Dolled Up For Murder

by Deb Baker

  She smiled with satisfaction.

  Until now she had carefully avoided leaving a paper trail. In fact, she still practiced extreme caution. Watchful eyes would find no easy path to her temporary door. She had used only cash until the final moment when she had no other choice. The evasive maneuvers, however, would end soon enough.

  The terms of a private auction were strictly adhered to, Caroline knew from her own experience with online selling. Bidders’ e-mail addresses were not disclosed, a distinct advantage for Caroline that effectively concealed her identity from the seller. Of course, this seller, she knew, also requiring anonymity, had used another identity and an escrow service to manage the transaction.

  Full contact information could be requested only after winning the auction, and only the seller and the highest bidder were notified via e-mail when the auction was over.

  Caroline keyed in her request for the seller’s identification and settled in to wait for the response. The information she was about to receive would be well worth the thousands she had spent moments earlier.

  She thought of Nacho, her friend back in Phoenix, with a mixture of fondness and reserve. Her accomplice. One of life’s enigmas, the erudite outcast, fluent speaker of multiple languages. All the knowledge in his head couldn’t save him from his struggles with the bottle. Lucid for long periods of time until the next inevitable alcoholic binge and the rapid descent from lucid to lurid.

  Caroline hoped he could maintain his focus long enough to continue to be of use to her. He was the only one she could trust. Their mutual cause bound them together like two foot soldiers huddled in a foxhole.

  She rubbed her tired, dry eyes and opened them again at the same instant that the monitor changed.

  The “Receiving mail” message flashed across the bottom of her computer screen.

  24

  For the collector who enjoys a bit of the macabre, a line of dolls has been created especially for you. Living Dead Dolls come, not with a certificate of authenticity, but with a death certificate. One possible choice for the avid collector is Died & Doom, a gruesome bride and groom. All dolls are accompanied by morbid rhyming histories and original individualized coffins. Blood spatters and glow-in-the-dark are available as well. They have a certain freakish appeal for mystery and horror fans.

  – From World of Dolls by Caroline Birch

  Daisy settled into the spare bedroom with her meager supply of toiletries, furnished by the hospital, and with the clothes on her back, several layers of mix-and-match items that were all mix, no match. Didn’t the woman appreciate the extent of the high summer temperatures? Couldn’t she feel the sweltering, relentless heat rising to a boil under all those layers? Gretchen felt hot just looking at her and adjusted the air-conditioning upward.

  “I’ll say this again,” Daisy said, the top of her head bandaged and the surrounding hair shaved to stubble. “I’d rather stay with Nacho. All the Hollywood scouts hang out in downtown Phoenix. What are my chances of being discovered way out here behind this ugly clump of dirt you call a mountain?”

  Nina sighed heavily. “How many times do I have to say it? Nacho’s house swept away in the last flood. I saw it with my own eyes. It’s gone.”

  Along with my phone, Gretchen thought. Somehow there hadn’t been time to visit her phone service and purchase a new one. She felt naked without it and experienced a moment of pampered privilege for her thought. Daisy had absolutely nothing in the world, while she clung to all the modern, convenient trappings, every one of them.

  Nacho wouldn’t need his cardboard home any time soon, but she hadn’t told Daisy about his incarceration yet.

  “And my clothes,” Daisy continued to complain. “I can’t function without my shopping cart.”

  “We’ll find the cart later today. Your clothes and the rest of your things are in Nina’s trunk,” Gretchen assured her, watching Nina make a face at the thought of Daisy’s foul-smelling odds and ends arriving inside her sister’s home. “Or we can buy you a new outfit or two,” she said, hoping to appease Nina’s sensibilities. “Would you like that?”

  “I’ll pay,” Nina offered enthusiastically.

  The tiny trio of dogs sniffed at Daisy’s ankles. Enrico hadn’t barked or growled at Daisy, not once, which Gretchen took as a good sign. Anyone who connected with animals had to have redeeming qualities. Even Wobbles, usually reserved around strangers, stalked back and forth before Daisy, rubbing up against her legs and purring.

  Gretchen remembered her first encounter with Daisy on the streets of Phoenix and Daisy’s fascination with Nimrod as he rode contentedly in his embroidered poodle purse on her shoulder. The homeless woman obviously loved animals.

  Daisy lifted Enrico into her arms, and Gretchen watched in stunned surprise as the normally whirling tornado licked the top of Daisy’s hand in beastly gratitude for her attention.

  “Well, doesn’t that beat all,” Nina said. “He likes you.”

  “I have a certain way with doggies,” Daisy said, looking down at Woobles. “And kitties. When are we going to bring in my stuff from the car?”

  “Not right now,” Nina said with annoyance. “Let’s get you a few new things first. Then we can decide what to do with the rest.”

  “Great,” Daisy said, stuffing Enrico in Nimrod’s purse. She slung him over her shoulder, and Enrico peeked out, perplexed by the change in mobile homes. “Grab the other two and let’s go. What are you waiting for? Where are we going for my new outfits?”

  Nina, a pained expression on her face, packed up the pooches without responding. She silently consigned Nimrod to the Chihuahua’s purse and gave Gretchen a withering glare after Gretchen announced that she would remain at home.

  “I have a few calls to make,” she said. “You go ahead and have fun. Happy shopping.”

  “You can’t do this to me,” Nina whispered out the corner of her mouth.

  “It will do you good to make a new friend. Look how she gets along with Enrico. Daisy’s a natural.” She hustled them out the door, Nina blustering and Daisy discussing the requirements for her new wardrobe.

  “Red and purple,” Gretchen heard her say as she left. “Like those Red Hat ladies. I like those colors.”

  The phone rang as Gretchen finished straightening up the kitchen.

  “Somebody’s been in my house,” Bonnie screeched. “Since we were talking about my key only yesterday, I’ve been more watchful than usual. And I know somebody’s been in here.”

  “What was taken?”

  “Nothing that I can see. But I’m meticulous. I can tell if one little thing in my house has been moved. And a dresser drawer in Matty’s old room is open just a smidge. I didn’t leave it that way.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I’m sure, because after I saw the open drawer, I started paying more attention to details. Things have been moved around. Whoever stole the key from your house came here.” Bonnie sniffed. “It’s a horrible thing to know a stranger violated the sanctity of my home without permission. It gives me the creeps.”

  “Are you positive that they got in with the key?” Gretchen dropped the dish towel onto the table.

  “Nothing is forced open or broken, and I always lock up because you can never be too careful these days. Criminals prey on women living alone. There are only two keys-one on my key chain and the one you had. I never replaced the spare behind the Hummel.”

  Gretchen didn’t think it necessary to mention the copies she had made for Nina and herself. “I don’t know,” she said doubtfully. “A slightly open dresser drawer seems like flimsy evidence.”

  “That’s exactly why I didn’t call Matty,” Bonnie whined. “He would say the same thing. I have a locksmith on the way over, and the lock will be changed. That’ll solve the problem quick enough. I just thought you’d like to know what happened.”

  “I appreciate the call. I really do. Are you okay?”

  “I’ll live.” Bonnie sniffed again.

  Gretc
hen thought about Martha and the disappearing key. Martha had taken the key but never delivered the package. Or had she? Had she hidden a doll inside Bonnie’s house without her knowledge? Did she enter Caroline’s house as well, with practiced stealth? Maybe Martha had hidden the doll that the police confiscated. And who else could have had enough information to search Bonnie’s house? And what would be the point of hiding dolls in other doll collectors’ homes?

  Questions raced through Gretchen’s mind with no easy answers following behind.

  “When did this happen?” she asked.

  “I was out this morning for a few hours,” Bonnie said. “In fact, I’m in and out of the house every day with my part-time job at Saks and all my errands.”

  Gretchen experienced a rising sense of alarm. Nacho couldn’t possibly be responsible for a break-in that morning, since he had turned himself in to the police sometime during the night.

  “But I haven’t been in that room for two or three days,” Bonnie continued, effectively placing Nacho back as primary suspect in the lineup. “I’ve got to go. The locksmith is here.”

  Gretchen hung up and remembered a certain uneasiness right after she arrived in Phoenix, when she’d noticed the open patio door, unlocked when she was sure she had locked it.

  Her mother’s pink bracelet on her wrist caught Gretchen’s eye, and renewed anger at her mother’s silence washed over her. Why hadn’t she returned by now? In Gretchen’s opinion it was time to resurface and to refute the charges against her. Exactly one week since Martha died, and now with Nacho arrested for the murder and a full confession, where was her mother?

  Only one explanation occurred to Gretchen. The Bru French fashion doll and its incredible value must have tempted her mother into her current situation. It didn’t really matter whether Martha or Caroline had placed the parian doll in the workshop. The French fashion doll, dressed in a green silk costume and a straw hat, and the doll trunk filled with original costumes and accessories, played a critical role in the murder. That doll was the beginning. Or the end for Martha.

  Gretchen had lost her direction. Her plan to find the French fashion doll had been forgotten in the anxious moments of the noose-necked Shirley Temple and the deceitful actions of members of the Phoenix Dollers. Joseph hiding his family ties, Bonnie’s covert visit to the homeless, and April’s suspicious illness. All had distracted Gretchen. Then Daisy’s accident in her mother’s own car and Nacho’s surprising confession.

  All had diverted Gretchen from her path to the French fashion doll, and she realized with a sinking sense of helplessness that she had no idea how to go about finding it. Perhaps her mother had the doll with her, and it would never reappear. Maybe they were both gone forever.

  What did her mother know that had caused her to flee? Could a doll gain such importance for her that she would abandon her comfortable life in Phoenix for the uncertainty of a life in hiding, cut off forever from her friends and career and family?

  Why did Gretchen have this awful premonition that her mother wasn’t coming back?

  Close to tears, she heard the phone ringing again, slicing sharply through her tumultuous thoughts. She wouldn’t accept her mother as an accomplice to murder or as a common thief, she decided.

  Longing to hear her mother on the other end of the line, she hid her disappointment at the sound of Larry’s voice. “You must be keeping on top of my mother’s work,” she said. “No one has been around here threatening lawsuits for unfulfilled promises.”

  “Anything to help. I thought I’d invite you out to lunch,” he said. “You must be ready for some company after spending the last few days with your aunt.”

  The morning’s pecan waffles were a distant memory, but the knowledge that she had eaten an entire day’s worth of calories in one sitting lingered. She really didn’t want to be home when Nina and Daisy returned, craving time away from the large entourage that accompanied Nina everywhere.

  Besides, she might enlist Larry in her search.

  Gretchen laughed. “Only if you promise not to bring any dogs along.”

  “Deal,” he said.

  The menu at Garcia’s Mexican Restaurant, situated at the base of Camelback Mountain on a busy stretch of Camelback Road, featured some of Gretchen’s favorite foods, and she found it difficult to decide what to order. The menu read like a good book-cheese quesadillas, one of the best guacamole dips in the valley, chicken tortilla soup-the endless list tempted and teased. A perfect pick-me-up after her close call with the onset of major depression. Dieting could wait.

  She ordered shrimp tacos and a nonalcoholic margarita and Larry followed suit.

  Gretchen briefly wondered how Nina and Daisy were getting along. She hoped Nina wouldn’t be too distressed when she read the note Gretchen carefully remembered to leave for her explaining lunch with Larry.

  She missed her cell phone terribly.

  Larry apprised her of the status of the repair work. He had offered customers the option of waiting for Caroline to return, and many had opted to do exactly that, insisting that no one else could handle the work as well as she could. Many had heard the rumors and expressed concern for her safety.

  “She has a loyal following,” he said. “Three customers were in a panic because they had committed the dolls to shows or to one of their customers. I finished the last one yesterday. Do you think she’ll come back soon?”

  “I have no idea. She still hasn’t contacted me. Have you heard about Nacho?”

  “Nacho?” Larry’s squinty eyes blinked rapidly.

  “I mean Theodore Brummer. Nacho is his nickname. He confessed to Martha’s murder.”

  The surprise on Larry’s face surpassed her own astonishment when she first heard. “You’re joking,” he said. “Someone actually came forward and admitted to it?”

  Gretchen filled him in on the details she had learned from Matt, careful to exclude any mention of keys or doll lists or burglaries. Mainly because she had lost the energy to revisit them, their stories too complex and convoluted. Perhaps later when she felt stronger, Larry’s opinion would be helpful.

  “Caroline can come home now,” he said. “And clear her name.”

  “That’s my hope.”

  “If you hear from her, I’d like to know.”

  “You’ll be one of the first,” Gretchen assured him.

  A whippet-thin, golden blonde carrying a Prada handbag walked by as Gretchen bit into her third shrimp taco. She placed the rest of the taco on her plate, abruptly reminded of her commitment to lose a few pounds, and used her napkin to dab at the corners of her mouth.

  “I’m free for awhile,” Larry said. “Julia said I was underfoot and gave me the boot. She’s in the middle of inventorying supplies in the back room, and she’s in a terrible mood. I’m at your service until it’s safe to go home. Where would you like to go?”

  Gretchen considered her options. With Nacho in custody for Martha’s murder, she could direct all her efforts into locating her mother. But where to start? Then she remembered the laughing Kewpie doll that Bonnie had seen in Joseph’s shop, the one Bonnie insisted matched the description from Martha’s inventory. It wasn’t much of a lead, but it was the only one she had.

  “Do you mind taking me to Joseph’s Dream Dolls?” she said. “He has a doll I’d like to see.”

  “Not at all,” Larry said. “I’m always interested in what the competition is up to. Wheeling and dealing is the name of the doll seller’s game.”

  “Can I use your phone?” Gretchen asked. “Sorry to ask, but mine’s gone.”

  Larry pulled a phone from a holder on his belt. “Help yourself.”

  Gretchen called her mother’s house, but no one answered. She left a message on the machine so Nina would know that she was going to Mesa to visit Joseph. She smiled to herself at the image of Nina and Daisy shopping together and wondered where Nina had taken her newfound buddy. Probably not to the Biltmore Fashion Park where she might run into Bonnie. A chance encounter
would supply Bonnie with enough gossip material for the next week.

  No, Nina would select a shopping mall far from the doll collecting crowd, one with the least chance of meeting a familiar face. South Phoenix or Glendale, most likely. She’d be away for most of the afternoon.

  Gretchen felt slightly guilty for ditching Nina, but her aunt slowed her down and, more than anything, Gretchen wanted this whole affair resolved as soon as possible.

  She tried Nina’s cell phone, but the voice mail prompt answered immediately, indicating that Nina was out of range or that she had turned off her phone. She left the same message on the cell phone’s voice mail as she had at the house, but this time she included a hearty wish for a successful shopping trip.

  Caroline leaned forward and stared at the computer screen. On the run for so many days, rushing toward this precise moment while recklessly disregarding her own safety, she was aghast at the image before her and recoiled from the bitter truth.

  Blood drained from her face and, in the mirror hanging above the desk, her face appeared the same color as her silver hair, ghostly white, filled with pale fear.

  She dialed numbers-Gretchen’s cell, Gretchen’s Boston apartment, Nina’s numbers, Steve’s office and home-pounding the keys and finally, after listening to multiple mechanical voices suggesting that she leave a message, she threw the offending phone against the motel wall.

  Get a grip on your emotions, she thought. You’re exhausted, but now is not the time to collapse.

  Caroline stumbled through the motions of packing up her few belongings, tossing the phone into her purse, and closing her laptop. She dialed the front desk and requested a cab while planes roared overhead. Tucking her silver hair under the baseball cap, she refused to worry about Nacho or Nina or her daughter, earlier fear of the unknown transforming into intense anger.