by Deb Baker
The gale-strength wind threatened his newfound home. The cardboard rattled violently, and Gretchen wondered how much longer the duct tape would hold.
Nina slid through behind her. “We have to get out of here,” she said, an edge of panic in her voice. “This wash is a death trap.”
“I can’t leave without my stuff.” Nacho’s arms swept to encompass the tiny room. “And Daisy’s cart.”
“The cart won’t fit in the car,” Gretchen said. “We’ll wheel it up to the top of the wash and unload the contents into Nina’s car. Maybe we can tie the cart to a girder so the wind won’t blow it away.”
“This entire wash is going to be a running river before you get done talking about it,” Nina screamed into the wind as they pulled the cart along. A large black lawn bag filled with Nacho’s possessions bounced behind him as he half carried it, half dragged it along.
Water rose over their shoes.
The rain pelted Gretchen’s arms and face as they hurriedly stuffed the contents of Daisy’s shopping cart into the trunk. Nacho tossed his bag into the backseat and ran back down into the growing water swell. He called out, but the wind lifted the sound away from her. Gretchen watched him splash through the growing swell, then he disappeared inside the corrugated board.
When she moved to follow him, Nina grabbed her arm. “Stay here. He’s a fool.”
“What’s he doing?” Gretchen wiped her wet face with her good hand. So much for staying dry. Her clothes were soaked. Ignoring Nina’s advice, she decided to follow him. What if he refused to abandon ship? She would drag him out if necessary.
She slipped into his shelter and he seized her from behind, pining her arms against her side, his breath foul on her neck. She realized how isolated she was. Nina couldn’t help her from the top of the wash. If he had killed Martha, he would kill her without hesitation. Then what? Would he go after Nina? No one knew where they were, it might be days before someone discovered their bodies. Victims of flash flooding. Who would guess the truth?
His hold was strong. She bent forward, twisting and pushing up to free her arms. When she began to struggle he released her and backed up. “You shouldn’t have followed me,” he said with dark, emotionless eyes.
“I came to help,” she said, breathing hard.
He shoved her. “Get out while you still can.”
The same words he had spoken to her outside of the restaurant. At the time, she assumed he was threatening her, but now she wasn’t so sure. Maybe, then as now, he was warning her away from a dangerous situation. He was a strange man with abrupt and edgy mannerisms. Not quite right by society’s standards, a little off.
Gretchen burst through the opening and glanced back to see him following. Nacho kicked through the flowing water, carrying another bag.
Six inches of water, Nina had warned. Strong enough to bowl you over and sweep you away. They struggled through the water, not running now. Walking thickly, off-balance with each step.
“Follow the flow,” Nacho said, close to her ear. “And angle toward the embankment.”
They had no choice but to turn away from Nina and the car. Gretchen felt the calf-deep water pulling her along. She quit fighting against it, accepting it instead, but edging slowly at an angle toward the embankment. She glanced back and saw Nina waving her arms frantically.
Gretchen felt firm footing below, less pull from the current, as Nacho rose ahead of her on the hill, clutching the bag. She looked back at the swelling river then loped all the way back to the car.
“Martha’s,” Nacho said, peering intensely at Gretchen and pushing the bag at her. She took the bag from him and threw it in the backseat.
“We don’t have anything to secure the shopping cart,” she said, rain pouring down her face. “We’ll have to abandon it.”
“It’s not like she can’t get another one,” Nina shouted.
Nacho wedged it between the face of the concrete ramp and a metal pole, and Nina pulled away just as the whirling water ripped apart Nacho’s home.
Lightning struck, closer this time, and Gretchen envied Wobbles and the canines for their dry and protected home. Water from her soaking clothes pooled on the floor around her, and the seat felt squishy and wet.
Nina ground the car to an abrupt halt.
A sign loomed ahead. Do Not Cross When Flooded. The street ahead looked like the inside of a whirlpool with all the jets at full blast.
“I can show you a way out,” Nacho said, pointing to the right. “Go that way.” And Nina swung the wheel.
Ten minutes later, at Nacho’s insistence, they dropped him at the Rescue Mission. He heaved his own large bag out behind him, and after another piercing look at Gretchen, he ran for cover.
“I feel like I’m letting him get away,” Gretchen said. “I have so many questions, and he’s the only one who might be able to answer them.”
“We know how to find him.” Nina said.
“He knows so much more than he’s telling us. I can feel it.”
“That’s the Birch psychic intuition finally coming out in you.” Nina grinned. “It’s about time. That’s a good thing.”
“At least he left all this other stuff in the car.”
Nina wrinkled her face. “That’s the bad thing.”
They passed a car caught in flooding in a wash along the side of the street. Two men sat on the roof of the car, and rescue vehicles were parked at the curb on higher ground. Firemen attended to the men and directed traffic away from the area. Gretchen saw a helicopter overhead, scouting for stranded motorists and dangerous situations.
“We’ll get home eventually,” Nina said. “The long way. Those two unlucky men will be ticketed under the dumb motorist law.” She laughed wryly. “Phoenix has a campaign called ‘Turn around, don’t drown.’ That could have been us if we hadn’t obeyed the signs.”
Gretchen was mesmerized by the freak of nature she was witnessing. Actually, everything about Phoenix seemed otherworldly. First the intense heat that scorched the land creating a crisp, brown, leafless environment hostile to most life-forms. Then the sky opened up and torrential rains flooded the entire city, virtually drowning the parched land.
She remembered the call that she had ignored while pursuing Nacho under the freeway bridge, and she reached for her phone. The clip was empty.
“Pull over,” Gretchen said. “My phone’s missing.”
“I’m sure it’s in here someplace,” Nina said. “Wait until we get home, and you can look around without getting soaked.” Nina slid a glance at Gretchen. “Too late for that I guess.”
“I don’t think it’s in the car. I might have lost it while pushing Daisy’s cart up to the car. We have to go back.”
“Sorry dear. Anything left behind is gone by now, and I wouldn’t risk going all the way back anyway.”
Gretchen searched the seat and floor around her then crawled in the backseat and rummaged around under the bag Nacho had said belonged to Martha.
No cell phone.
As soon as they stopped in her mother’s driveway under the carport, she dug through the trunk.
No cell phone.
How, she wondered, could she live for even one day without her phone?
__________
Caroline stared at the bleak motel walls. Close enough to O’Hare for a fast flight out, far enough away to escape the steep prices associated with instant airport accessibility.
Twenty-six calls from her daughter in the past few days, mostly from Gretchen’s cell phone, a few made from Caroline’s house. At least the same number of calls from Nina, received and also ignored. Now, when she needed so desperately to warn her daughter away from Phoenix, she couldn’t locate her.
All her calls to Gretchen had gone unanswered.
She sat alone in a musty room with a foul odor clinging to it, the smell of too many years of cigarette smoke and too many untrained pets. The first thing she did on entering the room was to yank the bedspread off the bed and toss it int
o a corner.
Planes continuously roared overhead, drowning out the television, turned on but unwatched.
Caroline considered leaving a message on Gretchen’s voice mail, but what would she say? Explain too much or too little, and she couldn’t predict the extent of the damage to herself or to Gretchen.
She had failed. She could tell Gretchen that. Her laptop hummed on the scarred dresser top, but it hummed off-key, the music Caroline had hoped to hear never played.
Wireless Internet, even in this dilapidated sorry excuse for a motel.
She tried calling her house. No answer.
With any luck, Gretchen was back in Boston and wouldn’t need a warning.
Nacho should have called by now. Hah, he should have called a long time ago. He was her only link to the events taking place in Phoenix, and he was as unreliable as always. Self-medicating inside a wine bottle to numb the pain or to calm his nerves, or to render inactive the voices only he could hear. Who knew what really went on inside that misshapen head?
Reluctantly, she speed-dialed Gretchen’s cell phone number again, left a terse, uninformative message, and hung up, feeling regret for avoiding her daughter these past few days.
Why didn’t Gretchen answer?
Chapter 18
Tutu and Nimrod greeted them with enthusiasm. Gretchen was enormously relieved to find they had behaved themselves without leaving the whirlwind mess in Caroline’s house she’d feared. One natural disaster for the day was enough.
Wobbles, a fairly large tomcat, stalked between the two dogs, towering over Nimrod and standing almost eye-to-eye with Tutu. A formidable trio, but Wobbles was clearly the ruler.
Ever since Tutu had suffered a scratched nose, she watched Wobbles with a healthy respect.
The respect wasn’t reciprocated.
Wobbles feigned indifference, but Gretchen suspected that he knew exactly where the dogs were at all times. He even tolerated Nimrod’s puppy playfulness. As for Tutu, he didn’t allow her much leeway after cutting her down to size with one swift swoop of his armed paw.
“Six o’clock, and its dark outside already,” Nina said. “Monsoon season is the only time of year that we have such short days. If the sun never set at all, I’d be perfectly happy.”
Nina ordered a delivery of Chinese from a nearby restaurant, and they changed into dry clothes, Nina selecting a loose sundress from Caroline’s closet.
“Watch what I’m teaching Nimrod,” Nina said to Gretchen, crouching and holding open his personalized purse. Nimrod ran right in, turned around, and peeked out joyfully. Holding the handbag, Nina stood and adjusted it on her shoulder.
Gretchen said, “Rumor has it you tried to sneak Tutu into the hospital in a purse.”
“I would have pulled it off if I had a larger purse. I used to carry Tutu around all the time, but she weighs about twelve pounds, and my back isn’t as strong as it used to be. Nimrod, when he’s grown, will be only four or five pounds, the perfect weight for a purse. Now watch this.”
Nina strolled across the bedroom with Nimrod and purse, past the dresser filled with Shirley Temple dolls. She pivoted at the closet, started back, and stopped before she reached Gretchen. “Nimrod, hide,” she whispered, turning her head toward Nimrod.
He instantly ducked inside the purse.
Nina grinned with pleasure. “Okay, good boy.” Nimrod peeked out again.
Gretchen laughed out loud, a deep, throaty full-bodied laugh. The first one since she arrived in Phoenix. Once she started, she couldn’t stop. She laughed until tears streamed down her face.
“It’s so easy to train a puppy,” Nina said, wistfully. “I wish I had taught Tutu that trick before she grew up. The old adage is true. Teaching old dogs new tricks isn’t easy.”
“Let me guess,” Gretchen said, wiping her eyes. “You’re teaching Nimrod to hide so you can take him into stores where he wouldn’t be welcome.”
“Exactly. And he loves it. He burrows down and takes a catnap. Or rather a puppy nap.”
Nina hung Nimrod and purse on the door knob and sat down on the side of the bed. “Nimrod’s family has had an unexpected delay, and they won’t be home today. Nimrod needs a place to stay for a few days, a temporary home.”
Gretchen stopped laughing. “He seems perfectly happy staying with you.”
“We’ve had a great time.”
“But?”
“But I have another client coming,” Nina said. “I love Nimrod. He took to a purse with the same instinct he takes to water. But I can’t possible train another puppy with so many other dogs around. The distraction would be counterproductive.”
“Can’t you reschedule your next client?” Gretchen felt a case of can’t-say-no-itis coming on.
“That wouldn’t be very professional.”
Gretchen glanced at Nimrod. His ears quivered. “Okay, but only for a few days.” She lifted his purse from the doorknob and slung him over her shoulder. “Let’s see what’s inside the bag Nacho gave me. Maybe it holds all the answers to Martha’s death.”
“You’re a dreamer,” Nina said.
__________
“Nothing of value at all,” Nina said, slapping her hands together and rubbing them as though shedding dirt and grime, a look of distaste on her face. The clothes spread out on the table reeked of cigarette smoke. “This is it? All she owned? And we actually toyed with the idea that she still had her dolls?”
Gretchen studied the paltry collection. Aside from a few pieces of clothing, the bag contained a toothbrush, a near-empty tube of toothpaste, and a stick of roll-on deodorant. Not much to show for a well-worn life, for years of collecting personal effects.
“Let’s throw the whole mess in the trash,” Nina said.
“No, this belongs to Joseph now. He can decide whether to dispose of it or not.” Gretchen picked up the stick of deodorant and idly lifted the cover. Something made of metal fell and clinked on the floor. She bent down and picked it up.
“A key,” she said.
Gretchen handed it to Nina. “Is it a safe-deposit key?” she asked.
“Doesn’t seem to be. It isn’t a car key, either.” Nina turned it over and shrugged. “House key maybe.”
“Let’s see if it fits one of these doors.”
They tried the key in the front and back door locks. It didn’t fit.
“That’s a relief,” Nina said. “We don’t need additional evidence pointing to Caroline.”
Gretchen couldn’t agree more.
The Chinese food arrived, and they ate in silence. Afterwards, Nina gathered her wet clothes together and kissed Nimrod goodbye. “I left Nimrod’s food on the counter.” She ducked out quickly, leaving a considerable amount of baggage behind in one small, wiggly package.
Gretchen sat and stared at the key for a long time.
Then, with Nimrod at her heels, she went into her mother’s workshop and sat at the worktable. Equipment hung haphazardly from hooks on the wall – clamps, scissors, elastic in different weights for stringing, and a curling iron the size of a pinky finger for creating ringlets on her mother’s favorites, the Shirley Temple dolls.
Next to the workbench, a library of collector’s books, price lists, and identification guides. Guides for hard plastic dolls, vinyl dolls, every conceivable specialty doll – American Characters, Mattel, Nancy Ann Storybook dolls.
Gretchen removed a volume devoted to Sweet Sue dolls and idly paged through it, noting the pages were worn from research.
Sighing heavily, she checked to make sure the doll trunk was still safely stowed in its hiding place on the lower shelf of one of the cabinets. She removed the cloth and peered at the trunk, then stood up.
The bin where the police found the hidden parian doll and inventory list was still ajar. The two assigned officers had come directly into the workshop and searched it meticulously. A superficial, indifferent search of the rest of the house. There was no question in Gretchen’s mind that someone had given them information. B
ut who? Nacho? He seemed the likeliest.
What was the point of alerting the police? To shift suspicion away from the real killer? An old doll list and a doll of disputable ownership hardly seemed damaging. But that, combined with eyewitnesses on Camelback Mountain, destroyed any credibility her mother might have had, her innocence now questioned by all except her immediate family.
Why did she hide those things in the first place?
Gretchen recalled her mother’s expertise at hiding her Easter basket. Caroline had an uncanny knack for concealing surprises in creative places, a game they both enjoyed playing. Every year her mother grew more inventive. Gretchen smiled as she thought of her mother’s devious tactics and some of her more creative hiding places. Suspended up the chimney, in nooks and crannies that Gretchen never knew existed in the Boston home she had lived in her entire life, wrapped in towels in the laundry basket, under a half-filled garbage bag in the trash can. That had been one of her best. It took Gretchen hours to discover it.
If her mother really wanted to hide something, no one would be able to find it.
A new idea sent a chill along Gretchen’s spine. What if someone else hid the doll and the inventory in her mother’s workshop, then called the police to report it? That had to be it.
She picked up the phone and called Nina. “Someone’s been in the house,” she said.
“What? Right this minute? Did you call nine-one-one?”
“No. Not right now. Before.” Gretchen explained her analysis of her mother’s ability to hide an elephant, about how convenient the police search had been.
“The second day I was here,” Gretchen said, “one of the sliding doors was unlocked, and I was sure I had locked it. And some of my things were rearranged, not quite where I left them. I think someone searched the house and planted the doll and Martha’s doll list.”
