash of thunder. Rain pounded hard against the roof, and she thought about flipping on the bedroom light. Instead she sat in the gathering gloom and watched nature’s dramatic interpretation of fireworks.

  “What about us, Steve? I’m coming home so we can figure out where to go from here.”

  “I love you, Gretchen. We can work this out. We can’t throw away the last seven years.”

  “I’ll come then.”

  “I have to go to Hilton Head for a few days. Business. A conference, and I’m the keynote speaker. Right after that we can get together. I know I’ve disappointed you, but I’ll make it up to you. Promise.”

  Gretchen stared in the mirror, her eyes pale and pained. Courtney vacationing in South Carolina, Steve on his way to Hilton Head. Gretchen hoped Steve was more convincing when he went to trial with his court cases. Was it a nervous slip of the tongue or merely coincidental these two people would be traveling to the same state?

  No, Gretchen thought, I’m becoming exactly like Nina. I no longer believe in coincidence.

  “Call me later,” Steve said, hanging up and leaving her holding a dead phone.

  When Gretchen opened the bedroom door, she gave a loud start.

  “You scared me, Nina,” she said, peering at her motionless aunt who stood in the hall. “We need t
o turn on lights. Who’d guess it’s only four o’clock in the afternoon. It feels more like midnight.”

  Nina remained rigid in front of her.

  “What’s wrong?” Gretchen asked.

  Nina, moving woodenly, took her hand and led her to the workshop doorway. “Martha’s bag is gone,” she said, her voice leaden. “Someone must have been here when we went to see Bonnie.”

  “We should have hurried right home,” Gretchen said in shock. “What were we thinking when we stopped to eat? Are you sure it’s gone?”

  “It’s gone, all right. And there’s more.”

  Nina flipped a switch by the door, and a fluorescent light hanging over the worktable illuminated the room.

  Gretchen saw it hanging over the padded table and moved closer. She drew in her breath, sharp and quick.

  Someone had hung one of her mother’s Shirley Temple dolls from the overhead light with a piece of restringing elastic. Blood dripped from its face and pooled on the floor. The doll swayed gently from the noose around its neck, eyes wide and sightless.

  The screen glowed, casting an eerie light over Caroline’s intent features. She quickly registered as a member and hesitated briefly at the password prompt. She keyed in an appropriate password: counterattack. If this were a game of chess, she would be planning multiple moves into the future, but she hadn’t studied openings for this particular game. Besides, she couldn’t have anticipated her opponent’s deadly first move.

  All that mattered now was the endgame. A draw wasn’t an acceptable finish. There could be only one winner.

  Caroline’s hands trembled in anticipation as she worked her way through the red tape associated with Internet bidding. She clicked on the French Jumeau Bébé listing and frowned. The seller had set up a private auction, effectively cloaking his or her identity until after the final accepted bid. Only the highest bidder would be allowed full contact information about the seller.