by Deb Baker
“Man, those doll collectors in there are a bunch of kooks,” Ronny Beam says. He leans against the side of his car, eating a salami sandwich he pulled from a cooler in the trunk. Sandwich in one hand, can of iced tea in the other.
What he really wants is a sip of whiskey from the coffee mug in the front seat, but that will have to wait, considering present company.
“‘Sweet cheeks,’ I say to them, ‘upchuck some juicy gossip for my paper,’ but they’re a tight-mouthed bunch. Tight something else, too, if you ask me.” He waves the can in his hand. “Look at you, stuck out in this parking lot all day with the sun hotter than a cattle brander. What a job you got, huh?”
Ronny grins and takes another bite. Chews.
“I have it on them, though. Something bigger than anything I got so far. Somebody made a lot of money in the black market during Double-U Double-U Two. The big one. I happen to know there’s a treasure hidden away. And guess where?” He nods knowingly and pops the last of the sandwich into his mouth. “Inside dolls, that’s where. All’s I need is a little more background, and it goes to press,” he says through packed cheeks.
Ronny realizes he has raised his voice. He looks all around, hoping no one has overheard.
“That’s all the preview I can give you for now. Better subscribe to Phoenix Exposed if you want to read a Pulitzer Prize-winning story.”
He pushs away from the car. “One thing I know. Hanging around inside doll shows with a bunch of doll nuts sure beats standing in a parking lot all day wearing a uniform like you have to do.”
He takes a swig of the iced tea. “Tough job you got. You’d think they could hire a kid to watch the lot for a few bucks instead of wasting taxpayers’ money. You should be busting bad guys. Maybe someday I’ll write something good about you. Let me get you one of my business cards. Here, hold this.”
He pops the last of the sandwich in his mouth and hands over his empty can, then pulls his wallet from a back pocket and picks through it. He extracts a card.
“Here ya go. Whew, it’s hot.”
Chapter 10
“Here comes a mailman,” Nina called from her table. “I didn’t know they delivered at doll shows.”
“Looking for the doll repairer, whatever that means. Someone over by the door said that’s you,” the man said, stopping at Gretchen’s table and holding a small package. “The world is filled with weirdoes. No name, and they think I’m a magician.” He tipped his head back and looked down the length of his nose at Nina. “And we aren’t mailmen anymore, in case you haven’t noticed. I’m a postal carrier ever since you women libbers changed everything.”
“I guess that’s for me then,” Gretchen said, taking the package and looking at the address on the label. “That’s all it says. ‘Doll repairer’ and this address. Who sent it?” ‘Fragile’ had been stamped across it in bold red lettering.
The postal carrier shrugged. “What you think I got? A crystal ball? I just deliver the stuff.”
He walked away.
“Friendly sort,” Nina muttered.
“Open it,” April said, eagerly. “I love presents.”
“Must be from Steve,” Nina surmised. “A take-me-back gift.”
“Too big for jewelry,” April observed.
“Steve would have addressed it directly to me,” Gretchen said.
“Oh, right,” Nina agreed.
The smell of Chrome cologne distracted Gretchen from the package. She laid it on the floor next to a cardboard box that was quickly filling with damaged dolls in need of repair. She knew before she looked up that Matt would be standing in front of her.
Up close, the blue T-shirt he wore had a darker blue and white dream catcher etched into it.
“I’m investigating an altercation,” he said. “It appears that you are the cause of a major disturbance. I’ll have to take you down to the station and drill you unmercifully.”
Nina sighed loudly from the next table. “You’re such a tease,” she called to him.
Matt’s eyes riveted on Gretchen.
“Drill me instead,” April said. “I give in easily.”
“Rake her over the coals,” Nina said. “She is easy.”
Therapy must be helping. Gretchen had seen firsthand what the presence of a little doll could do to the muscular cop. He’d been reduced to a pale, sweating shell of the man who stood before her today.
“Ronny Beam’s on a rampage, Nina,” said the new, improved Matt. “He just lodged a formal complaint against you at the same time that he filed one against Gretchen’s…um…friend, Steve.”
“A complaint for what?” Nina looked surprised.
“An alleged pepper spray attack yesterday. Unprovoked, according to Ronny.”
“Unprovoked!” Nina fairly shouted. “That worm is spreading rumors about me, and he was leaning on my Impala. I’ll have to have it washed to get the crud off.”
“Then you admit the charges against you are accurate?”
“I admit nothing. His word against mine.”
Matt flipped through a notepad. “He went into Curves after the alleged incident, and he’s listed thirty-nine witnesses who, he claims, saw the whole thing.”
“Oh,” Nina said, suddenly subdued. “Are you going to arrest me?”
“I’d gladly haul you in if I was on duty today.” Matt closed the notepad. “I covered for you with the responding officer, so you owe me. Now…” He turned to Gretchen. “I did think about arresting Steve Kuchen. What do you have to say about that?”
Gretchen shrugged. Matt’s idea certainly would buy her time. It was an intriguing solution, even if it was only in fun. “Can I think about it for a while?”
Matt attempted a grin. “Sure. In the meantime, I have to get out of here. The dolls are closing in. When I come back, I’ll track down Ronny and escort him out before he gets himself hurt. Has anyone seen him?”
Nina shivered. “He’s around here someplace. He’s like a boomerang, keeps coming back every time you try to throw him away.”
****
Milt Wood leaned his solid body against Gretchen’s table. A high school wrestler, Gretchen guessed. And a middle school bully.
“I insist,” he insisted again, the gums above his teeth exposed from the stretch of his good-natured smile.
Gretchen’s eyes wandered to Nina and April’s table in a hopeless appeal for interception, but both women were involved with potential clients. April paged through one of her value books, her reading glasses edging closer to the end of her nose. A Shirley Temple doll lay before her, and a woman and young girl waited patiently. Nina held Sophie while Nimrod entertained several dog-loving fans, including the two waiting for the appraisal.
Gretchen sent a silent plea to her so-called psychic aunt. But Nina was apparently on break from mind reading, because she demonstrated Nimrod’s hiding trick without even glancing Gretchen way.
A customer approached. Milt hovered off to the side as Gretchen sold a Ginny doll.
“Mr. Wood,” she said, when the transaction was complete. “I really….”
“Please, call me Milt.”
Gretchen forced a smile. “Why would you want to buy a doll that you’ve never seen?”
“Fine. Fine. I’ll take a look at it if that will make you happy, but from your description, I know it’s exactly what I need to finish off my collection.”
“The Blunderboo isn’t for sale,” Gretchen repeated, knowing that no collection is ever really finished off. Most likely, Milt Wood was an amateur collector trying to keep up with a group of experts, and his inexperience was showing.
“It doesn’t belong to me. Until I speak with the owner, I can’t offer it to you.”
“Price is no object. I’ll pay whatever you ask.”
“But as I’ve explained, even if the owner is willing to sell the doll, it’s a reproduction.”
“Yes, I heard you. Insignificant.” Milt Wood was an expressive talker, his hands keeping time to the beat of his per
sistence.
“The doll isn’t for sale at the moment,” Gretchen said firmly. She regretted having mentioned the doll earlier to the collectors gathered at the Boston Kewpie Club table. Who would have guessed that anyone would be interested in an imitation doll?
“Very well,” he said, no longer quite as jovial and friendly. His smile remained, but his eyes darkened. “We’ll discuss it again later.”
Before Gretchen could think of a response that would send Milt Wood away permanently, she heard sirens screaming outside the building. Instead of growing fainter, the sound grew louder.
Bonnie Albright ran by, her red wig more than a little askew. “Ronny Beam’s been murdered,” she shouted. “Right out in the parking lot.”
Behind Gretchen, April gasped.
“I told you this would happen eventually,” Nina said with a slightly smug tone, although her complexion was several shades lighter than usual.
One of Nina’s predictions, usually far off the mark, had come true, and she wasn’t about to miss the opportunity to promote it.
“Was he shot?” Gretchen asked Bonnie, remembering the specifics of Nina’s premonition that someone would eventually shoot Ronny.
“No. Stabbed with some kind of knife,” Bonnie continued. “One with pink nail polish all over the handle.
Gretchen’s eyes slid to the floor, to her open toolbox and the assortment of repair tools, all painted Poodle Skirt Pink.
Nina reached over with her foot and casually flipped the toolbox cover closed.
No one but Gretchen noticed.
****
Gretchen quickly gathered her unsold dolls and stored them under her table. The show had ended earlier than planned. The big attraction waited outdoors.
“Are you missing a knife?” Nina whispered, as they swung the puppies and purses onto their shoulders to join the throng of people moving outside. Tutu pranced lightly ahead while Nina clutched her pink leash.
April, in spite of her bulk, had already outdistanced them in the race to the doors. The opportunity to view a murder was irresistible, and the hall was clearing out fast.
“Yes,” Gretchen answered, remember her search through the workshop. “But don’t say anything yet. It can’t possibly be mine.”
“What kind of knife was it?”
“My hobby knife. I noticed it missing yesterday when I packed up. But it’s just a razor blade in a holder. I don’t think it could kill anyone. Cut them up pretty bad, but, as a murder weapon…?” Gretchen shook her head. “Impossible.”
Still, Gretchen had a sinking feeling that the knife was hers. How many other people paint their tools pink? She struggled to remember when she had last seen the knife. Did she paint the handle? Yes. She had painted it right before Nina left to have her hair done. Then Steve came in and ran his hands along the tools. He was the last person in the workshop aside from her. There was only one explanation. Steve must have taken it.
But why?
“It can’t be mine,” she said again, without confidence.
Nina harrumphed and continued moving forward.
Gretchen noticed an exit door off to the back of the hall. “Let’s get out of the crowd,” she said. “The police are never going to let all these people get close to the… scene.” She couldn’t bring herself to say murder scene. “And I have to see that knife. Come on.”
Nimrod and Sophie sensed the excitement around them, and both rode high in their purses for a better view. Nimrod panted heavily, his tiny eyes alert. Sophie’s topknot bounced.
Gretchen slammed through the exit door with Nina right behind her.
The Arizona sun temporarily blinded Gretchen. She quickly donned sunglasses and realized that they were standing at the rear of the parking lot. Even in early October, the heat struck her instantly. At least one hundred degrees. She moved to the side of the building and peeked around the corner.
A perfect view. Nina edged up next to her and shortened Tutu’s leash to keep her close.
On the far side, about seventy yards away, police were trying to contain the swelling crowd. Ambulances and squad cars crept along, and Gretchen wondered how the authorities could preserve the crime scene and find potential witnesses with this mass of humanity.
A better question occurred to Gretchen. How did someone manage to murder Ronny in the middle of the afternoon in a full parking lot without being seen?
Uniformed police swarmed the lot. Several bent over something on the ground behind a car, but Gretchen couldn’t make out a body. She felt weak around the knees and leaned heavily against the building for support.
Matt Albright rose from the huddle on the ground, looked over his shoulder, and spotted Gretchen. He did a double take, spoke briefly to another officer, and walked over.
“I think we can rule out premeditation,” he said, the strain showing on his face. “This was definitely an expression of rage.” He shook his head. “So much for a quiet day off. Why do I feel like I’m going to catch this case? Ronny wasn’t on my list of favorite people, and I’m not particularly fond of dolls.”
“Ronny could piss off the pope,” Nina added. “Excuse my expression.”
“You two should pack up for the day,” Matt advised. “We’re going to shut the show down until tomorrow. That’s the only way to dispel the sightseers. We need to clear the parking lot. Our people can’t even get their vehicles in.”
“What happened?” Gretchen asked.
“Looks like the killer attacked as Ronny approached his car. He must have been waiting for Ronny.”
“How awful,” Nina said, eyeing Gretchen. “We heard he was stabbed. Glad that isn’t true.”
Matt frowned. “My mother was lurking around, soaking up as much information as she could pick up. That’s classified information. We’re withholding it for now, so you never heard it from me.”
“It is true then?” Gretchen looked away from the activity, up at Camelback Mountain rising in the distance over the city. Red, barren clay. Like someone had tried to fashion a camel from potter’s clay and failed.
“Sort of. Whoever killed Ronny also stuck an X-Acto knife in his back as a finishing touch.” His frown deepened. “I don’t get it, though. The blade wasn’t long enough to do any real damage. It’s the tire iron we found nearby that will turn out to be the murder weapon.”
Nina stared at Gretchen, waiting for her response. Whatever she decided, she knew Nina would back her up. But Gretchen didn’t know whether Steve had taken the knife from the workshop, and she suddenly felt uncharacteristically protective of her former boyfriend. Gretchen couldn’t share her suspicions with anyone, especially not with Matt, a cop. At least, not yet.
Gretchen met Nina’s gaze silently.
“I better get back,” Matt said.
He strode away.
Chapter 11
Nina rammed through the Impala’s gears. “I really don’t know why you insist on getting involved in Daisy’s life,” she said. “She’s perfectly happy where she is.”
Gretchen didn’t know how anyone could be content to roam the Phoenix streets without a place to sleep or a guaranteed meal.
“I’m not convinced of that,” Gretchen said. “This is a good time to check on her, since we have a few extra hours. And maybe she knows something about Ronny that will be helpful. The street people seem to be connected to the city’s pulse.”
She gazed out the window. “Like Native American drum signals. I don’t know how they do it.”
Daisy, a homeless drama queen, and her alcoholic friend, Nacho, had entered Gretchen’s life right after she’d arrived in Phoenix, and she felt a special fondness for them, even though their refusal to accept her offers of assistance frustrated her beyond words.
Traffic on Central Avenue edged slowly forward, the perpetual gridlock an inescapable fact of life in Phoenix. For once, Gretchen didn’t mind. It gave her an opportunity to think about Ronny’s death and Steve’s connection to her knife.
“Why didn�
��t you tell Matt that you think the knife belongs to you?” Nina asked.
“I don’t know. I’d like to wait a little longer. I just have a bad feeling about the whole thing.”
“That’s my girl. Your inherited psychic gifts are finally kicking in.”
“Because I have a bad feeling about a murder, and my repair tool was used as a weapon?”
“Exactly.” Nina punched the horn and slammed on the brakes when the car ahead of her stopped abruptly. “My nerves are shot,” she said. “I think it’s a combination of the heat and Ronny’s murder.”
“You should have let me drive.”
“You’re always lost. I’ll take care of the driving. You pay attention to where we’re going and start orienting yourself to Phoenix’s streets. I’ve never known anyone with such a poor sense of direction.”
“I haven’t gotten lost for a long time.”
“Right. Sure.”
“There she is.” Gretchen pointed. “Pull over.”
Nina edged to the curb and idled in a no parking zone. “Make it quick,” she said, adjusting the bows in her hair. “I don’t want a ticket.”
As soon as the car stopped, all three dogs began prancing in the back seat, running into each other and yipping. Gobs of canine goo streaked the back windows. Nimrod and Tutu recognized Daisy immediately, and their chorus resounded at a nerve-racking level.
Daisy sat alone on a wooden bench wearing a baggy purple dress and a red baseball cap, and weeping into a corner of the dress.
“What’s wrong, Daisy?” Gretchen said, getting out of the car and sitting down beside her.
Oh, hey.” Daisy looked up and sniffed, trying to compose herself. “I’m okay.”
“Your bedroom is still waiting for you, whenever you feel like stopping by.”
“Thanks, Gretchen, but it’s hard to get noticed by talent scouts way up there by the mountain. I need to be on the streets. Visible. Besides, I have everything I need right here with me.”
She motioned to a shopping cart wedged between the bench and an electrical pole. It was packed with old clothes and other miscellaneous items Daisy had found in her wanderings.