Gretchen Birch Boxed Set (Books 1-4)

by Deb Baker

  “I think you’re marvelous,” Caroline said.

  “You’re supposed to say that. You’re my mother.”

  Nina looked over at Caroline, who had three tarot cards clutched to her chest. “You have to show me the cards. This isn’t rummy.”

  Caroline slapped the cards down on top of the deck and gave Nina a miffed glance. “I think Gretchen needs a reading more than I do,” she said. “Come on, Gretchen, draw the cards.”

  Nina nodded encouragingly, and Gretchen reluctantly went along with their wish if for no other reason than to diffuse an argument. “Not good,” she said, after looking at her cards and laying out a ghostly, black-clad figure. “I drew something bad.”

  “The death card,” Nina said with significant meaning.

  Great. Just what I need. The death card.

  Nina watched her lay out the remaining cards. “That isn’t necessarily bad.”

  “But what can be good about dying? There isn’t anything positive about it from my point of view.”

  “I’ll tell you in a minute.” Nina broke into a big grin when she saw the other cards. “I’m so glad you drew the two knights.” She reached for her instruction booklet and paged through. Gretchen and Caroline exchanged looks, neither taking Nina as seriously as she took herself. After a few minutes, Nina set down the booklet and cleared her voice. “The knight of cups means an opportunity will soon arise. I’m thinking something like a proposal. A marriage proposal.”

  “Oh, come on. You made that last part up.”

  Nina looked offended. “The card holds the meaning; I’m simply the interpreter. I have to read the significance of the card. Don’t think for a minute it’s easy.” She turned her attention back to the cards. “And the knight of swords signifies courage, so you will have the strength to handle whatever is coming your way.”

  “And the death card?”

  “Means you must clear away the old to make room for the new.”

  Caroline clucked. “I like Gretchen’s reading.”

  Nina nodded. “Me, too. It sounds like a romance is in your future. And you’ll have the courage to overcome your fear of men.”

  “I’m not afraid of men.”

  “Or…” Caroline offered, “it could mean you are on the right path in your quest for the truth, and you will handle the outcome just fine.”

  “What about the death card in that case?” Gretchen asked her mother, keeping an eye on the blackness of the card. She had goose bumps on her arms in spite of the warming rays of sun.

  “Nina’s right,” her mother said, dodging. “It doesn’t have to be in a physical sense.”

  Nina glanced up from her booklet. “But sometimes it does mean death.”

  Wonderful! “I should take a vacation,” Gretchen said.

  “Why don’t you go shopping with Nina?” Caroline recommended.

  “Okay.”

  “And tomorrow you can help me in the workshop.”

  “Terrific idea.” A day in the workshop with her mother always made Gretchen feel whole again.

  “According to the cards,” Nina stage-whispered to her, still pondering the three cards, “you have to follow the trail of the incriminating wallpaper. It’s the key to everything.”

  Gretchen stared down at the cards. “Where does it say that?”

  “Nina,” Caroline said sharply. “I’ve had time to think over Charlie’s murder and the potential danger. We should let the police handle everything.”

  “Okay, okay.” Nina scooped up the three cards and returned them to the deck. “Let’s take the pooches to the Biltmore Fashion Park for doggy treats. We’ll even pick up April and Enrico.”

  “We’ll talk strategy after we pick up April,” she whispered later, surrounded by an enormous amount of baggage in the form of two little, bitty animals.

  Gretchen climbed into the passenger seat of the Impala, thrilled that April was back in Nina’s good graces and all was as it should be.

  ****

  Gretchen chuckled to herself as the trio strolled through the open-air mall with their pooches skipping along beside them. They weren’t the only ones out with their dogs. A Great Dane sniffed curiously at Tutu, who stuck her nose in the air. Nimrod passed the enormous canine with great caution. Enrico snarled menacingly. Foolish, since the Great Dane could wolf him down in one gulp.

  Nina headed into the doggie bakery and purchased cookies for the dogs.

  “I’m buying Gretchen a new doggy purse at the boutique,” Nina said.

  “What’s wrong with my old one?”

  “Nimrod is growing. He needs his own carrier.”

  Nina selected a black carrier designed to look exactly like a purse. “See,” she said, twirling with it on her shoulder. “It has a removable bottom and mesh side panels, so he can go incognito anytime he wants to and still see out.”

  Gretchen scooped up the miniature teacup poodle and placed him inside the carrier. “He likes it,” she said, when he stuck his head out the top and wagged his tail.

  “It’s yours then,” Nina exclaimed, heading for the checkout counter. “Your purse can be free for your own things. No more sharing.”

  “You mean I need two purses now?” This wasn’t good. Soon she would have as much to tote as Nina. Gretchen preferred being as unencumbered as possible.

  “Of course,” April piped up, feeding a doggie cookie to Enrico. “That’s the whole point.”

  “I think I’ll buy a purse to match Nimrod’s,” Gretchen said. “Something small and black.”

  “After that,” Nina announced, handing Gretchen her new puppy carrier. “I have a surprise. We’re going over to Britt’s house for coffee. She invited me, but I thought it would be fun to take you along. She won’t mind.”

  April clapped her hands in glee. “Oh, goody. I want to start making my own dolls. Britt’s going to help me get started. This is exciting.”

  “Shouldn’t you call her and ask if you can bring guests?” Gretchen asked. “We can’t just barge it.”

  “Sure we can,” Nina said. “Besides, we’re investigating kitchens, and we haven’t seen hers yet.”

  “That Maize kid did it,” April said with conviction. “End of story.”

  “I’m not so sure,” Gretchen said. “But I’m really through traipsing around. We didn’t sign on to get blown to bits. Our job was over when the window exploded and the display disintegrated.”

  April laughed. “She’s just as dramatic as you,” she said to Nina.

  Nina laughed along, considering that a compliment.

  Gretchen glared at her friends. “And I was almost macheted to death by Bernard’s wife.”

  “Macheted isn’t a proper verb,” Nina said. “But I get your drift. Some people aren’t cut out for extreme adventure.”

  “You weren’t the one facing that wacko, with no place to run.”

  “Trust me,” Nina cooed. “We’re only going to peek at Britt’s kitchen while we visit. What’s the harm in that?”

  “If I recall correctly, you said the same thing right before Bernard’s wife tried to butcher me.”

  “The cards were clear; the quest must continue,” Nina said. “If you aren’t up to it, I’ll carry on without you.”

  “I’ll help because we’re friends.” April said. “But the kid did it.”

  “I heard,” Nina said, “that killers who use poison usually get away with their crimes unless they continue to poison victims. Then they start leaving trails.”

  “Like Arsenic Anna,” Gretchen agreed. “I’ve been reading about her, and the psychology behind killers like her. Arsenic Anna was a psychopath, and according to what I’m reading, psychopaths aren’t insane. They kill because they lack a conscience.”

  “That qualifies as crazy in my book,” April said.

  “Arsenic Anna maintained her innocence right up until the very end when they threw the switch. But she wrote letters that weren’t opened until after the execution. In them, she explained how she kill
ed those old men. Rat poison in oysters, in orange juice. She even tried to kill a woman who lived near one of her victims by poisoning an ice cream cone.”

  “Do you think a psychopath murdered Charlie?” Nina asked.

  “I don’t know,” Gretchen admitted. “That’s why we should stay out of it.”

  “Better yet,” April said. “Don’t accept any food or drink from anyone.”

  “Here poochies,” Nina called. “Let’s go. Should we drop you at home, Gretchen?”

  Gretchen sighed, remembering that there was safety in numbers. “I’ll come along.”

  “She’s back in,” April said, grinning.

  Chapter 30

  Melany Gleeland has a truly horrible secret. It’s almost bigger than she can handle by herself, which is why she has to get away from Phoenix—anyway she can, by any means available.

  Whatever it takes.

  Melany fingers the knot of the black do-rag in her hand. Do-rags. Everybody’s doing do-rags: cancer patients hiding bald heads during chemo treatments, hip-hop groups, bikers to prevent helmet head. Black is the hot color. You’ve seen one, you’ve seen them all. Her biker boyfriend wears one under his helmet. This could be his.

  She can’t get out of this city fast enough. She hates everything about it: the brown smog that hovers over Phoenix, breathing in toxins right along with oxygen, unbelievable pollen counts, new allergies assaulting her sinus passages daily. Then there’s the blinding, unrelenting heat from the sun, no shade anywhere, the weather forecasters predicting a significant change in temperature, as if a drop of four degrees is national news.

  And her mother. If she doesn’t leave right now, she might do something to hurt the witch. Like set her hair on fire while she’s bent over her precious kiln. Give her head a blast of flammable hairspray, and whoof. Up she goes. Problem solved in one big incendiary moment.

  She really hates her mother’s perfectly symmetrical face. Melany is homely, according to Mommy Dearest, because her features aren’t balanced properly. Look at Melany’s face from one side, then the other, and you can see the problem. Symmetry is the secret to real beauty. Draw a line down the middle of your face. The sides should match.

  How unfortunate for Melany.

  Poor girl.

  Chapter 31

  Britt Gleeland had converted a wing of her home into a doll-making studio. Gretchen didn’t see any dolls on display when she walked through the living area, which she considered unusual for a doll collector. She did manage to get a glance at the kitchen and saw wallpaper in colors that seemed to match the unknown room box, but she was too far away to see the pattern. She had to find an opportunity to get closer.

  Nina jabbed her in the ribs and raised her brow. She’d seen, too.

  “I’m so excited to be here,” April gushed when she saw the doll-making workshop. She headed for a long table in the center of the room, which was filled with tiny projects in various stages of completion.

  “My class meets every Thursday,” Britt said. “I have seven students at the moment, but they are in the middle of their projects. It would be impossible for you to catch up at this point.”

  “When does your next class begin?” April plopped down and dreamily fingered the miniature pieces.

  “In a few weeks. I like to have a full table of students before I start. Why don’t I call you?”

  April barely heard her. She was completely mesmerized by her surroundings.

  Gretchen had to admit that the miniatures were extremely captivating. She’d devoted her career to restoration of full-sized antiques, but she understood April’s fascination. Someday she might take a doll-making class herself.

  “Who would like coffee?” Britt asked. Every hair in her twist was right where it should be.

  Nina cast a sly eye at Gretchen. “We all would love some,” she said. “I’ll help you in the kitchen.”

  “No need; it’s right here. Come sit.” Sure enough, a carafe filled with coffee and all the trimmings sat on a round table to the side of the worktable.

  Gretchen and Nina exchanged warning glances. Now what? Britt would expect them to drink the coffee. Gretchen solved the problem by offering to pour, after which the women watched Britt take small sips. Once she had drunk half of the coffee in her own cup, the others joined in.

  While they chatted, Gretchen tried to think of anything that might be missing from the coffee supplies so she could follow Britt into the kitchen to retrieve them. But the doll maker had been thorough, even including honey, rich cream, and raw sugar on the service tray.

  Gretchen was determined to get a good look at the kitchen. “Excuse me, please,” she said. “May I use your bathroom?”

  “Of course, it’s right over there.” Britt waved toward the back of the studio.

  Foiled again, Gretchen went through the motions now required of her and entered the bathroom. The room was starkly functional, designed for Britt’s students, not for her personal use. None of the cabinets contained potions or poisons.

  When Gretchen came out, the coffee klatch had moved to the kiln. “This kiln can reach well over two thousand degrees,” Britt said to an impressed audience. “The control is mounted on the wall over near the door to keep it safe from the heat. I lock the kiln for safety when the class isn’t using it.”

  “It looks like a big washtub,” Nina said.

  “Like an old-fashion washing machine,” April agreed.

  Nina made a move to lift the cover.

  Britt grabbed her wrist, striking out swiftly, as though she’d anticipated Nina’s intent. “I have pieces cooling inside. If you open it, they might crack.”

  “Cool air meeting hot air,” April said, picking up a pair of safety goggles with green lenses and trying them on. “Basic physics.”

  Britt’s daughter Melany appeared in the doorway. “I’m going now,” she said, staring at her mother, seemingly unaware that she had company. Britt hurried over and gave her a hug. Melany stiffened. She didn’t move to return the embrace.

  Britt’s fingers fluttered to her French twist, nervously feeling for renegade locks.

  Again, Gretchen noticed the contrast in the two women. Melany went for the no-makeup, rumpled look, almost in direct opposition to her mother’s organized, proper appearance. Was she acting out? Was it a passive-aggressive stance?

  Once Melany was gone, Britt moved her guests to another table. “These are some of my works in progress. I go through six stages of painting and firing. See these? The initial firing makes the porcelain pink, but not a flesh-colored pink like I want. I keep adding colors. They become richer and more natural looking with every firing.”

  “What if I make a mistake?” April asked.

  “Then you use paint thinner to start over.” Britt’s voice had become tutorial. “Over here I’m cutting out eye sockets, and over here I’ve just cut out the crown of this doll’s head.”

  “And you made earring holes,” April exclaimed, beside herself with joy. So much for a working crime partner. One of Charlie’s angels had gone to heaven.

  While Britt preened under the rays of April’s worship, Gretchen studied Britt’s doll-making tools. Gretchen didn’t feel the same warmth for the doll maker as April did. What if the Britt and Bernard were accomplices?

  Gretchen felt a twinge of conscience for being mean-spirited. While Bernard had stolen from her, and she had a good reason to distrust him, Britt hadn’t done anything remotely suspicious. She’d try harder to like her, after she got a good look at Britt’s kitchen. She’d make more of an effort. That was, if the wallpaper didn’t match.

  Some of Britt’s tools were familiar to Gretchen: stringing clamps, body paint to give doll body’s an antique look, hooks and pliers. The studio was also well-stocked with supplies different from Gretchen’s: modeling clays and a variety of molds.

  When Gretchen needed to replace a part, she had to find an original from the same time period. Too bad she couldn’t just whip up a copy in Britt’s kil
n. Her serious antique collectors would know instantly that she had cheated.

  “That’s an incising tool,” Britt said, appearing next to her. “It’s used to mark the creator’s name on the doll. We have to be very careful that a reproduction isn’t mistaken for an original.”

  Gretchen held up a scalpel. Nina, she suddenly noticed, was missing from the room. The bathroom door was open, so she wasn’t in there. Her stealthy aunt had vanished into the interior of the house.

  “I have all different sizes in the drawer below it,” Britt said.

  Taking that as permission, Gretchen opened the drawer. It was filled with scalpels and syringes. She reminded herself that Britt was a doll maker and that scalpels and syringes were important tools of her trade.

  She opened the next drawer. More knives. “Quite a collection.” She held up a knife. The handle bore the steel image of a feather.

  “That’s a Native American feather knife. It belonged to my grandfather.”

  Gretchen used the contents of the drawers as a distraction to cover for Nina. “What do you use this one for?” Where was Nina?

  Finally she caught a flash of pink behind Britt.

  Nina’s jeweled fingers reached in and closed a drawer. “We should be going,” Nina said.

  “Thank you for stopping by.” Britt said, showing them out a back door. “April, I’ll call you as soon as I have enough students signed up for a class. And Nina, call me.”

  “Well?” Gretchen said when they were in the car. “Was it the kitchen?”

  “Same general colors as the room box wallpaper, but the border isn’t teapots, its grapes.”

  “Good work, partner,” Gretchen said. “Another elimination.”

  “Check that Maize kid’s house,” April advised. “I’m sure he did it.”

  “The drug house is next on our list of kitchen stops,” Nina said.

  “Ryan Maize didn’t kill his mother,” Gretchen insisted.

  “He’s the most obvious suspect,” April said from the front seat. “He was stoned out of his mind on drugs, he’s violent…I saw him hit you…he threw a Mali-something cocktail and almost blew us up.”