Goodbye Dolly dtdf-2

by Deb Baker

  "Fine," Gretchen said, opening the car door.

  "Leave the air-conditioning on," April suggested. "It's hot as French fry oil out there."

  "This sounds like something that bumpkin aunt of yours would come up with. You haven't been getting advice from Gertie Johnson again, have you? I bet-"

  Gretchen slammed the door and stalked off.

  How does your aloneness feel now? she asked herself, as the building loomed ahead of her where Chiggy, aka Florence Kent, resided.

  Sometimes life really was a very lonely venture. Once you veered from the safe and familiar path, no one wanted to follow anymore. Instead, they stood on the sidelines hoping you'd trip over a rattlesnake so they could say,

  "See? I told you so."

  She refused to look back at the parked car loaded with former followers.

  34

  Doll collectors are perceived by some as crazy old ladies who have nothing better to do than talk to dolls. In reality, this stereotype constitutes a very small percentage of serious collectors. Typically, doll lovers come from all walks of life and backgrounds. They can be biologists, high school principals, lawyers, nurses, novelists, computer programmers, or actors. Occasionally, however, you will still run into the crazy old lady.

  – From World of Dolls by Caroline Birch Gretchen walked along the side of the building, making sure she wasn't visible from the guard's station. Once she neared the main entrance, she stopped and wondered what to do next. Her answer magically appeared in front of her. Today might be her lucky day.

  She spotted the car that had pulled up beside her when she tried to get past the guard. Its occupants were walking from a parking lot on the opposite side of the building, a man, a woman, and two small boys about four or five years old. The man opened one of the massive doors leading into the building, and Gretchen slipped in behind them as they gave their names and the name of the resident they were visiting through an intercom system. She heard the door lock click, released remotely by someone inside the building, and the group moved past a reception desk. One of the boys glanced at Gretchen, and she looked away, trying to keep the right amount of distance between them-far enough not to arouse the parents' suspicion, close enough not to alert the receptionist to the fact that she wasn't part of the visiting group. She was careful not to make eye contact with anyone.

  You certainly are clever, she thought, her heart beating as fast as a revved-up jet about to take off, excited and afraid at the same time. The same feeling she had at the doll auction when she was bidding on the Ginny dolls. Gretchen waited for the receptionist to call out to her and demand an explanation and the proper credentials, but soon she was past the desk and approaching a long corridor. The only sound was hushed voices from the family she had infiltrated.

  Gretchen was inside.

  Not that it helped her much, since she had no idea where Chiggy was staying in this vast senior complex. As soon as she was out of sight of the entrance, she turned a corner, disengaging from the group ahead of her. She dug her cell phone out of her pocket and called Nina's cell. "Find out what room Chiggy's in," she said.

  "Humph," said Miss Suddenly Righteous. "You should have thought of that before you so brazenly flaunted the center's rules."

  "Just do it."

  Nina must still have had some residual anger over her broken date with Eric and planned on punishing her for the rest of the day in subtle, annoying ways.

  "And how am I supposed to find out?" Nina said curtly. Gretchen could hear April say something in the background. Then while Gretchen walked briskly down another hallway, Nina filled April in. Gretchen hoped no one would stop her if she looked as if she knew where she was headed. Nina came back on the line. "April says she'll call and pretend she's with UPS and has a package that requires a room number."

  "Whatever works. I'll call back in a few minutes."

  She forced herself to wait several long and excruciating minutes before calling back, all the while striding down one corridor after another. When she did call Nina back, she learned the room number.

  Gretchen had been noting room numbers on the doors as she turned another corner. Not only was she inside, but she was moving in the right direction.

  Aunt Gertie would be so proud.

  At first, Chiggy Kent thought she was one of her caregivers. Gretchen figured the bottled air running from the tank to her nostrils wasn't doing the job it should. The lack of proper oxygenation was affecting her mind. Then she realized that Chiggy had a vision problem.

  Blind as the proverbial bat.

  "It's Gretchen Birch," she said, identifying herself. "Caroline Birch's daughter. We met two months ago at Bonnie's house during one of the Phoenix Dollers Club meetings.

  "Oh, yes. I remember." Chiggy sat up straighter in a chair next to her bed.

  "It wasn't easy getting in to see you. We were worried that there was a conspiracy going on to keep you secluded." She laughed lightly.

  "I specifically said no visitors," Chiggy said, annoyed.

  "I thought I was firm about my requirements when I moved here." She brushed back a few gray strands of hair falling on her face, and Gretchen thought that, at one time, she must have been a beautiful woman. Nicotine and excessive Arizona suntanning had taken a toll. "No matter. I'll take it up with the staff later. You're here now."

  Chiggy spoke slowly, pausing to wheeze and allow the extra oxygen to kick in.

  "I have a few questions about your dolls." Gretchen took a seat beside her and glanced around. The room was stark, containing only the essentials, exactly like a hospital room.

  "Do you mind talking about your dolls?" Gretchen prompted.

  "Ah." Chiggy forced a weak smile. "You were at the auction?"

  "I was, along with half of Phoenix. I thought your dolls moved well. There was quite a turnout." Gretchen didn't mention Brett's death. If Chiggy didn't know about it, Gretchen didn't want to be the one to tell her.

  "I had admired your handmade Kewpies," Gretchen lied. "But they were sold before I got there."

  Chiggy looked surprised. "Really?" she said.

  "April Lehman said she appraised your collection for you before you planned to auction them off, and she didn't remember any Kewpie dolls."

  "That's right."

  "But some were sold at the auction."

  "I thought they were some of my poorest work." Chiggy shook her head. "I couldn't get the reproductions right, so I didn't include them with the dolls I decided to have appraised. Basically, I wanted April to tell me which dolls I should keep and which I should sell. In the end, I kept very few. You liked the Kewpies?"

  "Very much. I was hoping you had more."

  Chiggy shook her head. "That was the last of them."

  "I also received several Kewpie dolls in the mail. Did you send them, or do you know who might have?"

  "No. I hardly know you. Why would I send you anything? And I don't own a single Kewpie anymore."

  Gretchen watched Chiggy's impaired eyes carefully and saw something…

  Had the old woman sent the dolls? What would have been her motivation? And why, if she had, wouldn't she admit it now?

  Chiggy slid further down in her chair, appearing weak and helpless.

  How could her condition have deteriorated so quickly?

  According to Howie Howard, Chiggy was supervising her own move from her home less than a week ago. What had happened to make her suddenly infirm? A stroke?

  "How are you doing?" Gretchen asked. "I hear you just moved from the assisted living section over to this area."

  Chiggy waved a dismissive hand. "I'm fine. I like the security better here; we have the guard at the gate and a locked door. But look how easy it was for you to get in. That disturbs me." She squinted at Gretchen, appraising her integrity. "You seem like a nice person."

  Chiggy held up an object that looked like a remote control, which had been buried in the folds of her dressing gown. "But if I press this button, I'll have someone in this room
in thirty seconds flat. I didn't get that level of care in the apartment. Want to see how it works?"

  "No thanks. I believe you."

  Gretchen recalled the letter found among Ronny's papers, the one addressed to Florence. Don't double-cross me, it had said, or you'll become prey for a hungry predator. Had Chiggy ignored the warning? After the recent deaths, was Chiggy next on the killer's list? Did she know it? That would explain her preoccupation with heightened security.

  She wasn't isolated because of any administrative rules. She was hiding.

  "I bid on a box of your Ginny dolls at the action and-"

  Gretchen stopped when she saw the expression of shock and disbelief on the old woman's face.

  "Impossible," Chiggy managed to croak. "That box wasn't supposed to be sold. I gave strict instructions on the handling of my Ginny dolls. That box should be in storage along with several other personal belongings that I chose to keep. Where is it? Tell me." Chiggy was rising from the chair, her face turning red from lack of air. "What are you after? Why did you come here?"

  "I… I don't have it. It seems that the boxes were mixed up somehow, and I ended up, accidentally, with the Kewpie dolls. I'm looking for the person who bid on the Kewpies. I think he has the Ginnys. His name is Duanne Wilson."

  Chiggy hesitated, her face frozen in a horrific grimace. It crossed Gretchen's mind that she might be out of oxygen. She quickly looked down at her feet to be sure she wasn't standing on the connecting tube. Maybe the machine that was Chiggy's lifeline had run dry, and she was strangling to death from lack of air.

  But the horror on her face contradicted that theory. No one would have the energy for that kind of fear if they were running out of oxygen.

  "What's wrong?" Gretchen moved closer to the woman.

  "Get away from me. Tell him to leave me alone."

  Chiggy screamed at the top of her wasted lungs. A canister of pepper spray appeared in her left hand. She stopped screaming abruptly, gasped for air, and screamed again.

  Then she jammed her right thumb down on the security button and let loose with the pepper spray.

  35

  Gretchen scrambled for cover before the troops arrived, grateful that Chiggy's poor eyesight had resulted in a direct miss. She burst through a fire exit door and ran as though her life depended on it. Hearing the alarm wailing behind her, she cleared the senior center grounds and sprinted to the curb where she'd left the getaway car.

  She whirled and looked down the street in both directions. The car was gone.

  Worse, Detective Albright sat in a blue unmarked police car in the exact spot where her Toyota Echo should be.

  "Where is my car?" Gretchen demanded, hands on hips, when he climbed out of his car. "Did you have it towed away?" She was breathing hard. "And where are Nina and April?"

  She saw a gleam of amusement in his eyes, a hint of Chrome cologne infusing the air, his smile as dazzling as ever.

  "You set off the security alarm system," he said. She glanced sharply up and down the street. No sign of her traitorous cohorts. His deceptive good looks failed to impress her today. She had learned that his heart was cold.

  "Where are they?"

  "So you think I had your car towed away with your aunt inside? And with all those critters? The pet protection groups would be all over me for animal abuse." He laughed easily. "It's much less dramatic than that. It seems that April needed something to eat. I, public servant that I am…" He placed his right hand over his heart as though pledging allegiance. "I offered to escort you home to join them, where they promised they would have a fine dining experience waiting for you. But if you want to stay here…" He dangled the end of the sentence like a fisherman setting the hook, "and face the consequences…"

  The alarm continued to screech.

  She watched the gate guard run for the main entrance, abandoning his station.

  "It's entirely up to you," Matt said, leaning against his car.

  Gretchen wrenched the car door open and got in without another word. Talk about choosing between two evils. At least she had some experience with this one, who used his position to brutalize his victims. The other-she glanced back as they sped away-was a complete unknown. She had no wish to meet the guard again, or Chiggy. If she had wanted to trip Chiggy's trigger, she couldn't have done better. She just hoped that next time, when the gun, or in this case the pepper spray, went off, she'd be safely out of the way.

  Gretchen understood why the doll collector might be upset that the Ginny dolls had been sold if she'd made it clear that she wanted to keep them. Gretchen's mother had a vast collection of dolls she kept for sentimental reasons, and Gretchen knew how her mother would feel if they were lost. She had a few herself that were very special. But the reaction when Chiggy heard Duanne's name was a big surprise.

  What was the story with that guy?

  "Your aunt Nina said you'd be hungry," Matt said.

  "How about I take you out for a late lunch? It has the potential to be much better than what awaits you at home. I think April was headed for a Big Mac and large fries."

  "No thanks, I have things to do. Take me home." If Nina wanted to get back at her, she certainly picked an effective way.

  "Have it your way. But first I need to talk to you."

  "Then talk."

  He kept his eyes on the road and didn't reply. She let the silence hang and watched the familiar scenery through her window. Date palm trees lined the boulevards, and, as always, Camelback Mountain towered over the city, its red clay humps assuring her that they were headed in the right direction.

  As they approached her mother's house, Matt abruptly turned toward the canyon and the trail leading up Camelback Mountain. He drove into the visitors' parking lot at the base and stopped. "I want to talk to you alone," he said, laying a hand on her arm when she grabbed for the door.

  "Without your entire ensemble hanging on every word. I'll take you home in a minute."

  "I can walk from here." Or run if she had to.

  "Peter Finch was attacked this morning."

  Gretchen jerked her head in his direction. "What? What did you say?"

  "I think you heard me." He watched her with an intense gaze.

  "What happened?"

  "Shot in the chest."

  "Is he dead?"

  "No, he'll live, but it was close. He's unconscious, so I haven't been able to talk to him. All of his camera and computer equipment is missing. Whoever did this took the entire computer."

  "Why are you telling me this?" Gretchen felt like she might faint. "What do I have to do with Peter Finch?"

  "Gretchen, you have to tell me what's going on. Every time I follow a lead, you've been there ahead of me. I've started carrying a picture of you around. I show it to people, and they recognize you."

  "Who recognizes me?" Gretchen demanded. "Tell me who."

  What was the point of the picture? Was he going to arrest her for Peter's murder?

  Through the car's window, she stared at the mountain. No, he would have taken her in to the station. He wanted information to use against someone. Her… or…

  "Ronny Beam's neighbor in the trailer park recognized you instantly," Matt said. "The security guard at the senior home we just left had a few choice words to describe you. And a tenant in Peter Finch's apartment building saw you entering there yesterday."

  "That's ridiculous. And where did you get a picture of me?"

  "You forget that my mother is the president of the doll club. She gave me one that she took at the last meeting. Very flattering."

  Good old Bonnie, always helpful. That must be going over well with the doll club members. It would make a particularly choice topic for Curves. She didn't know which was worse-the doll collectors thinking Matt was interested in her romantically or thinking he considered her a murder suspect.

  "The person who identified me at Peter Finch's made a mistake."

  After what had happened to Albert Thoreau, how could she trust Matt enough t
o tell him anything? Albert had been beaten, and she hadn't forgotten that a cop was responsible for it. Matt? Or one of his partners?

  Why was she always attracted to the wrong men?

  "If your fingerprints show up in his apartment," Matt said. "You'll have some explaining to do." He got out, walked around the front of the car, and opened her door.

  "Come on. Let's go for a walk."

  Gretchen glared at him but got out and looked up at the mountain. By the ripple of his muscles, he obviously worked out, but in a gym. Aerobically, he wasn't up to her level, thanks to her years of serious hiking. She could beat him any day in a climb up to the peak, and she could probably outpace him in a race. She felt safer out in the afternoon sunshine with a number of hikers traversing the mountain above her. Still, if Matt wanted to grill her, he shouldn't have stopped the car where she could see her house. No wonder he couldn't catch the killer; he couldn't even catch her. She hated to think what would happen if she waited for him to protect her.

  She started out, headed for home instead of up the mountain. "Have it your way," he called out behind her.

  "But I'm warning you, Gretchen, and this is a friendly warning that's about to become less so if you don't heed my words. Stay out of this. You don't know what you're getting into. And stay away from Percy O'Connor's sister. You're interfering with an investigation."

  Gretchen almost stopped in her tracks, but, with a lot of effort, she willed her leaden legs to continue moving toward home. Percy O'Connor's sister?

  Chiggy?

  Nooooo.

  Nina and April sat at the kitchen table surrounded by mounds of McDonald's bags.

  "Hey," April said. "Sit down and eat." She moved her chair to make room. "You should have invited that handsome detective in."

  Starving, Gretchen dug in, but she didn't taste the food. It could have been kibble, and she wouldn't have cared. All the connections and all the deaths. Three people who had been at Chiggy's house before the estate auction were dead or injured: Brett, Ronny, and Peter. Two of them gone, the other barely alive. And Percy, connected by family to Chiggy, also dead. How did Steve fit in? Steve valued money above everything else, and diamonds would be a huge motivator. Was he the killer, or wasn't he? Her feelings vacillated exactly as they used to whenever she tried to decide whether or not to leave him. Yes, then no, then… The same teeter-totter effect.