Gretchen Birch Boxed Set (Books 1-4)

by Deb Baker

  FORTY-TWO

  Gretchen sat on a bench on Central Avenue. The scorching heat had vanished, leaving Phoenix ready for November’s perfect weather. Another month or two, and the snowbirds would flock in.

  She watched Steve walk toward her and braced for the inevitable.

  “Why here?” he said, stopping and sitting down beside her. “Neutral territory?”

  She nodded, biting her lower lip. She had picked the center of Phoenix for that very reason.

  No tears! she reminded herself sternly.

  “My plane leaves in two hours,” he said. “I don’t have much time. Are you sure you won’t change your mind and come back with me?”

  Gretchen stared at the concrete sidewalk. “I’m sure. It’s over for us.”

  “I’m sorry,” Steve said. “For everything.”

  “I know. So am I.” Gretchen raised her eyes to meet his. “Have all charges been dropped?”

  “Yes. My reputation has been restored. But my pride has been damaged beyond repair.”

  That was the old Steve she knew best. He’d pursued her all the way across the country because of hurt pride, not real love. He’d get over it the first time a pretty woman strolled by and showed interest.

  “Did you find out why Duanne Wilson stuck the knife in Ronny’s back?” Steve asked.

  “He saw it lying on my table,” Gretchen replied. “It was an afterthought, to cast suspicion on the doll dealers.”

  “It certainly complicated my life.”

  They sat in silence for a few minutes, then Steve rose. He didn’t try to kiss her goodbye, for which she was grateful.

  Gretchen wiped away a tear as she watched him walk away.

  Someone slid onto the bench. “Hey, doggie.”

  Gretchen looked over at Daisy as Nimrod pounced on the homeless woman’s lap.

  Swathed in her red and purple regalia, Daisy went about her business of feeding tiny crumbs of bread to a flock of pigeons. Nimrod sat contentedly on her lap watching the birds waddle beneath him, pecking at the ground.

  “Come home with me,” Gretchen said. “My mother invited you.”

  “It’s nice to have her home,” Daisy said.

  “I really missed her,” Gretchen agreed. “She could hardly believe what happened while she was gone. I’m glad everything was resolved before I had to tell her.”

  Daisy looked down the street. “There he is,” she said. “Told you he’d show up.”

  Albert, his limp less noticeable today, joined them on the bench, scooting next to Gretchen.

  “You look like you’re healing,” she said.

  “It’s not bad.”

  “You’re the one who sent the Kewpies to me.” She studied the fading bruises on his face.

  “How did you know?”

  “Your sister gave you some of her dolls and tools.”

  Albert looked surprised. “You do know Susan.”

  “No,” Gretchen said. “I guessed after I looked her up on the Internet. That’s how I found out she’s a doll reproductionist.”

  “She used to pay me to help her in her shop before she moved away,” Albert said.

  “I told you she was famous,” Daisy said.

  “The ground-off Kewpie feet were clever touches. What if I’d missed it?” Gretchen asked.

  “You wouldn’t have.”

  “You knew what was happening when Brett and Ronny were killed. You tried to warn me with the note on a napkin.”

  Albert nodded. “Ronny had a big mouth. He liked to sound important, even to me, so he told me the diamond story. And I was at the auction and saw things. It was easy to figure out what was happening.” He threw an arm over the back of the bench, and the smell of body odor drifted toward Gretchen.

  Albert Thoreau was one of the city’s invisible residents. No one paid any attention to Phoenix’s homeless. Albert had been in the background all the time, and no one had noticed.

  “I saw those two men arguing at the auction,” he said. “And I took the box of dolls. I couldn’t help myself. I took it.”

  “And he asked me to hide it for him after that guy pretending to be a cop beat him up,” Daisy said.

  “Did you know what was inside?” Gretchen asked her.

  “I was pretty sure.”

  “Albert doesn’t care about material things,” Daisy said. “But he’s a very sentimental guy.”

  Gretchen studied Albert. “Why didn’t you just tell me what was happening?”

  “You would have believed a drunken bum?”

  “Of course.”

  Albert snorted, and Gretchen was silent.

  “I didn’t want to see you hurt,” he said. “You look so much like my sister. Same nose, same hair…”

  Gretchen sat awhile on the downtown bench, sandwiched between Daisy and Albert, and watched traffic go by.

  So much for intuition and first impressions.

  Milt Wood had given her the creeps, and he’d turned out to be nothing worse than pompous and arrogant.

  Brett, the faithful auctioneer’s assistant, had been part of the scheme to steal the diamonds.

  The cold, heartless killer was the jolly old elf with the twinkle in his eyes.

  And the homeless alcoholic sitting next to her, exuding ripe, unsavory odors, had tried to save her life the only way he knew how.

  People were full of surprises.

  A pigeon landed on the back of the bench. Nimrod yipped, and it flew down to Daisy’s feet.

  At the moment, life was good.

  Tonight, Gretchen would have dinner with Matt Albright. He’d asked, and she’d accepted. She planned to keep it casual and friendly. After all, he was still married.

  Howie, ten-gallon hat and all, would continue to call his auctions, and Nina’s new friend, Eric, had promised to keep in touch with the psychic diva.

  Nina might have a special gift for reading auras, but Gretchen would stick to what she knew best: restoring treasures.

  She stood up and hoped she could find her way home without getting lost.

  A workshop filled with dolls awaited her.

  THE END

  DOLLY DEPARTED

  (A Gretchen Birch Murder Mystery)

  by

  Deb Baker

  Chapter 1

  Gretchen Birch was still several blocks from the doll shop when Charlene Maize, better known to her friends as Charlie, failed to suck in enough air to feed her panicking brain and various other vital organs. She keeled over in the center of her miniature doll shop, Mini Maize, amid the clutter from a tipped display case. Charlie took the dive in full view of a group of Parada del Sol spectators gathered in front of the shop’s window to watch Old Scottsdale’s largest western parade.

  No one noticed.

  A marching band, passing at that precise moment, struck up the familiar Latin beat of “Louie, Louie,” and people along the parade route swayed and bopped to the music.

  Caught up in the swell of humanity, Gretchen was running late and if enough hadn’t gone wrong already, her teacup poodle, Nimrod, was slowing her down even more.

  “Here comes the parade!” someone shouted as Gretchen hurried past a crowded corner on her way to Mini Maize. Nimrod, all five inches and three pounds of black puppy fur, heard his cue. He pitched his fluffy body out of Gretchen’s purse. She frantically grabbed for the pup, managing to break his fall to the pavement. Then she lost her grasp, and Nimrod shot off toward the street.

  Every time the miniature pup heard the word parade at home, he headed for the kitchen doggy door, burst through into the backyard, and trotted around the perimeter of the privacy fence that encircled the pool, barking away as though he was the grand master of a parade. It was a cute stunt at home, but out in public…well, she’d never expected it to be an issue.

  Gretchen raced after the wayward canine, jostling past a rowdy group on the curb who had obviously started partying well before the ten o’clock a.m. parade began. One reveler almost stepped on Nimrod.r />
  “Watch out for the puppy!” she yelled. “Don’t move!” No one heard her. “Help!” she screamed, imagining the worst as she lost sight of Nimrod. “Catch him!” A few people turned and stared at her, but no one jumped to her assistance.

  Gretchen burst through to the front of the parade line, knocking over a lawn chair and almost falling across an elderly couple sharing a sun umbrella. She saw Nimrod dart back into the street directly in front of the parade’s lead vehicle, a Scottsdale police cruiser.

  The squad car, strobe lights flashing in honor of the event, jerked to a halt, and a uniformed Scottsdale police officer jumped out.

  Nimrod scampered for the other side of the street, where he was instantly enveloped in a circle of kids. Gretchen waded in, not far behind him.

  “You’ve disrupted the parade, lady, you know that?” the cop said. “I ought to write you up for having an unleashed animal. Move back and try to stay out of the way!” He hurried back to his car, slammed the squad door, and began to edge forward.

  Gretchen and Nimrod ended up on the wrong side of the street, forced to wait for the parade to pass. Parada del Sol, Spanish for walk in the sun, was a spectacle to behold on this warm and brilliant February morning. The world’s largest horse-drawn parade meandered down Scottsdale Road. Cowboys on horseback pranced by, and women in carriages threw candy into the crowd. Kids scrambled off the curb, grabbing Tootsie Rolls and bubble gum. Giant floats rambled along, trailed by clowns rolling wheelbarrows and cleaning up behind the horses.

  While Gretchen watched, she had plenty of time to blame her absent Aunt Nina for teaching Nimrod such a useless trick. Purse dog trainer extraordinaire Nina hadn’t anticipated problems, either.

  “Don’t you just love a parade?” someone said behind them. Gretchen had another tangle with Nimrod, but she was ready this time and held him back.

  On the other side of the street, Joseph Reiner make his way through the crowd in the same direction the parade traveled. He was hard to miss in a pink, short-sleeved, button-down shirt and yellow shorts. Joseph’s Dream Dolls was one of Gretchen’s favorite doll shops, but Joseph did tend to dress like a parrot.

  He looked her way. She waved, but he continued on without seeing her. Hadn’t he received one of Charlie’s mysterious invitations? She was sure her mother had mentioned his name, but he was headed in the wrong direction. Odd.

  Gretchen cuddled Nimrod and waited impatiently for the parade to pass. She’d be late for the party, and Charlie had stressed the importance of being on time for a grand unveiling at Mini Maize. Ten sharp, she’d written in the invitation.

  When the last horse-drawn float rolled past, Gretchen stuffed Nimrod back in her purse and made for the other side, weaving among the straggling, shovel-clenching clowns. She ran right into one of them, bouncing off an enormous stuffed stomach. She fell sideways, clutching Nimrod and the purse protectively to her chest.

  “Watch where you’re going,” the clown said, not bothering to stop or to help her up. Gretchen saw a bald head with two large patches of green hair protruding from the sides like clumps of moldy cotton candy. The clown loomed over her momentarily, and then waddled away, a purple sack slung over a shoulder and enormous red feet flapping.

  “Thanks a lot,” Gretchen muttered, rising and brushing herself off. What else could possibly go wrong? Today was turning out to be one of those days when absolutely nothing went right.

  By the time she arrived at Charlie’s doll shop, it was almost eleven o’clock, and quite a crowd had gathered in front of the store. Most of the other parade-goers along the route were drifting away from the curb to explore the shops of Old Scottsdale or head for the party at Trail’s End.

  “She didn’t open up,” a man said when Gretchen edged through and tried the door to Mini Maize. It was locked.

  “That can’t be right,” Gretchen said, holding her invitation in the air. “I’m invited to a special celebration.” She noticed a posted sign. “It says the shop opens at ten.”

  “We all have invitations,” the same man said. “Maybe Charlie’s sick.”

  “She has a bad heart, you know,” said a woman with an enormous straw sunhat and dimpled cheeks.

  Gretchen had known about Charlie Maize’s heart condition. When the invitation arrived a week ago, her mother, Caroline, had filled her in on the doll shop owner’s health situation. A recent physical had prompted the diagnosis. Immediately afterwards, Charlie had arranged for the celebration at her shop, as though she worried that her time was near and she had one last wish.

  “Oh my Gawd!” A woman nearest to the window shouted.

  Another woman screamed. “She’s on the floor!”

  “Where?”

  “Right over there! In the middle of all that doll furniture. Looks like a display tipped over.”

  “We have to get inside and help her!”

  Gretchen couldn’t get anywhere near the window to see for herself. Not that she wanted to. Emergencies made her feel totally helpless. Next time she had an opportunity, she promised herself, she would take a CPR class and learn how to save people.

  “Someone call nine-one-one!”

  Maybe she could help by making the emergency call. Standing next to the locked door, Gretchen dug in her purse past Nimrod’s tiny body. His head poked out of her bag, taking in the situation. She pulled out her cell phone, dialed the emergency number, and gave the dispatcher as much information as possible.

  As she ended the call, a man with a full head of white hair and a white mustache that reminded Gretchen of Geppetto pushed through on his way to the shop’s door.

  “Bernard!” the big-hat lady called out shrilly. “I think that’s Charlie on the floor inside, and the door is locked. Do you have a key?”

  “Of course I do, Evie.”

  “Quick then. Hurry.”

  The crowd pushed closer. Once the door was unlocked, the entire mass surged in behind Gretchen, who was front and center whether she wanted to be or not. “Give us room, please,” Bernard shouted.

  “I’m a doctor,” someone called from the back. “Can I help?”

  “Let the man through!”

  People continued to flow into the shop. Unwilling to look at the woman sprawled so close to her, Gretchen inched sideways to give the doctor space to work. She glanced around the miniature doll shop with a trained eye, taking in all the sights in the mini wonderland. Dollhouses lined one side of the shop and display cases were stuffed with every imaginable furnishing from every era: tiny Oriental rugs, little dishes, platters of food, flower arrangements, pictures for small-scale walls, and of course, miniature dolls.

  Her eyes roamed to the floor involuntarily. She caught a glimpse of one of the fallen woman’s legs, splayed at an awkward angle. The toes of Charlie’s sandaled feet were motionless. Sirens wailed in the distance, growing louder.

  The doctor, crouching beside Charlie, changed position, blocking the woman from view. Gretchen edged away. The doctor spoke to someone, but she couldn’t make out his words.

  Evie, the big-hat woman, let out a piercing screech. “She’s dead. Charlie’s dead!”

  There was a collective gasp from everyone inside the shop followed by a moment of silence. No one knew what to say or what to do next.

  Gretchen stepped around several pieces of dollhouse furniture, heading for the door, desperately needing fresh air. She cast her eyes to the floor, so she wouldn’t step on any of the scattered items.

  Gretchen stopped abruptly and stared down.

  One of the items…it couldn’t be.

  But it was.

  Gretchen was looking at a miniature axe with a dab of red paint along the blade. She stepped gingerly around it and made for the exit, feeling nauseous.

  ****

  A Scottsdale police cruiser pulled up to the curb.

  “What’s going on here?” the cop said, unfolding from the squad car. He squinted at Gretchen and then frowned. “I know you. Is trouble following you around,
or are you starting it?”

  Just my luck. It was the same cop who had threatened her with a ticket at the start of the parade.

  “A doctor is inside,” she said with a catch in her voice. “Charlie Maize is dead. She had a bad heart.”

  “Stay put,” he said, heading inside. “I’ll need your name and a statement.”

  An ambulance rounded the corner and stopped on the street, lights flashing and siren wailing. The sound died away, but the colored lights continued to rotate. Two paramedics jumped out, pulled equipment from the back of the ambulance, and hurried inside.

  The cop came out of Mini Maize a few minutes later, as another squad car arrived. He shook his head when two female officers joined him. “You,” he said to one of the officers, “get in there and contain the crowd.”

  “Shop was all locked up,” he said to the other cop. “And what do they do? They find a key, unlock the door, and storm in. Must be fifteen of them inside, touching everything, kicking little pieces of furniture around. Nobody, not one of them, ever thinks they might be contaminating a crime scene.”

  He shook his head again and fiddled with the top of his holster as though the possibility of a rapid draw was always on his mind. “I have them all backed up against the far wall with their hands in their pockets. I need assistance. The doctor who examined her doesn’t think it was her heart. We’re treating it as a crime scene unless we find out differently.”

  Gretchen stood next to the shop’s window, watching and waiting while the officer rushed in. The cop from the parade glanced through the window. She thought about the tone of authority he’d used. When other emergency vehicles arrived, he was the one who gave them directions. Equipment was carted past her; cameras, a tripod, video recorders, and something that looked like a large toolbox.

  Gretchen slid along the side of the shop, planning to make her escape unnoticed. The cop turned as if on cue and stared at her. “Come over here,” he said. Gretchen eased off the wall.

  “Let’s hear your side of it. And you,” he nodded to the officer who remained outside, “go inside and make sure none of them get away before we have a chance to talk to them. Handcuff them, duct tape them up in a big ball if you have to. Whatever it takes. And tell them we’ll arrest anyone we catch touching any of the dolls. Touching anything, for that matter.” He looked back at Gretchen. “Well?”