Gretchen Birch Boxed Set (Books 1-4)

by Deb Baker

  The first time in years that Gretchen had received flowers from a man.

  “Please don’t tell me I made you cry.” Matt looked worried.

  “No. Thank you. I love them. What’s the occasion?”

  “Our four-month anniversary.”

  “Oh, okay.” Had it really been four months since his divorce was finalized? Since the day they had met on the mountain, at the halfway point?

  “Run,” he said, playfully. “Quick! The door is opening. They’re going to get me.”

  Gretchen turned to see that no one was following them before they trotted across the street, laughing like kids.

  This Great Coffee Place was her favorite coffee shop. A Costa Rican light roast and one of the shop’s scones was a small slice of heaven on earth. Matt ordered a cup of coffee, and Joan, the friendly proprietor, topped off Gretchen’s cup.

  “Great flowers,” someone called out.

  “You must have said yes,” from someone else.

  “Way to go, Gretchen.”

  Matt led her to the most private table he could find.

  “You know everyone in here,” he commented, taking the bouquet from her and laying it on the side of the table. “Is this where you hang out on a regular basis?”

  “It’s comfortable, has positive energy, and is convenient when I can’t stand working with the cast any longer.”

  “That bad?”

  “Worse.” Gretchen cut a chocolate chip scone in half and nibbled on tiny pieces of it. “What happened with Andy Thomasia?”

  “Under investigation, top secret.”

  “So he’s the prime suspect?”

  “Spouses, lovers, they always start out at the top of my list.”

  “Nina thinks you’re dealing with a killer who goes after doll collectors.”

  A small smile crept over his lips. He was always greatly amused by her aunt’s unusual take on life. “Nina would think that.”

  ‘Tell me what you’ve found so far.” Gretchen leaned across the table. “That is, unless it isn’t any of my business.”

  “I value your opinion mightily.” He leaned in to meet her. He kissed her nose, sending a bolt of electricity through her body. How would she react when they got past a few lip-locks? That unleashed bolt of power might kill her.

  Matt sat back. “LAPD is assisting. The victim had a small studio in her Los Angeles home where she made dolls. The artistry of the doll found at the crime scene is consistent with her other works. Did you know that Allison and Anthony Thomasia were estranged at the time of her death?”

  “No.” Gretchen’s mother would be interested in that bit of news.

  “She remained in their LA home. He rented an apartment. Recently, according to him, they were in the process of reconciling. He claims she invited him along to Phoenix. He’d hope to work things out between them while here.”

  “What about the homeless people in the cemetery?”

  “No help at all so far.”

  “Did you let all of them go?” Gretchen was thinking specifically of Nacho.

  “What a mess that was.” Matt studied his coffee cup as though remembering every detail with dread. “Seventeen potential witnesses without a single one of them admitting having heard or seen a thing. No drivers’ licenses, no state ID cards, no other kind of identification on any of them. All we could do was put them through the paces—photographs, fingerprint. We let them go.” He looked up at her. “You know some of those people. Maybe you can get them to talk to you.”

  “I tried. I haven’t seen Nacho, but Daisy claims she didn’t see or hear a thing, so they’re sticking with their story. Maybe they’re telling the truth.” A thought occurred to her. “Wait…does this mean you need me?”

  “I always need you, baby.”

  “I thought I was supposed to mind my own business.”

  “I never said that.”

  Men! “You implied it.”

  “Ahh, those nasty implications.”

  “Tell me again that you need my help.”

  “I,” Matt said with a great grin, “need your help. But only this one time.”

  Gretchen heard sirens in the distance, not an uncommon sound in one of the most congested cities in the country with a large, aging population. Sirens were as routinely heard as other traffic noises, yet the sound always reminded Gretchen of disaster. The sirens gave her pause to reflect on how lucky she was.

  “By the way,” Matt said. “There was a multiple-car accident near Twenty-fourth Street and Camelback. Stay clear of that area for awhile.”

  Chapter 15

  At first Gretchen thought the object under her windshield wiper was a parking ticket. Until she pulled it loose. She unfolded it and stared in shock at the words.

  Die, Dolly, Die.

  The letters had been individually cut out of newspaper print and glued together in a semi-straight line on a piece of white paper.

  The same words that had been written on the gravestone.

  A threat or a warning? A prediction of her future? Could Nina have left it to scare her into taking the tarot reading more seriously? No. Her aunt wouldn’t go that far.

  A prankster, maybe? The doll club members were known to pull practical jokes. But this one wasn’t funny. Not one bit.

  She looked up and down the sidewalk, scanning both sides of the street. What was she searching for exactly? A killer who targeted doll collectors as Nina had suggested? No one on either side of the street paid any attention to Gretchen. Those passing by seemed focused on their destinations, not on her reaction to a piece of paper. It had to be a bad joke.

  Inside the banquet hall, the cast was on stage, reading from their scripts, focusing much more intently than usual, which was highly suspicious. Their deep concentration had her convinced that they were up to something.

  “Who put this on my car?” Gretchen demanded, waving the paper in one hand, clutching the roses in the other. “And don’t pretend that you don’t know what I’m talking about.”

  “Shhh,” April whispered from Gretchen’s director’s chair. “Can’t you see we’re in the middle of rehearsal? And I think they’ve finally got it down pat. Keep going, crew.” She rose and grabbed Gretchen by the arm, pulling her away from the stage and guiding her into the break room. “Don’t stop them now. They’re on a roll.” She looked proud of herself. “All it took was a little tantalizing incentive. Speaking of tantalizing, where’s that hot, sexy man of yours?”

  “Gone back to the job. Listen, I have to talk to the cast.”

  “Nice flowers.” April took the bouquet and placed the flowers into a tall water glass. “You can talk to them, but you can’t just barge in. They’ll be through with this act in a few minutes. Don’t you want to know what motivated them?”

  “What incentive could possibly have Bonnie speaking her lines correctly?”

  April tackled a box of glazed donuts, popping a donut hole into her mouth and chewing it quickly before answering. “When they came in this morning after their Curves workout, Bonnie couldn’t talk about anything but the cemetery murder. I told her if she could get through the play, front to back, without any mistakes, you would take her to the scene of the crime.”

  “What? I didn’t agree to that.”

  “I took creative license.” April, another donut in hand, stuck her head out the door before continuing. “Just listen to them.”

  Even though the cast was still reading from scripts, rather than off-book, they sounded much better than Gretchen could have ever hoped for after the last several disastrous days. “I have to admit, they sound pretty good.”

  “See?”

  “Who would have thought a trip to a cemetery would be Bonnie’s carrot?” Gretchen wished she had thought of something so clever.

  “They’re going to make it through every scene without screwing up,” April said. “But the others don’t want to go along. They’re working hard for Bonnie because it means so much to her.”

  “I�
�m not sure if I want them to make it. Going to a cemetery right after a murder isn’t exactly my ideal afternoon outing. Besides, I found a note—”

  “Oh come on,” April said, interrupting. “You have to. Look at them.”

  Gretchen watched as the cast worked away. She could see how hard Bonnie was trying. “Tell her we’ll go to the cemetery later this afternoon,” she said, defeated.

  What had she gotten herself into? More important at the moment, was she cut out for directorship? Should she trade positions with April, sit at the sewing machine, and watch her friend take over?

  “What’s that?” April noticed the paper in Gretchen’s hand.

  Gretchen gave it to her.

  “Die, Dolly, Die. Not a bad title,” April said. “But don’t you like the one we already have? Ding Dong Dead has a nice ring to it, and we sent out invitations using it.”

  A play title? April though it was an idea for a different title. “It was stuck on my windshield wiper blade,” Gretchen said. “I thought it was a joke or prank of some sort, but you didn’t even know.”

  “Know what?”

  “Nothing. It’s nothing.” She realized with increasing concern that she hadn’t told the club members about the horrible words on the headstone. Not even Bonnie knew about that; if she had, it would have been the first thing she mentioned. The police were keeping it quiet.

  “I like the one Caroline came up with better,” April said. She scrunched the paper and tossed it into the garbage can before Gretchen could stop her. She would have to dig it out before she left to show it to Matt.

  They stood in the doorway and watched the rehearsal. A man wearing gray overalls came out from behind the stage. He unrolled a black extension cord as he backed up. “Who’s that?”

  “Jerome. He’s our new lighting expert.”

  The man produced a roll of duct tape from a deep pocket. He squatted and began covering the electrical cord, taping it to the floor.

  “Where did you find him?” April was turning out to be a competent general manager, even though her original title had been seamstress and donut runner. She was a woman of many talents, and Gretchen wasn’t about to waste those talents on gofer runs.

  “I plucked him right off the street.” April giggled. “Well, not really, Mr. B. recommended him.”

  “Great. Where’s Nina?”

  “Oops.”

  “Oops?”

  “You weren’t supposed to be back from your morning date with Hot Man yet.”

  “Something’s up.”

  April looked guilty. “Nina’s walking the dogs,” she said. “Please don’t be mad. I couldn’t leave Enrico home alone.”

  “April, we had one rule and one rule only: no pets.”

  “I know, I know. It won’t happen again.” The new light technician had noticed Gretchen and was heading over. April dropped her voice and said, “Don’t call Jerome names. He gets really mad.”

  Gretchen whispered back. “What kind of names?”

  “Like Sparky or Lampy or Noodle Tech. Oh, look, here he comes.”

  Jerome stood silently while April introduced him. She talked him up, describing his contribution in the most glowing terms possible. He shuffled uncomfortably, watching his feet, while April laid out his achievements. At first Gretchen thought he was self-conscious, not used to compliments.

  A flash of icy steel in his eyes when he finally made contact informed her otherwise. After he went back to work, Gretchen said, “Not the friendliest guy.”

  April shrugged. “He’s doing his job, free of charge I might add. He’s a volunteer. Lighten up.”

  “How is he getting along with the cast?”

  “Fine.”

  Gretchen thought she detected something in April’s tone, but why should she worry herself about every little detail? Whatever April was doing was working.

  “Would you mind directing for a few more days?”

  “Gee, no, not at all. I really like it.”

  “That’ll give me time to catch up on a few repair jobs.”

  “Don’t feel bad that I’m doing a better job than you,” April said. “Our minds work differently. Mines just better suited to this line of work than yours is.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, for example, look at your director’s desk.”

  “What’s wrong with it?”

  “It’s a mess. Papers scattered everywhere, old coffee getting moldy in cups.”

  What could she say? April wasn’t lying. The proof was right in front of them.

  “I never pretended to be a neat freak.” Gretchen said.

  “Directing a play takes a lot of organizational skills. Creative people, like you, don’t compartmentalize like accounting types.”

  “You aren’t an accounting type.” April’s home furnishings were topsy-turvy, every single bit of space taken up with something.

  “Yes, but I make up for it by having an excess of managerial skills. You know what you should be doing?”

  Spending time with Matt, Gretchen thought.

  “You should be creating museum displays,” April said. “I suggest that I take over your job. You take over mine.”

  April had a point. Hadn’t Gretchen wished for that same thing, to help out at the museum instead? “Let me think about it,” she said.

  After promising to meet them at the cemetery later in the afternoon, depending on April’s assessment of their performance, Gretchen returned to the break room to retrieve the note from the trash.

  She bumped into Jerome as he was coming out. When he looked into her eyes, she sensed his coldness again. She gave him a weak smile.

  What a creepy guy!

  After pulling every single item out of the garbage, Gretchen gave up.

  The note was gone.

  Chapter 16

  It takes several hours to extricate all of the victims from the crumpled cars and to clear the street of scattered debris. Firefighters, paramedics, police officers, and equipment contribute to rescue efforts. The team cuts away whole sections of cars to get at victims trapped beneath steering wheels or pinned against crushed dashboards, prying open vehicles like giant tins of tuna. They are professions, and they work quickly and quietly. Everyone has a job and knows exactly how to accomplish it.

  Caroline is bloody, but other than superficial wounds, most of the blood is from others. She doesn’t have time to think of herself. She reacts instinctively, offer comfort and reassurances to the other victims.

  By the time Matt Albright arrives, those involved in the five-car accident have been extricated and transported to the hospital. One dead woman is already at the morgue after having been pronounced at the scene. Caroline watches Matt scan the wreckage before his eyes find her. She is sitting on the curb next to her car, which is upside down. The windows are blown out. A cop sweeps up the last shards of auto glass.

  Emergency vehicles are still on the scene, although the ambulances are gone. Several tow trucks idle while the drivers load crumpled cars onto flatbeds.

  “Are you okay?” Matt squats beside her, his dark eyes penetrating her own.

  “Other than a sore neck, yes.”

  “Let’s have you checked out.” He rises and stops the officer in charge, who has chosen this moment to walk past them. “Why wasn’t she transported? Get an ambulance. Now!”

  “I refused,” she says. “It isn’t his fault. Others needed it more than I did.”

  Matt doesn’t respond, although she can tell that he is upset. Instead, he confers with the officer.

  “One dead,” the cop says. “The rest? Multiple injuries, a crushed pelvis, head wounds, et cetera.”

  “Any kids?” Matt asks.

  Caroline hates when children are involved in accidents and sees Matt’s relief when the officer shakes his head. No kids.

  “This is what’s left of the vehicle that started the chain reaction.” They stare at Caroline’s car. Matt crouches and ducks his head to peer inside. A few it
ems are on the roof of the car, which is now the floor.

  Until this moment, Caroline has been too busy helping others to consider her own situation. She begins to tremble slightly.

  “I’ll put your personal belongings in my car,” Matt says. “Once the car is towed away, retrieving contents will be more difficult.”

  Caroline nods.

  “Plenty of witnesses to the accident,” The officer says while waving one of the tow trucks through. “According to them a white van sideswiped the vehicle, this woman lost control, jumped the meridian, ended up in oncoming traffic, going the wrong way. Nobody coming at her is paying enough attention, talking on their cell phones. So they pile up, one after the other. She manages to roll the car – sorry, lady, but don’t even ask me how - and it spins over this way, taking out the Mini Cooper.” His arms are flying back and forth across the lanes of traffic, which have been reopened. Cars are passing slowly by, passengers gawking at them, trying to get a grasp on the events that led to this chaos.

  “Where’s the van?” Matt asks, surveying the lane closest to the curb, the lane still closed off from traffic.

  “Hit and run.” The officer has seen this before. Caroline can hear it in his voice. “Witnesses got the plates, and we’re tracking it down.” He moves off.

  Matt sits down on the curb. “Your family,” he says, “is like a pride of cats, nine lives for each of you. How many have you used up so far?”

  “Probably all of them.”

  Before he can respond, a truck goes past with what’s left of the Mini Cooper. The car looks like shredded scrap metal.

  “Look over there,” Matt says.

  Caroline’s eyes sweep over the spectators. She sees a group on the other side of Camelback Road. Shoppers have parked in a shopping mall on her side and have wandered over to observe the finally clean up, ask around, find out what they missed. Matt is pointing out a few homeless individuals standing off by themselves.

  “Nacho and Daisy aren’t with them,” he says. “Your two street friends could be living their last day just like the rest of those tortured souls who subsist on the fringes.”

  Caroline takes time to really study the man sitting beside her. He is more complex than she once thought. Matt has allowed her a brief glimpse inside himself.