by Deb Baker
She looked up and down the street, a tiny sliver of fear traversing her spine.
She made another phone call, gave the package wide berth when she entered the house, and sat down to wait for April to arrive.
TWENTY-SIX
“Why me?” April said, her voice expressing flattered pleasure. She wore her salt-and-pepper hair tied back in a big scrunchy and another tent-sized muumuu, royal blue this time and patterned with hummingbirds.
“That’s what I’ve been saying to myself ever since these packages started arriving,” Gretchen replied. “Why me? The answer continues to elude me.”
“I mean, why did you call me instead of Nina? You two are usually tight as a pair of jeans on a teenager.”
“I called you first because you’ve been in the doll business your whole life, and I need an experienced, critical eye.”
“You also want me to open this package, and you know that Nina would have wimped out, leaving you to do it yourself. One more hidden message, and she’ll fall apart.”
“Will you just open it, April?”
“What if it’s a mail bomb?”
“None of the others were.” Gretchen began to regret her decision to ask April for help, but she couldn’t have faced the task by herself.
Both of them eyed the package. The first two Kewpies had been delivered to the doll show. This one had her name on the label and, worse, her home address. No escaping the fact that this one was meant exclusively and irrefutably for her. No generic “current resident” feel to it like the ones at the show.
“Sent on Saturday. The day you got the first one.” April ripped brown paper away to reveal a square, dirty-looking box. “Don’t worry, this is the last one you’re going to get.”
“How do you know that?” Gretchen’s eyes were riveted to the box.
“Everything comes in threes.”
“You’ve been hanging around with my aunt again.”
“I always believed in the rule of three.” April ran her fingernail under a piece of tape holding the top of the box closed, opened the cover, and peeked inside. “For example,” she said, removing an object wrapped in a brown paper bag. “You’ve received three packages, so this is the last one, and there have been three deaths, Ronny, Brett, and this Percy fellow. Three murders, so we’re all done with those.”
“That’s reassuring.”
“Unless another set of threes begins.” April didn’t attempt to open the paper bag. “And you could be the first in the new trio.”
“April, you’re a breath of fresh air,” Gretchen said with only a mild hint of sarcasm. “Now open it before I explode.”
“That’s why my parents named me April. I was born in April on a fine spring day.” She tried to hand the wrapped object to Gretchen. “You finish opening it. I’ve done my fair share.” When Gretchen refused to take it, she set it on the table between them.
April said, “You’re approaching this from a very negative angle, like you think something evil is lurking inside. I think the exact opposite; someone is trying to help you find the truth.”
“Then that person could just speak up. Ring me on my cell phone and lay it all out. That would be the way I’d handle it.”
April put her hands on her hips. “Well, everybody isn’t like you. Maybe this person is scared of retribution or retaliation.”
“Retribution is the same as retaliation.”
“Are you going to open it or not?”
Gretchen gingerly picked at the bag, lowered her head to the edge of the table, and looked inside.
“It’s Doodle Dog, isn’t it,” April said, knowingly, impressed with her own analytical skills.
Gretchen pulled out a Kewpie dog, a replica of the one Rosie O’Neill had sketched for the first time almost one hundred years ago. Doodling rough drawings of her beloved Boston terrier the Kewpie dog had materialized under her guiding hand.
White with large black spots, one big spot on the top of his head. Happiness radiated from his glowing little face. A happiness Gretchen was finding it hard to share.
“Well,” she said, shoving the dog at April. “Is it worth anything?”
April grabbed the reading glasses that hung from a chain around her neck, placed them on the tip of her nose, and tilted her head. “Interesting.” She took the dog and turned it over. “It’s not bisque, so it isn’t one of the original pieces. This one’s made of porcelain, rather than hard plastic. Hmm….”
She removed her glasses. “Wasn’t worth much even before someone snapped off the back leg. See right there?” She ran her hand along the dog’s haunches. “Glued back on.”
Gretchen groaned and covered her eyes, elbows spread wide on the table.
“Are those green chile burgers I smell?” April said, sniffing the air, returning Doodle Dog to the table, and zeroing in on the bag lying on the kitchen counter.
“Help yourself,” Gretchen said, splaying her fingers helplessly and studying the Kewpie dog.
“You want one?” April asked, cramming the burger in as if she hadn’t eaten for a week.
Gretchen waved her over, and they sat and ate and stared at the Kewpie dog.
“Kind of cold,” April observed, taking another big bite.
“I forgot I had them once I found the package.”
“It’s okay. Kewpies are fascinating,” April said, one cheek bulging. “In the early 1900s, women would pluck their eyebrows to imitate Kewpie brows. Kind of like surprised dots. That’s how popular the dolls were.”
Gretchen chewed but couldn’t taste the burger. All she could think about was what they would find inside the doll.
“You look white as a ghost,” April said.
“I don’t want to open the dog. I don’t want anything to do with this series of murders and packages. It gives me the creeps to think that someone is watching me.”
“You have to face your fears.”
“Easy for you to say. You aren’t the target.”
“I still have that hammer in the car,” April said. “Want me to get it?”
“No, we can use my tools in the workshop.”
“Are you going to eat that other one?” April seized the last green chile burger in one hand and the Doodle dog in the other and followed Gretchen into the workshop.
Wobbles appeared from nowhere, as usual, stretched himself long and lean, then rubbed against Gretchen’s legs. She stopped to give him just enough love and attention to hear his satisfied, deep-throated purr.
She missed Nimrod and wondered when Nina would return with him. A few months ago she would never have believed that she could adapt to a dog in the house. She wasn’t exactly canine friendly, preferring the solitary company of Wobbles to any yappy, attention-seeking dog. But there was something about the little guy…
“Are we going to do this, or are you going to play with your cat?” April dug through the toolbox, and before Gretchen could intervene, the woman had smashed the Kewpie dog wide open on the worktable. Bits of porcelain fell to the floor.
“April, I wanted to preserve as much of it as I could.”
“Wasn’t worth anything,” April insisted.
“Maybe we shouldn’t have touched it. The police could have dusted it for prints.”
April held up her hands in surrender. “We can stop right now and call Detective Albright.” Then she grinned. “He might have to perform a body search in case we’re withholding more evidence. That would be sweet.”
“Continue on, Miss Marple,” Gretchen said, wanting no part of Matt Albright. “We really don’t need the police.”
April extracted a piece of paper from inside the Kewpie dog and turned pale as she read it. She handed it to Gretchen.
“History repeats itself. You’re next unless you start thinking outside the same old box.”
Gretchen thought she might faint. The piece of paper floated to the floor. April bent and picked it up. “Do you still think someone’s trying to help me?” she asked April. “This…”
she motioned at April’s clutched hand. “…couldn’t be more threatening.”
The series of cryptic notes that had been delivered specifically for her carried a frightening message. A message she had to figure out. The first one, “Wag, the Dog”; then a name, “Percy O’Connor.” The napkin with the bold, startling word, “Pushed!” Now this, the most menacing of all: “History repeats itself. You’re next unless you start thinking outside the same old box.”
“What box is the note referring to?” April asked.
“I’m dead,” Gretchen said. “I gave away the box.”
“I’m really confused.” April sat down on a stool slowly, as though testing it in case it couldn’t hold her weight.
Gretchen filled in the missing events for April, describing the street chase and her decision to surrender the box, only to find out that the pursuer was Matt’s soon-to-be-ex-wife.
“I’ll never get it back now,” she moaned. “The woman probably threw it out when she found out it was only a box of broken doll pieces.”
“It’s gone for sure. She must think you’re the nut case.” April reread the note. “But this says to start thinking outside the same old box.”
“That’s the only box,” Gretchen pointed out.
“What about the other box, the one with the Ginny dolls?”
“Gone.”
“Maybe that’s the one you should be looking for.”
Gretchen heard the front door open and the familiar tapping of dog paws running down the hall. “Hey,” Nina called out. “Daisy and I are moving her things into Caroline’s spare bedroom, if that’s okay?”
“Great,” Gretchen called back. “Join us in the workshop when you’re finished.” Nimrod rounded the corner and literally jumped into her arms. “Welcome back, bud.”
A few minutes later Nina appeared. “Why does everyone look so glum?”
“Tell her,” April said.
Nina’s eyes grew wider when she spotted the smashed Kewpie dog. April handed her the message. Gretchen took a deep breath and related the parts Nina had missed.
The only thing Gretchen left out of her accounts was Daisy’s story about the homeless man’s savage beating by a cop. She didn’t know why she was keeping this to herself. Maybe she was protecting Matt’s reputation until there was more proof. Once certain members of the Phoenix Dollers heard, the news would travel like light rays in space. Besides, he was the club president’s son, and Bonnie deserved advance warning.
“I still think you should take what you know to the police,” Nina said. “Someone’s threatening your life.”
“Not necessarily,” April said, and repeated her theory that someone was trying to help solve the crimes. “One of the messages had Percy’s name inside. Right?”
“Right.” Gretchen was beginning to catch up with April’s reasoning now that the shock of the third package had subsided. “Why would the killer give me a clue like that? It doesn’t make sense.” She banged her open hand on the worktable. “April’s right. Someone’s trying to help.”
“Must be a mental case,” Nina said. “An escapee from the loony bin.”
Gretchen managed to shake a playful finger at her aunt. “Another socially unacceptable comment. Remember your pledge to be more sensitive.”
“I don’t remember making any such pledge.” Nina stooped and caught Nimrod as he ran past. “Want to see what he learned? This is amazing. He’s so smart for a puppy.”
Without waiting for a reply, she held him up and looked into his eyes. “Nimrod, parade.” She put him down and he bolted for the door leading to the pool, pushing through the tiny pet door. Gretchen could hear him barking. He continued to bark until he slid back through the opening and tried to climb up Gretchen’s ankles.
“What was he doing?”
“Parading around the back yard strutting his stuff,” Nina said. “Isn’t it cute?”
“My neighbor is going to have a fit,” Gretchen said. “She complains about me every chance she gets. And I don’t see the point.”
“Lighten up, niece, it’s for fun.”
April stood up. “Let’s go to Curves and catch up on gossip. Maybe we’ll learn something new.”
“And let’s bring Daisy along,” Gretchen said, confident that Daisy would eventually share more information. Gretchen had only to wait long enough and keep her close by.
“She can be my guest,” April said. “I need the points.”
“She has to join before you earn them,” Nina pointed out. “Based on her current income, do you really think she might sign up?”
“I’m taking my own car,” Gretchen said. “I have errands afterwards.”
“She’s ditching me again,” Nina said to April. “I just know it.” She looked at Gretchen. “Daisy can ride over with you. Until she takes a shower and washes her clothes, I’m keeping my distance. Even the dogs noticed. We had to ride over here with the windows open.”
“She’s showering right now,” April said. “Can’t you hear the water running?”
“We’ll wait for her.” Gretchen opened the patio doors leading to the swimming pool and cabana. “I have something that will fit her until she washes a load of laundry.”
As the women gathered their purses, dogs, and other paraphernalia, Gretchen waited in the workshop doorway, staring at the remnants of the porcelain dog that Rosie O’Neill had hoped would bring happiness to all who encountered it.
TWENTY-SEVEN
Lilly Beth Straddler stands in her front yard watering the miniature roses she has just planted. That landscape specialist really knows his stuff. Heavenly Days, that’s what he called this particular type of rose. Loves heat and sun and never goes dormant, he promised her.
She wipes a thin line of perspiration from her forehead. Must be a hundred and twenty outside, and here we are in October.
Lucky for her she decided to water them right away before they wilted, or she might have missed the whole thing. What with all the privacy walls surrounding the homes, it is almost impossible to keep up with what goes on in the neighborhood.
Hard to know what the neighbors even look like, no one being especially friendly. Walls everywhere. Not too conducive to chitchat from one yard to another.
Of course, she notices the truck parked on the street, and right away she knows it doesn’t belong to a repeat customer, although with that doll business they have going over there, anything is possible.
Why, she herself has personally filed a complaint over them operating out of the house like that. This subdivision isn’t zoned for retail, and that’s exactly what she said to the commissioner. Let them take their business where it belongs, she’d said. Dragging down property values, she’d argued. Setting a precedent. If it wasn’t stopped, pretty soon you’d have all kinds of business signs sprouting up on the lawns, and that would be the end of the neighborhood. Not that they had a doll sign out front, but who knew what they’d come up with next?
But it all fell on deaf ears. Probably bought off the judge.
She has finished soaking the roses when the police officer walks toward her from the other side of the house next door. Lilly Beth drops the hose, a wild jet of spray jumping back at her. She sidesteps and scurries over. What could it possibly be? A break-in? In this neighborhood? Lord help us.
“They just left,” she says, “that Birch girl and a bunch of other women. People traipsing in and out of that house at all hours, it’s a wonder they made it this long without trouble.”
She hears barking on the other side of the Birches’ door. Several different pitches of barks, which means a houseful of dogs. The noise from those animals! Lilly Beth wonders what the local rules are regarding pets. How many are legal? One? Two? Tomorrow she’ll follow up.
She taps her head with the palm of her hand. What is she thinking? She can follow up right this minute, since the proper authority is standing right before her.
“I think they own too many dogs. Do you know how many are…what’s the
word…legal?” she feels disappointed when he shakes his head. “Never mind, I’ll call down to the local station. Are you from the local station?”
The police officer strides forward, arms swinging loose and with authoritarian hands, she thinks, wide and powerful.
“Oh, hello, Lilly Beth,” someone calls from the sidewalk.
Drats, now all the other nosy neighbors are spilling out of their homes like ants following a crumb line. Janice Schmidt waves a greeting, glances at the police officer, and continues to move past, an extra-wide stroller rolling ahead of her with two sleeping toddlers inside.
Lilly Beth notices the police officer stop abruptly when he sees Janice, like the fizz went out of him or like he’d been bent on a task and then changed his mind.
“You need to go back in your house, ma’am,” he says, flashing a badge just like in the movies. “This is a homeland security issue, highly classified. Talk about it to anyone, and you risk prosecution.”
“Oh, my. Well, yes, of course, Officer.” He guides her along, pushing on her back, a little too hard, she thinks. “Anything I can do to help, you just call me. I’m a patriotic American, not like some I could mention.” She gives a meaningful glance back at the Birch house.
She opens her door. What a pushy officer. “I’ll keep close tabs on them for you,” she says. “Don’t you worry.”
He continues to stare at her house even after she backs away from the window. Then he gets into the truck and drives away, probably to return later with reinforcements. Strange that he didn’t drive a squad car, but maybe that was too obvious for homeland security. He wouldn’t want all the neighbors wondering why a police car was parked out front.
She hopes she hasn’t interfered. She does tend to rush in impulsively without thinking things through. If she had stayed on her own side, maybe he would have crashed down the door with one powerful, bionic-like leg, and seized evidence that would implicate her neighbor in some kind of international spy operation.
She vows to stay close to her window in case things heat up.
TWENTY-EIGHT
