Gretchen Birch Boxed Set (Books 1-4)

by Deb Baker

  This wouldn’t be the first time she’d slept in an airport terminal. Once, on a Midwestern flight, a blizzard had shut down flights and stranded her overnight.

  Caroline bought a Chicago-style hot dog from a kiosk and devoured it while she searched for a quiet, unused gate to spend the night.

  At precisely ten o’clock her cell phone played Pachelbel’s Canon, and she answered after checking the caller ID. Calls from her sister and her daughter had gone unanswered all day, but she took this one.

  Caroline listened, and what she heard caused her to reel. She felt weak with shock. It couldn’t be possible. What was her daughter doing in Phoenix? Was it a calculated trick to lure her back? No. She sensed Nina’s hand in this turn of events, and she mentally chastised herself for failing to anticipate her sister’s response to her disappearance. Caroline’s lack of foresight would get someone else killed if she wasn’t more careful.

  “Get her out of there,” she said into the phone. “Whatever it takes, get her out of the way before something happens to her.”

  The doll was more important now than ever. Tomorrow she would find it, even if she had to resort to drastic measures.

  Chapter 5

  The man standing at her mother’s front door wore khaki cargo shorts and a “Running Strong for American Indian Youth” T shirt. Poking her head through the partially open door and hiding behind it because she was wearing cotton boxer shorts and a skimpy camisole, she did a quick mental check of the rest of her appearance: no makeup, hair in its usual early morning tangle, sleep lines probably creasing her face. Perfect. Great start to the day.

  Gretchen had to squint in the radiant light shining from his smile. She shaded her eyes with her hand and caught a whiff of Chrome cologne, one of her favorites.

  “Yes?” Gretchen produced a weak smile.

  He flipped a badge and held it close to her face. Her tentative smile faded.

  “Detective Albright,” he said. “I’m looking for Caroline Birch.”

  “You’re Bonnie Albright’s son. Matt.”

  He flashed another dazzling smile. “And you must be Gretchen Birch from Boston.”

  “News travels fast.” Gretchen raked her fingers through her unruly hair. “You start your day early.”

  “No, it’s already six.”

  “Six o’clock on Saturday morning.”

  “Correct.”

  Gretchen edged further behind the door. “My mother isn’t home right now.”

  “I’ve heard that news, too,” he said. “I was hoping it was a rumor.”

  “You aren’t what I expected.” Gretchen imagined his mother. Bonnie of the red flip hairdo and uneven penciled eyebrows. The man looming on the other side of the door had dark wavy hair and a body builder’s biceps. He must take after his father.

  “What did you expect? Bald and beastly?”

  “Where’s your uniform?”

  “I’m undercover.” His eyes slid past her head. “Can I come in?”

  “I don’t think so.” She wedged a bare foot against the door. “Do you have a search warrant?”

  He grinned. “Do you have something to hide?”

  His smile was disarmingly charming, but Gretchen felt sure that he was acting. She had an overwhelming urge to protect her mother. The role reversal seemed awkward and unnatural. Her mother had always been her shield against potential danger.

  “Look,” he continued, sliding his badge into his wallet. “I’m investigating a death and your mother’s name came up. This is all very routine. If she didn’t do anything wrong, you have nothing to hide.”

  Gretchen hated logic, especially from a cop. “Who said I have anything to hide?”

  “You did.”

  “I did not.” See how a cop will twist your words until you don’t recognize them anymore, Gretchen thought, glancing past his shoulder and watching a neighbor walk her dog past the house. Six A.M. Didn’t these people sleep in on Saturdays? She lowered her eyes and met his gaze. Neither one of them flinched or looked away.

  “If you know where she is, you should tell me,” he said. “I’m trying to help. She’s one of my mother’s friends.”

  Gretchen carefully considered the possible reasons why he would be searching for her mother. She thought she detected a hard, determined glint behind the detective’s sunshine eyes. After the note found with Martha’s body, the police would want an explanation, and Gretchen wasn’t sure her mother had one.

  “Come back when you have a warrant,” she finally said, and closed the door. A few minutes later she heard his car drive off.

  Wobbles was talkative, meowing and rubbing against her leg. Gretchen poured cat food and water into bowls she found in the cupboard, made a piece of toast, and started a pot of coffee. She ate the toast while she waited for the coffee to perk, then poured a steaming cup and called Nina.

  “What time is it?” Nina’s husky voice sounded thick with sleep. Pay back time, Gretchen thought.

  “After six. I need to borrow your car today.” Gretchen sipped the fragrant coffee and felt it coursing through her body, rejuvenating her spirit in spite of her early morning visitor. “I’d like to do a little shopping. I brought only a small amount of cat food with me, and there isn’t much people food in the house either.”

  “Six in the morning?”

  “You can go back to sleep in a minute, but I need your car later.”

  “We’re having our hair done at eleven,” Nina said, yawning. “You can drop us at the salon. That will give you a few hours.”

  “We?”

  “Tutu and I.”

  Gretchen choked back a chortle, but a small titter slipped out. Nina could make her laugh even in the most trying situations.

  “Go ahead,” Nina said. “Laugh all you want.”

  The light moment passed, and Gretchen related the conversation she had with Matt Albright. When she paused, Nina asked, “Did you tell him about the doll shawl and photograph you found on the mountain?”

  “I didn’t even think of it. I was more concerned about why he was here.”

  “That’s good,” Nina said. “He doesn’t need to know right now.”

  “Is the shawl still in your car?”

  “Still wrapped up and stowed away,” Nina said. “I’ve been thinking this through. According to April, the French fashion doll is worth a lot of money on its own, but it’s worth twice as much with the trunk. If we can find them, we might have our answer to Caroline’s whereabouts. I’m still convinced that Martha didn’t jump willingly, and Detective Albright snooping around means the police aren’t so sure either. I’ll give Bonnie a call and find out if she knows anything more.”

  Gretchen poured another cup of coffee. “Remind April to keep the news of the trunk to herself, at least for a few days.”

  “April keeps everything close to her chest.”

  There was a discernible pause. Nina broke the silence. “This doesn’t look good for your mother. You know that, don’t you? What if she has the doll? What if she’s involved in something dangerous?”

  Or deadly. Gretchen couldn’t express the thought aloud. Her emotional strength came from believing that Caroline would reappear and explain her absence. That Martha had committed suicide. That there was a logical explanation in spite of Gretchen’s growing sense of distress.

  After finalizing plans to borrow Nina’s car, Gretchen changed into shorts and a tank top and pulled on her hiking boots for a brisk walk up Camelback. She again checked for messages on her answering machine in Boston and on her cell phone. Other than a few greetings from friends, she found nothing from Steve or her mother.

  Sliding open the glass patio door leading to the pool, Gretchen was surprised to find the door unlocked. She must have forgotten to lock it yesterday before she left with Nina. She scolded herself for her carelessness.

  The morning temperature was tolerable, and Gretchen wondered if she was already acclimating to the harsh desert summer. She loped easily up to the t
railhead and slowed to a steady jog, appreciating the sanctuary around her.

  Gretchen had learned long ago that the natural world could bring her needed serenity when her thoughts were troubled, and hiking trails had provided the perfect solution. In the area around Boston she had discovered the Blue Hills and Skyline Trail, then Middlesex Fells. After that, she delighted in every quest to find interesting and unique paths to explore.

  Even in the center of a densely populated city like Phoenix, she could find refuge.

  Summit Trail reminded her of Martha’s fall, so she stayed on more accessible paths, jogging along Bobby’s Rock Trail. Mesquite and staghorn lined the path. She heard the chatter of birds, and catching movement from the corner of her eye, she spotted a road runner on an overgrown trail.

  As she ran she felt all her worries and anxiety falling away on the path behind her. After the refreshing and mind-clearing exercise she would be ready to face the uncertainty of a new day.

  When she returned to the house, Larry Gerney was waiting in his red convertible in the shade of a blue palo verde tree. He unfolded his long legs from the tiny car and greeted her with a paper bag in his hand. “Thought I’d bring breakfast,” he said, following her into the kitchen. He didn’t remove his sunglasses, which saved her the effort of pretending that she didn’t notice his tic. “Have you heard anything yet?”

  Gretchen shook her head and poured a cup of coffee for each of them. Larry sliced bagels and heaped them with cream cheese, smoked salmon, and alfalfa sprouts. Wobbles, smelling the salmon, joined them and was rewarded with a slice of his own.

  “I never saw a cat with three legs before,” Larry said. “But he seems to get around fine.”

  “He’s amazing,” Gretchen agreed. She nibbled at the bagel. It tasted wonderful.

  “I think we should check your mother’s business line and listen to her messages.” Larry wrapped the leftovers and stored them in the refrigerator.

  Of course, he would want to check her messages. Was his request a sincere offer of help or a devious way to gain a client list? She studied his features, hoping for a clue to his motives. Reluctantly, she nodded and led the way.

  Gretchen experienced a sense of loss when she entered her mother’s workshop, the same sense of emptiness she had felt the day before. It is so easy to forget how much you love someone, she thought, until you realize that you might lose them.

  Gretchen and Larry listened to twelve messages, each caller inquiring about the progress on various doll repairs. Several expressed concern about their dolls being ready at a specific time, and all wanted return phone calls. None gave Gretchen the impression they knew that Caroline was unavailable.

  “This is hopeless,” Gretchen said. “What am I going to do?”

  Gretchen hadn’t worked on a doll since college, when she’d spent summers in her mother’s workshop performing the simpler repairs. She could disassemble, clean, and restring an antique doll, but her mother was the expert when it came to restoring eyes, refurbishing wigs, and sealing cracks. Not only did Gretchen lack the expertise to satisfy these customers, she didn’t have the time.

  “You are going to let me handle it,” Larry said firmly. “I’ll work on the most immediate problems and delay the rest.”

  Gretchen wondered what her mother would say if she knew her competition had access to her workshop, but his offer would free her mind and would keep the customers happy. If he ended up stealing customers, it was a small price to pay. “I couldn’t possibly impose….”

  “This won’t be entirely free,” he said, clinching the deal. “I’ll expect to be paid for my services.”

  Larry was returning phone calls before Gretchen left the room. She showered and dressed, and looked around for her mother’s cancer awareness bracelet. She found it on top of the dresser and frowned. Hadn’t she placed it in the bathroom next to her own last night? Well, she had been exhausted and under pressure yesterday. Gretchen slid her mother’s bracelet on her wrist next to her own bracelet, vowing to wear it until she personally handed it back to its owner.

  The doorbell rang as she finished, and she opened it to see Matt Albright standing on the porch with two uniformed police officers behind him. “Search warrant,” he said, waving a document and handing it to her.

  “That was fast.” Bravado, Gretchen. Face your adversary with confidence.

  “I had it earlier, but I decided that I needed backup. You looked scary.”

  “Is that what they taught you in detective school? How to be as annoying as possible?”

  Gretchen examined the warrant. Her words were light, but she swallowed through an enormous lump in her throat. She felt sure that they wouldn’t find anything incriminating in their search, because her mother hadn’t done anything wrong.

  “May I ask what you are looking for?”

  Matt slid past her and gestured to the officers to follow him. “You may, but I can’t tell you. Where does your mother repair dolls?”

  “Through there.” Gretchen pointed to the back of the house, and her uninvited guests thundered off in that direction. She walked into the kitchen and sat down hard, her heart skipping.

  From her vantage point in the kitchen she saw the two cops stride into the workshop, the detective watching them from the hallway. Gretchen heard Larry’s voice, questioning and bewildered. Then he joined her in the kitchen.

  “What’s going on?” he asked. “They’re tearing everything apart.”

  Gretchen shrugged and shook her head. “I don’t know.” She slumped deeper into the chair and waited. Larry paced in front of her.

  Fifteen minutes later, Detective Albright entered the room, and Gretchen noticed that he’d lost his authoritative pose. Instead, he was several shades paler than earlier. The officer behind him held an antique doll in one latex-gloved hand and a sheet of paper in the other. “Put them on the table,” the detective said to the cop. “Check the bedrooms next.”

  “You’re going to search the entire house?” Gretchen knew something was seriously awry when she saw the doll on the table.

  “It’s covered in the warrant,” he answered, a professional tone in his voice much different from the casual banter of earlier. More abrupt. “Do you know anything about this?”

  He motioned to the doll on the table and took a step back, and Gretchen reached to pick it up.

  “Don’t touch that,” he bellowed. Gretchen jerked her hand away.

  Gretchen, hands in her lap and a sick feeling in her stomach, leaned forward to observe the doll. It was an excellent white-faced parian, sixteen inches high, with a beige dress and leather shoes. “My mother restores dolls professionally,” she said. “She has many dolls in her care.”

  “How about the document?”

  Gretchen stood up and leaned forward to scrutinize the paper while Larry read over her shoulder. Its contents shocked her. “It’s ah…it looks like an inventory of Martha Williams’ doll collection. At least that’s what it says.”

  “And this,” Detective Albright said, pointing to the doll, “is one of the dolls on that list. We found the doll and list buried together deep in a supply cabinet. The clothing on the doll matches the description. Don’t you agree?”

  “But Martha Williams lost her doll collection years ago. At least that’s what Nina said.”

  Larry pulled off his sunglasses and blinked rapidly, “That’s right. She didn’t have a single doll. She lived on the street. The inventory is clearly an old, invalid list.”

  The detective’s shiny smile was missing. “How much it this doll worth?”

  “We aren’t appraisers,” Gretchen said, coldly, understanding the implications of the question.

  “April Lehman will answer that for me,” Detective Albright said.

  “You can’t take the doll,” Gretchen insisted.

  “Oh, but I can.” The detective suddenly noticed Larry squinting and blinking. “Something in your eye?”

  “No,” Larry said. “A nervous twitch
. It comes and goes.” He put the sunglasses back on.

  Gretchen again surveyed the list of dolls. It was an impressive inventory of antiques, although not particularly large for a serious collector. Poured wax dolls, bisque dolls, wooden dolls, china dolls. Each, she guessed, worth a dollar figure well into the thousands.

  The parian doll found in the cabinet matched the one on the list. But Gretchen didn’t find an entry for a French fashion doll.

  And no doll trunk.

  “I’d like a copy of this list,” Gretchen said. “And a picture of the doll before you take it.”

  Detective Albright nodded and stepped away, clasping his hands behind his back. “That’s a reasonable request.” He motioned to one of the officers. “I noticed a copy machine attached to the computer printer in the workshop,” he said as the officer approached. “Make a copy, and be careful.”

  Gretchen looked at the doll on the table, then at the detective. She watched a thin line of moisture gather above the detective’s brow as the other officer moved past him, snapped a picture, and took the doll. In fact, Albright flattened against the wall, allowing the officer more room to maneuver than he actually needed.

  The officers found nothing else out of the ordinary. The rest of the search seemed perfunctory and ended abruptly, as though the parian doll and the inventory list had been the purpose of their true mission all along.

  An obsolete inventory of dolls and the discovery of a doll that had once belonged to a dead collector. What was going on?

  __________

  Caroline awoke stiff. Her muscles ached from lying on the hard seats in the passenger waiting area of gate C79. A flight attendant stood behind a counter nearby and readied the gate for an early morning flight. The flight board read Orlando, 6:35 A.M., On Time. Travelers lugging carry-on bags began to arrive.

  Caroline sat up and stretched her cramped limbs. She made her way to the women’s restroom, where she attempted to freshen up. She bought a sweet roll and hot tea from a vendor, grudgingly parting with a few dollar bills.