by Deb Baker
“I can’t tell you that,” he said. “You’ll have to take my word for it and work with what I’m offering.”
Nacho’s word carried weight with Gretchen. He’d been right in the past. She trusted him. “Tell me more.”
Nacho leaned against the shopping cart. “Brett Wesley was agitated, pacing behind the truck. All of a sudden, he walks to the curb and looks down the street. Another guy, who’s sitting in a parked truck, gets out and walks up behind him. They argue. Then the other guy practically picks Brett up and throws him into the moving traffic.”
“Why didn’t anyone else see this happen?” Gretchen pictured the scene, and the large crowd. A thin line of perspiration inched down the side of her face and she wiped it away. Heat? Or fear?
“Maybe the truck blocked the view,” Nacho said. “Who knows?”
“What did the guy who pushed him look like?” Gretchen asked.
Daisy cooed to Nimrod, paying little attention to the conversation going on.
“Don’t know. The person who saw it happen was sitting on the curb and couldn’t see behind Brett. Also, he was a little…uh…incapacitated.”
Great. Gretchen’s “reliable” source of information was a lush.
“That doesn’t help much,” she said. “Could your witness remember anything significant?”
“The guy who pushed him got out of a blue truck. That’s all we have.”
Gretchen looked up, thinking.
“Why are you telling me all this?” she said.
“You were at the auction.”
“Along with a lot of other people. Shouldn’t you go to the police?”
“Yeah right.” Nacho snorted. “Very funny. I’m telling you as a friend. If you bring cops around, we’ll deny it. And you’ll lose my trust.”
Gretchen’s eyes narrowed. “Wait a minute. How do you know I was even there?”
A slight grin flickered across his face. “Talk on the street.”
“Good to know I’m thought of among your friends. But….” She hesitated and looked at Nacho. “Something you said.”
“I said talk on the street.”
“No, not that. What color did you say the truck was?”
Gretchen had watched Howie Howard get into a truck after the accident.
“Blue,” Nacho said. “The truck was blue.”
“Yes,” Gretchen said, feeling feverish. “It was, wasn’t it?”
SIXTEEN
“You can’t be taking this seriously,” Nina exclaimed from the next table. “They’re homeless for a reason, Gretchen.” She tapped a ringed hand against the side of her head.
“I thought you were working on compassion,” Gretchen said. “And on accepting those who are different from you.”
“Compassion I can do, not gullibility.”
“I believe him.” Gretchen scooped a doll from her to-do pile and began to restring it.
“You think Brett was pushed in front of a car and that Howie had something to do with it?”
Susie Hocker turned her head and stared at Nina from her Madame Alexander table across the aisle.
“Shhh,” Gretchen said. “Keep your voice down. I don’t know about Howie. He and Brett go way back. And what about the napkin? Someone had to have slipped it into my purse.”
“Why would anyone do that?”
Gretchen looked up from the elastic in her hand. “I don’t know.”
“Next you’ll be saying Ronny Beam’s murder had something to do with Brett’s death.”
“The connect-the-dot lines are very short, Nina.”
“They are, aren’t they?” Nina moved over and sat down next to Gretchen with a thump. Sophie, the Yorkie, bounced onto her lap.
“Two doll events back-to-back and a death at each of those events? Something’s not right,” Gretchen said.
“Was Ronny at the doll auction?”
“I didn’t notice him there, but I hadn’t met him in person yet and might not have recognized him. I didn’t have that wonderful pleasure until the day after, when we went to Curves.” Gretchen hooked a piece of elastic through the doll’s neck. “Help me with this, Nina.”
Her aunt put Sophie on the table and held the doll’s head with both hands. Gretchen used the hook to work it through an elastic loop held by a stick.
“Thanks,” Gretchen said, easing the head into place. “I was so nervous about bidding at my first auction that I didn’t notice much going on around me. I suppose Ronny could have been there.”
“Have you been practicing with your aura glasses?”
Gretchen threw Nina a quizzical look and searched quickly for a good excuse. “Have I had any time?” Or desire? she thought.
“Those glasses are important. They can help you solve crimes.”
“I don’t see how.”
“You’d understand how if you were practicing.”
“You have the gift without the glasses. Why don’t you solve the murder - or, if Nacho is right, murders?”
Nina shifted uncomfortably. “I told you. I can’t see men’s auras, and my sixth sense tells me that men are at the bottom of this. Now where are they?”
“Where are who?”
“The glasses.”
Gretchen didn’t want to tell Nina that the glasses were in her purse. If she did, she’d have to wear the cheap cardboard things right here at the show. “At home,” she lied.
Before Nina could offer to drive over and get them, April finished an appraisal on an antique French doll and tottered over. “When are you going to open the package?”
“Never,” Gretchen said. “I can’t stand any more surprises. When I agreed to do this show, I thought my biggest problem would be sitting in the same spot for two days. Right now I could use a little more tedium.”
April grinned widely. “The doll business is more exciting than you’d think.”
That was an understatement.
Nina still had the repair hook in her hand and began to pick at the packaging tape with it. She worked her way through and pried open the small box. “This one is packed in newspaper,” she said, removing a wad.
Some of the paper floated to the floor.
Gretchen, in spite of herself, leaned forward to peer into the box.
Nina removed an object wrapped in a brown paper bag and carefully opened it. “The bag’s from Bert’s Liquor again,” she said, exposing the newest arrival, a chubby, smiling four-inch Kewpie with a flag in his topknot standing on a small wooden platform.
“Chief Wag,” Nina said, holding him up.
“Aw…” April said. “Isn’t it cute? Butt naked except for the teeny red shoes.”
“He doesn’t have any markings,” Gretchen said.
“Not all of the originals do. The platform is so he can stand up.” April demonstrated by standing the Kewpie on the table.
“Well?” Nina picked up Sophie. “What’s the verdict? Does it have a message inside?”
“Like Message in a Bottle,” April said. “I loved that movie.”
Gretchen reached out and ran her fingers over Chief Wag. She turned him over and searched every inch of his body. “No breaks,” she said, surprised. “It’s in perfect condition.”
April noticed someone waiting at her table for an appraisal. “See you later. Let me know what happens.” She lumbered away. Nimrod, napping in his purse, woke when April brushed past, and he poked his head out.
Nina followed April to her table with both dogs, sliding a final glance at the Kewpie doll.
Gretchen stuffed the Kewpie back in its box, put it under the table, and turned to two new customers browsing her table. But part of her mind couldn’t stop thinking about the newest arrival. Why was the package left at the Boston Kewpie Club table? Was Eric the anonymous sender?
She’d have to learn more about Eric Huntington and the Boston Kewpie Club.
Gretchen’s eye traveled to the box. The first delivery, the Blunderboo, had a message inside. “Wag, the dog.” Maybe it was preparing her for this
doll’s arrival.
And the note on the napkin. Was it from the same person who sent the packages? It wasn’t clear whether it was the same handwriting.
Why go to all this trouble?
Gretchen could think of three possibilities:
One, the person who sent the dolls was playing some kind of strange joke on her. Considering the timing and the multiple deaths, Gretchen didn’t appreciate the sender’s warped sense of humor. She wasn’t in the mood for a clever little scavenger hunt.
Two, both packages were sent by someone who wanted to share a secret but didn’t want to reveal his or her identity.
Three, someone was trying to scare her. Her knife was found in Ronny’s back; now she was receiving packages from an anonymous source.
None of these possibilities made Gretchen feel any better.
Gretchen glanced down the aisle. She felt exposed. And watched.
A few doll dealers caught her staring at them and waved. She quickly looked away.
Should she turn the dolls over to Matt? Let him figure it out?
That seemed like the most reasonable thing to do. She should also tell him about Nacho’s visit and the napkin she found in her purse.
“I’m back,” April announced behind her. Gretchen turned to see April’s arms filled with wrapped hot dogs, a smudge of mustard on the corner of her mouth.
She handed one to Nina, and Gretchen watched her unwrap it and take an enormous, appreciative bite.
“Don’t say a word, Gretchen,” Nina warned, one cheek bulging like a chipmunk’s loaded with nuts. “I can’t stand one more minute without meat. I’m done eating grass.”
“Thanks for treating,” April said to Nina. “Isn’t it good?”
“Better than lobster,” Nina agreed.
April handed her two more hot dogs. Nina broke off pieces and fed some to the dogs. “Gretchen thinks someone’s after her,” she said, “because she found a napkin in her purse.”
“I think someone’s sending me messages, or warnings.”
“Nina told me about your conversation with Nacho,” April said. “Do you believe him?”
Gretchen nodded. “It substantiates the napkin. ‘Pushed’ didn’t mean anything to me until today.”
“Maybe Nacho put the napkin in your purse,” April suggested.
“I don’t think so,” Gretchen said. “The bar area was crowded, but one of us would have seen him.”
“That’s true,” Nina agreed.
April bent down and came up with the Kewpie. “These aren’t the original shoes,” she said.
“Really?” Gretchen took the doll from April and examined the shoes. “You’re right.”
April pointed at Chief Wag’s legs. “The shoes and the platform have been added.”
“I wonder why? You’re the doll appraiser. Why would someone change it?”
“No particular reason,” April said. “People do weird things to their dolls all the time, and then wonder why their collections aren’t worth anything.”
Gretchen finished her hot dog and wiped her hands on a napkin. “Nina, you had coffee with Eric Huntington. Tell me about him.”
“He doesn’t know much about the doll business,” Nina said. “He’s here mainly to watch after his mother.”
“Eric said he knew my mother,” Gretchen said. “Did she ever mention him?”
Nina shrugged. “Caroline knows everyone.”
Gretchen picked up Chief Wag. Not a chip or crack anywhere else on his body. So why send him addressed to the doll repairer? She rummaged through her toolbox and picked out a solvent. She sprayed a tiny amount on the platform around the Kewpie’s feet. Then she sprayed some along the top of his shoes.
“What are you doing?” April asked.
“An experiment.”
“He asked me out,” Nina said.
Gretchen glanced up quickly and saw Nina blush. She couldn’t believe it. She’d never in her life seen Nina blush. “Eric did? He asked you out?”
Nina nodded. “Monday. I’m showing him around town.”
“You go, girl,” April said.
Gretchen worked more solvent into the glue and felt it soften slightly.
“What’s that man over there doing?” Nina said.
Gretchen looked up and saw the photographer from the auction approaching her table. The Leica camera hung from his neck, and he looked paler and shabbier than last time she’d seen him, if that was even possible. Recalling his name, she greeted him. “Peter Finch.”
“I remember you, too,” Finch said, removing the lens cap from the camera. “You were at the auction. Mind if I take a few pictures?” He waved a hand at her dolls.
“You can’t let him take pictures,” April said, loud enough for him to hear. “I know this guy. He sells pictures of dolls on the Internet.” She turned to the photographer. “Get your own dolls.”
“Okay, okay. I don’t want to make trouble.” He looked over at Susie Hocker’s Madame Alexanders.
“Don’t think of going there either,” April said.
Peter Finch slunk away.
“A few pictures wouldn’t have hurt,” Gretchen said, astonished at April’s verbal attack on the photographer.
“He shouldn’t be making his living from other people’s dolls without offering them a percentage of the profits. There should be a law against what he does.” April muttered under her breath to herself, but Gretchen caught the words, “Bottom feeder.”
The platform holding the Kewpie in place came loose, and Gretchen eased it away from the doll. She tipped Chief Wag over. The bottoms of the red shoes were perfectly normal except for a little residual glue. She wiggled the Kewpie’s bare legs and sprayed more glue around the shoe tops.
“What are you doing?” Nina said.
“Since the shoes and platform are modifications, I thought I’d see how they were applied.”
“With glue,” Nina said, exasperated. “Even I can tell that and I don’t know anything about doll repairing.”
“I guess the real question is why someone changed the doll’s appearance.”
“Lowers the appraisal value, that’s for sure,” April said. “Any modification to the original doll devalues it. Must have been owned by a beginner.”
Gretchen slowly and gently removed the red shoes from the doll, exposing two chubby Kewpie feet. She laid the shoes on the table.
April picked them up, rolled them around in her plump fingers, and said. “Don’t put these back on. The doll’s worth a lot more without the shoes and goofy platform. I wonder why they were added in the first place.”
“Because,” Gretchen said, turning Chief Wag upside-down, “the bottoms of his feet have been ground off.”
SEVENTEEN
Nina, drinking diet soda through a straw at that exact moment, coughed up some of it. “Down the wrong pipe,” she sputtered.
April, the consummate doll appraiser, couldn’t help saying, “It’s not worth a nickel now.”
“Please don’t tell me something’s hidden inside,” Nina said. “This is too weird.”
Gretchen, silently agreeing with her aunt, peered into the Kewpie’s hollow legs. “I do see something.” She drew tweezers from the toolbox and poked inside the doll.
April saw a customer approaching her table and called out, “You’ll have to come back in five minutes. I’m working on something else at the moment.” She leaned forward. “This is so exciting.”
Gretchen extracted a small square of paper, neatly folded in quarters.
“Keep going,” April said. “Don’t stop now.”
Gretchen unfolded the paper. “It’s a name,” she said. “Percy O’Connor.”
“Let me see that.” Nina plucked it from her fingers. “You’re right. That’s all it says.”
“Maybe this Chief Wag belonged to Percy O’Connor,” April suggested.
“It’s possible.” Gretchen was hesitant. “If that’s so, he went to a lot of trouble to put his name inside of it.�
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“I’ve never heard of collectors defacing their own dolls to put their names inside,” April said. “It isn’t done.”
“Like cattle branding,” Nina said.
“But he destroyed the doll’s value,” April insisted.
“Has anyone heard of Percy O’Connor?” Gretchen asked.
Nina and April shook their heads.
“What’s going on over there?” Susie Hocker called from across the aisle.
“We’re wondering if you know anyone by the name of Percy O’Connor?” April called back.
“Never heard of him. Is he giving a presentation or something?”
“Something like that,” April said to her, heading back to her table. “I better get back to work. If you find out who he is, holler over.”
“Find out who who is?” Eric Huntington said, leaning over the table and startling Gretchen and Nina.
“Percy O’Connor,” Nina said.
Gretchen shoved the red shoes back onto the Kewpie’s chunky legs, hoping Eric hadn’t noticed the missing feet at the very bottom of the doll.
“He was a Boston doll collector,” Eric said.
“Was?” Gretchen asked.
“He’s dead.”
“This must have been his doll.” Nina held up the Kewpie. “His name was inside.”
It was too late to give her aunt a warning signal. Nina’s cosmic antenna had malfunctioned. Again.
Eric frowned. “It’s possible that the doll belonged to him. He collected Kewpie dolls. But what do you mean, his name was inside?”
Gretchen watched Eric’s face. If he had packaged the doll and sent it to her, he was an impressive actor. No sign of recognition flickered in his eyes.
Nina held up the piece of paper with Percy’s name sprawled across it.
Eric stared at it. “A Kewpie doll belonging to Percy O’Connor was inside the package I handed to you?” He was either genuinely surprised or an accomplished fraud.
“What makes you think this doll was in the package you delivered?” Gretchen asked. “We didn’t tell you that.”
Eric pointed to the floor. “Brown bag, newspaper, and the same packaging. I simply surmised that you had recently opened it. The Kewpie would have fit conveniently inside the box. Quite a sleuth, I must admit.”
