Dolly Departed dtdf-3

by Deb Baker

  A dark shape on the ground behind the Dumpster shifts slightly, and Daisy catches the movement. She has night eyes, cat eyes, she likes to think. Another reason she beats the odds.

  The pepper spray acts as a buffer between Daisy and whoever is crumpled on the ground. She already knows it isn't Nacho.

  "Help me." The whisper is so low and weak she almost misses the words.

  A hand reaches out for her, and she sees who it is. The man writhing in pain is Ryan Maize.

  22

  Gretchen overslept and almost missed her workout group at Curves. She rushed through the house, throwing on exercise garb as she went. "I fed Wobbles and Nimrod," her mother said, ready to go and holding out Gretchen's purse and a cup of coffee. "You needed the extra sleep."

  When Gretchen and her mother arrived at Curves, most of the doll club members were in full throttle on the machines. "He's missing," Bonnie said in a stage whisper when Gretchen jumped onto the abductor. "Born to Be Wild"

  boomed from an overhead speaker.

  "Who's missing?" Gretchen asked.

  "Ryan Maize, that's who." Bonnie's feet did a tiny tap dance on the platform. Her red wig had extra starch today, every hair shellacked into place. "Matty knows Charlie's son tried to blow up you girls. Witnesses identified Ryan from pictures, but the police can't find him. He's not at that drug house."

  "The do-rag did him in," April said, stomping up and down on the stepper. "He should have disguised himself better if he was going to pull a stunt like that. He could have killed us. Then it would have been murder one instead of attempted murder."

  "Matty will get him; don't you worry."

  "That poor drugged-out kid," Gretchen said, shaking her head.

  April grunted. "First he knocks you out," she gasped, sweating profusely. "Then he tries to blow us up. And you feel sorry for him? I don't. If I get my hands on that little punk, I'll squeeze his scrawny neck until his eyes pop. He made me ruin my best dress."

  "Change stations now," a preprogrammed voice announced. The circle of flab fighters moved to the left.

  "You're lucky that's all he ruined," Caroline said. "It could have been so much worse."

  "He demolished Charlie's shop," April said. "It's a mess."

  Gretchen decided to pursue the idea she had explored with Matt. That's not all we explored, she thought with a hidden grin before saying, "The walls of one of the room boxes were covered with wallpaper. If I describe the design to you, maybe one of you will know who it belongs to."

  "Is this a clue to the killer?" Rita, the Barbie collector, asked.

  "Maybe." Gretchen ran in place while she considered how much to share with the group.

  "Tell us, tell us," Bonnie said, licking her lips in anticipation.

  "The wallpaper was tan, and it had an apple and teapot border."

  Bonnie looked thoughtful. Her penciled brows edged closer together, and her red lips puckered.

  As she often did when spending time with Bonnie, Gretchen tried hard to find any family resemblance between the woman next to her and the hunky police detective, but she couldn't find a trace of physical evidence that established their genome connection.

  "I don't know anyone with wallpaper like that," Rita said.

  "We'll keep an eye out," Bonnie said with a crafty expression. The doll club president was a woman on a new mission.

  Gretchen would take any help she could get. She was determined to find that kitchen. Someone had tried to hurt her and her friends. What was that person planning next?

  Gretchen's life, or someone's close to her, might depend on moving quickly.

  "Where's Nina?" Gretchen asked after watching the door for her aunt's arrival.

  "She came in early and left already," Ora, the manager, called out. "Something about breakfast with a new friend."

  "Britt," Gretchen and April said simultaneously.

  "She thinks you are crowding her out," Rita said to Gretchen.

  "Out of what?" April asked.

  "Change stations now." Everyone moved in unison.

  "The threesome," Bonnie said. "Threes don't work. Everybody knows that."

  Gretchen didn't have to pretend to be confused.

  "What?"

  "I get it," April said, looking at Gretchen. "She thought of you as her best friend. Then I came along. She feels displaced."

  "That's ridiculous," Gretchen said. "She's my aunt, and I love her."

  "Maybe you should tell her that," Susie of the Madame Alexander collection said.

  "I will. But I thought everything was back to normal."

  "Apparently not in Nina's eyes," Caroline said. "I haven't been around much to give her attention. She counts on you."

  "Change stations now."

  "How's your submarine sandwich diet going?" Rita asked April from the abductor.

  April beamed. "I was measured this morning, and I lost three inches."

  Ora piped up, "That diet will kill you."

  April twisted from side to side on a platform, swinging her arms like clubs. "To tell you the truth, I can't stand the thought of eating another sub."

  "See," Ora scolded. "Next you'll starve to death. What kind of a diet is that! You should get into my diet class. Curves teaches you to eat small portions of a lot of different things."

  "We'll see," April said, but Gretchen thought her resolve was slipping. Ora might win.

  "Tell us about that one room box," Bonnie said. "April said it was the Lizzie Borden murders."

  "I researched the murders on the Internet this morning,"

  Caroline said. "It's called parricide when parents are murdered by a child. Except Lizzie was tried and acquitted. Her father was sleeping on a sofa, and her mother was found on the floor in the guest bedroom. Each had sustained multiple blows to the head with a hatchetlike instrument. After viewing photographs on multiple Web sites, I can tell you that Charlie replicated the scene right down to the color of the mohair sofa."

  "And we found dolls," April said, "that looked like murder victims."

  "Gretchen brought the dolls home," Caroline added.

  "One of the male dolls wore a morning coat like the man in the online photographs. One of the female dolls wore a white dress, exactly like the dead Borden woman."

  "And," Gretchen added, recalling the smashed-up dolls,

  "both dolls had bashed-in heads."

  After Gretchen showered, she found Nina and Caroline in the doll repair workshop showing Britt Gleeland some of the work in progress.

  Britt greeted her more warmly than she had in the past. Gretchen still had her own reservations about the miniature doll maker. First impressions really were hard to change if they started out wrong.

  Nina motioned toward the kitchen, and while Caroline and Britt talked shop, Gretchen followed her aunt.

  "I think you saw Matt last night," Nina said slyly, pouring a coffee refill for herself.

  "Mom told you."

  "She did not."

  Gretchen thought of their intimate scene on the patio. She remembered every last detail. "He's a great kisser,"

  she said, unable to contain herself any longer. Nina squealed impulsively, then quickly lowered her voice so the others wouldn't hear. "I knew it. Today my antennas are receiving at peak performance. I have to confess, my aura abilities have been misfiring lately, but I'm back on track." She squealed again. "I just knew it."

  "Don't get too excited. It was only one little kiss."

  Gretchen smiled at Nina. "Or maybe two."

  "I won't tell a soul," Nina promised. "My advice is to lay claim to that man as soon as possible. Other women look at him like hungry she-cats. Look what he does to April!"

  "Is it a mistake to get involved with him?" Gretchen chewed the inside of her cheek. "He's still married."

  "You have the color of love surrounding you. You're positively pink. See what love does?"

  "Whoa. Back off. You're moving way too fast. Are you listening to anything I just said?"

>   "No, I'm not. I'm tickled as pink as you are."

  Gretchen appraised Tickled Pink, who actually was wearing pink silk pants and a matching pink top. Nina sat down next to Gretchen at the kitchen table.

  "Thanks for telling me about Matt." She gave Gretchen a shy look.

  Her aunt had given her the perfect opening. "You know, Nina, I really like April. She offered her friendship to me when I moved to Phoenix, when I didn't know anybody other than you. She made me feel welcome."

  "That's right. She did. But then she took over, and all of a sudden, there she was, all the time. I think you prefer her company over mine."

  "That isn't true at all. I love you."

  "As a relative." Nina managed to make her voice sound dejected.

  "No! I love you as a friend. You are absolutely my very best friend."

  "Really?"

  "Really," Gretchen assured her. "What about Britt? You seem to have found a new friend in her."

  "She's really nice. Don't be mad, but I started out being friendly with her to make you jealous."

  Gretchen knew exactly what to say next. "Well, it worked. I thought you'd abandoned me."

  "Never, dear. We're adults, and I like Britt. You and I should be able to handle other people in other lives without letting it affect our friendship."

  Gretchen nodded. Finally! Great words of wisdom.

  "There you are." Caroline led Britt into the kitchen and offered her a seat and a cup of coffee. Britt held the box of dolls in her hands. "We were talking about the dolls," Caroline said, pouring coffee, "and thought you'd like to be part of the conversation."

  Britt's face was flushed when she said, "I don't understand who would do this to my dolls. Surely not Charlie."

  "She created the room boxes," Gretchen replied. "And at least two of them are murder scenes, the one we've identified as Lizzie Borden's home and another one of a backyard where there's blood on the ground and on the steps leading into the building."

  "Tell Gretchen what you told me," Caroline said. Britt inhaled, a ragged breath, and blew it out. "Charlie was very specific about the dolls she wanted. I remember her instructions to the letter. One male: tall, thin, white-haired, middle-aged; one female: same age, short, slightly obese."

  Gretchen and Caroline exchanged looks. "The Bordens," Caroline said.

  "And the other dolls?" Gretchen asked.

  "She gave me more leeway. A male with the dignity of the clergy, a woman who would pass as a woman of the street, a choir girl, and the last one."

  She glanced up at her waiting audience. "The last one would be male, well-heeled, powerful. And he must, she insisted, have a look of extreme anguish on his face. Other than that, I could sculpt him however I wished."

  "A look of anguish?" Nina said, perplexed. "Why?"

  "I asked her that. She said it was a surprise." Britt's fingers skimmed across the damage to her dolls. "I wanted to get these back as mementos of my last work for Charlie. But why would I want them like this? This is the only one that is still intact, and look at him!"

  Britt held up the male doll she had created for her friend. The excruciating pain on his face was unmistakable.

  23

  Britt and Nina went off together, leaving Gretchen and her mother alone in the workshop. "I have an idea," Gretchen said, arranging the street signs in a row next to the computer they used for their doll repair business. "Let's search the other signs and see what comes up."

  She keyed in one of the addresses. "Twenty-nine Hanbury Street. A London address." The search engine gave her a list of possibilities. She clicked on the first one, while Caroline looked over her shoulder.

  "Jack the Ripper's second victim was killed at that address," Gretchen said, not sure whether to be proud of her sleuthing abilities or saddened by Charlie's obsession.

  "Look! The dilapidated backyard."

  Without a word of explanation, Caroline hurried from the room. Gretchen was about to go after her to see if she had broken down in tears and needed comforting, but she returned as quickly as she left. And she had Britt's dolls in her hands. "This must be the one." She selected the slashed woman. "And the bloody knife must be part of that display."

  Gretchen keyed in another address, the one on Elm Street. "Arsenic Anna."

  "I'm not familiar with that murder," Caroline said. "Although I've heard the name."

  Gretchen read aloud. "In the 1930s, a woman named Anna Marie Hahn posed as a nurse as a way to care for wealthy, elderly men, who had no living relatives. Each of them died from arsenic poisoning. Four in all before she was captured and convicted."

  "That's horrible," Caroline said. "And explains the facial features on the male doll. Death by poison."

  Again Gretchen entered a street name. De Russey's Lane.

  "The Hall-Mills murders," Caroline read over Gretchen's shoulder. "An Episcopal priest and a choir girl were found dead under a crab apple tree. Both had been shot in the head. Torn-up letters were found between them."

  "The ripped pieces of paper we put in the unknown pile," Gretchen said.

  Caroline held up two more dolls while she read the victims' descriptions. "Eleanor Mills wore a blue dress with red polka dots and black stockings."

  The doll was dressed exactly as the description of the poor murdered girl.

  "A blue velvet hat lay beside her."

  "Another unknown piece placed." Gretchen remembered the little hat. Charlie created four room boxes to represent famous murder scenes. Why would she do that? What did she hope to accomplish by inviting guests to view such horror?

  "What do these murders have in common?" Caroline asked, puzzled. "How did she pick her settings? Jack the Ripper and Lizzie Borden are very famous murders. Arsenic Anna not quite as well known, and I've never heard of the Hall-Mills murders."

  "Let me check each one again." Gretchen did additional searches to read the cases more thoroughly. Caroline worked on a cracked bisque doll at the worktable. Nimrod dozed on the floor, while Wobbles graced them with his presence for a few minutes, licking his coat.

  "I've got it!" Gretchen shouted, startling both animals.

  "Charlie chose unsolved murders-Lizzie Borden was acquitted, Jack the Ripper was never identified, and the priest and choir girl's murderer was never found."

  "And Arsenic Anna?" Caroline asked.

  "Was electrocuted for her crimes. But she was the only one who used poison. Maybe Nina's right," Gretchen said.

  "She thought the kitchen was very important."

  It was time to take a peek at a few kitchens. But Gretchen didn't say it out loud.

  Bernard Waites lived on Twelfth Street in a brick ranch with white wood trim.

  "That's his truck in the carport," Gretchen said. "He was driving it the day he came to return my checkbook."

  She noted that the sun was rapidly setting and checked her watch. A little after five o'clock.

  Nina stopped the car across the street. "Why did he steal a check, then cash it and return the checkbook? Wouldn't he have been better off just keeping your checkbook or throwing it away?"

  "He claimed he was borrowing the money and was going to return it to my account before I noticed."

  "He decided to take out a loan?" Nina shook her head.

  "Is the entire world crazy?"

  "Looks that way."

  "What if he's home from the hospital?"

  "He isn't. I called the hospital. He's still there."

  Nina swung her head toward the house. "What's the plan?"

  "I thought you might have one."

  "Search his house and take a look at the kitchen."

  "Let's go."

  Nina tipped her head toward the backseat. "I'm the puppy sitter. You're the investigator."

  "You're making this up as you go."

  "You bet."

  "Mom will kill me if she finds out what we're doing."

  "I'm not going to tell her."

  There wasn't any sign of activity at the house. Bernar
d had taken an ambulance ride after the bug juice blew up, which accounted for the parked truck. All Gretchen had to do was slip around to the back of the house and peek through the kitchen window. How hard could that be?

  "Okay," she said. "I'm not breaking and entering, but I'll look in the window. That's all."

  Nina nodded in approval. "How hard can it be?" she said, echoing what Gretchen was thinking. Her aunt was starting to scare her. Maybe there really was something to all her quirky psychic beliefs. No. Impossible. Gretchen opened the car door, eased it closed, and trotted across the street. She had forgotten about Phoenix's passion for privacy walls. No one in the enormous desert community wanted snoopy neighbors spying on them, so they built walls to keep them out. Walls also kept snakes and wild animals from appearing on doorsteps.

  Bernard's property wasn't any different than that of the rest of the populace. His privacy wall was made of concrete. Gretchen trotted back to the Impala. "I can't get over the wall. You'll have to give me a boost."

  Nina rolled her eyes in mock exasperation. "The things I have to do in the name of family and friendship."

  "How am I going to get out once I'm in?"

  "There must be a gate on the other side," Nina said.

  "Every backyard has a gate."

  They crept along the outside of the wall. Gretchen stuck a foot in Nina's cupped hands, scaled up the side of the wall, and peered over the top. The coast was clear. She swung a leg up, scooted on her belly, and carefully edged the other leg over. She dropped to the ground on the other side. The backyard looked like a lumber yard, only not as tidy. Piles of wood and cast-off remnants of lumber were scattered along the side of the wall where Gretchen crouched. Near the house, she saw a small wrought-iron table and four chairs. A vase filled with mixed flowers was in the middle of the table.

  Gretchen mustered up her courage and strode boldly to a window on the right side of the table. She peered inside, shading her eyes with her hand for a better view. And came nose to nose with an old woman on the other side of the glass. The woman had a face like a Cabbage Patch Kid.

  Gretchen stifled a startled yelp.