Dolled Up For Murder

by Deb Baker

  Timms looked embarrassed, a tinge of pink spreading from his neck and creeping toward his widow’s peak. “My secretary arranged the transaction for me. I believe an escrow service was involved.”

  “She must have a name. At the very least she should have the name of the service.”

  “Of course. She handles all my affairs very efficiently. There’s a small problem, however.”

  “Yes?” Caroline asked, impatiently. “A name shouldn’t be complicated.”

  “My secretary is away at the moment. Somewhere in the Amazon on a small boat or something equally remote. I’m afraid I’m helpless without her.”

  He gazed longingly at the doll. “Such a waste. Perhaps I’ll keep the doll after all but at a reduced price, of course. My secretary will return next week, and she will handle the transaction.”

  Caroline stared at Rudolph Timms in dismay. A week would be too late. The muffled voice on the phone had been clear about that. She’d be dead by then.

  11

  The Internet has revolutionized the doll industry. eBay and other online auction services connect doll collectors and doll dealers around the world. Rare and sought-after items appear for sale on a daily basis, and it is the wise doll connoisseur who follows the auctions. Remember the old adage-the early bird gets the worm? In doll-collecting lingo that translates in a meaningful way. The earliest buyer always wins the prize.

  – From World of Dolls by Caroline Birch

  Gretchen greeted Sunday morning with a moan. It took her a good minute to realize she was in Nina’s extra bedroom. She hated mornings, and she hated energetic, bubbly morning people who thought watching the sunrise gave them special powers. At the moment, she hated Nina.

  “It’s already nine o’clock, sleepyhead.” Nina sat down on the bed with a bounce. “Two things. First, you left your cell phone in the kitchen, and Steve called this morning. I told him you’d return his call when you got up.”

  Gretchen managed to sit up with the support of her one good arm behind her. She cracked an eye.

  “I’m going to my meditation center,” Nina said. “If I clear my head of all this stuff floating around, maybe I’ll get a reading on your mother.”

  Nina’s methods of handling emergency situations differed drastically from Gretchen’s.

  “Take the dogs with you. Please,” Gretchen said.

  “I can’t very well take Tutu along. How would I watch her? Nimrod could stay in his purse, but he’d be a distraction. Anyway, he’d much rather stay here with you.” Nina patted Gretchen’s leg. “I’ll stop at Caroline’s and check on Wobbles.”

  “Feed him.”

  “I will. I won’t be gone long. Have some coffee, it’s fresh, and call Steve back. What’s the plan for the day?”

  Gretchen managed to remain sitting upright without the leverage of her arm. She rubbed her eyes. “I can’t think straight. I need coffee first.”

  “I’m off then.” Nina fluttered around, gathering her things, kissed Tutu good-bye, and left.

  Gretchen slipped into a borrowed robe, pink with green satin trim at the knee-length hem, and shuffled into the kitchen. She poured a cup of coffee and leaned against the counter, sipping it. Everything seemed to move in slow motion without the use of her left hand, but she was grateful that it didn’t hurt this morning.

  After she poured the second cup, she returned Steve’s call and related the events of the past two days. For once, Steve heard her all the way through without interrupting.

  “You need to come home,” he said when she finished. “This is nuts. You don’t want to involve yourself in something illegal. This is murder we’re talking about.”

  “I can’t leave now. Nina needs me.”

  “I need you, too. Doesn’t that factor in at all?”

  “Of course it does.” Gretchen felt a flash of guilt. She really hadn’t given much thought to Steve recently. But why should she? Couldn’t Steve get by for a few days without her? “But I have to find my mother,” she insisted.

  “And what have been the results of your search so far?” he demanded.

  Gretchen didn’t say anything.

  “She’ll show up when she shows up,” Steve continued. “It doesn’t matter if you’re in Arizona or Massachusetts. I have my career to think about. We can’t have any scandal, especially right now when the firm’s partners are deciding my future. The timing couldn’t be worse.”

  Ah, Gretchen thought, the truth comes out. He wasn’t concerned about her well-being at all. His request that she come home was a precautionary career move.

  “I’m going to see what happens today,” she said. “I’ll call you tonight.”

  “I’ll expect to hear from you by eight. Boston time. You’d think one broken bone would be enough for you.”

  Gretchen closed the phone and threw it in her purse. For seven years she had hoped her relationship with Steve would evolve into something permanent. That dream was fading as fast as a drop of moisture in the desert.

  Would she end up in spinsterhood like Nina? She already had the stereotypical cat.

  Was the cost of marriage to Steve worth the price she’d have to pay? She had already lost the ability to refuse his increasing demands, her inability to say no more pronounced when dealing with him. She rarely crossed him for any reason. Had she subconsciously dimmed her own personality to accommodate his?

  Could she move past his recent indiscretion and forget, as well as forgive?

  Worry about that later, she scolded. Focus on today and the task at hand.

  Tutu caught Gretchen’s attention when she trotted down the hall and whined at the front door. Nimrod trailed at a distance.

  “Okay,” Gretchen said in a surly tone. “I’m coming. But be quick about it.”

  She opened the door, and Tutu ran out. The dog didn’t stop in the yard to sniff around and find the perfect spot, and if Gretchen had been more awake, she would have remembered that Tutu preferred wee-wee pads and indoor plumbing over normal dog outhouses.

  Tutu lowered her body close to the ground and ran full-out down the street without a single glance back, like an escaped convict with the irresistible taste of freedom in her mouth.

  Gretchen stood in the doorway with her mouth open in shock. Recovering somewhat, she slammed the door before Nimrod had the chance to join in the escape. Running barefoot into the street, she shouted Tutu’s name. The spoiled schnoodle was nowhere in sight.

  Gretchen had managed to lose Nina’s dog mere moments after beginning her dog-sitting assignment.

  She had a decision to make. Follow the demented dog immediately in bare feet, wearing Nina’s pink and lime green robe, or quickly change into her own clothes and pull on her sandals. Tutu already had a wide lead, and Gretchen’s only hope of catching up with her would be if the roving rascal encountered a distraction. A cute boy dog would do the trick.

  Gretchen gasped. What if Tutu was in heat?

  An image of Nina’s reaction to the loss of her prized pet trotted through Gretchen’s head, replaced quickly by an image of Tutu giving birth to schnoodle mutts.

  She took off running.

  The desert morning heat was already oppressive. The pavement under her feet felt hot and sticky. A bird perching on an overhead electrical wire panted through its small, open beak, and the sound of sprinklers laboring to water the lush tropical yards filled the air.

  And sun, sun, blazing sun everywhere.

  “Wait up,” she heard someone call out behind her. She whirled to see Matt Albright loping toward her, wearing running shoes, cargo shorts, and a yellow T-shirt. He looked fresh and scrubbed, and he wore that dazzling yet deceptive smile.

  Gretchen turned back to the task at hand and continued running, squinting against the sun’s intense rays and wishing for a good pair of sunglasses more than a pair of shoes.

  “I heard you were an avid runner, but your commitment astounds me,” he said, catching up. “Me? I would have changed out of the robe and probab
ly worn shoes.”

  “There are vast differences between the two of us, Albright.” Gretchen ignored the pain in her tender soles. “For example, if it was my investigation, I’d be out questioning Martha’s acquaintances, and I’d be compiling a list of suspects.”

  “My henchmen take care of that,” he said, jogging easily. “Can I get a picture of this?”

  “Of what?” Gretchen peered between houses as they ran side by side. If she had shoes on, she could leave him in her desert dust.

  “A picture of you jogging in your cute robe.”

  “Go away,” Gretchen said, huffing slightly.

  Matt stopped running and fell behind. “If you step on a scorpion, you’ll be back at the hospital,” he called after her. “I spent enough time waiting around there for you yesterday.”

  Gretchen slowed and stopped, staring at the ground with growing panic. “I hadn’t thought of that.” Scorpion stings were excruciatingly painful, according to reports by several Arizonians who had been stung and lived to tell about it. Their venom wasn’t deadly, but death seemed preferable to the pain they inflicted.

  “They have clear bodies and that makes them hard to see.” He stood with both hands on his hips. “Anyway, that isn’t what you’re looking for? What’s up?”

  “Tutu escaped.”

  “The yappy mutt?” he said. “I thought she seemed in a rush when she blasted out of the yard.” Matt looked down the block. “But are you sure you want to find her?”

  “Tempting thought, but I have to. Nina would kill me.”

  “I’ll help then. I wouldn’t want to be partially responsible for your demise.”

  After a brief consultation on the best search tactics, they returned to the house, Gretchen walking gingerly, alert to the threat of stinging monsters. Matt walked another half block to get his car. He waited outside while Gretchen changed into the same clothes she had worn yesterday: green capris, a white tee, and sandals.

  They cruised slowly down the street in Matt’s unmarked police car. Gretchen decided to make the most of this opportunity to pump the cop for information, forgetting momentarily that she could count her future health by mere minutes if she didn’t find Tutu.

  “Who tipped you off about the doll in my mother’s workshop?” she said.

  “What makes you think someone tipped me off?”

  “Why do you answer every question with another question?”

  “Do I?”

  Gretchen sighed heavily and continued to scan for Tutu. She rolled down the window and called Tutu’s name. The more Gretchen thought about the police search at her mother’s house, the more certain she became that the police had known not only what they were looking for, but also where they were looking for it. “Did it ever occur to you,” she said, “that your tipster might have planted the evidence?”

  “Vivid imagination,” Matt said. “You must be some sort of artistic type. What do you do for a living?”

  “Nothing at the moment. I’m unemployed. I have another question for you.”

  “Of course.”

  “Who claimed Martha’s body?”

  Matt stopped the car and studied her, his brows furrowed. Eventually he said, “I guess telling you won’t hurt the case. Her body and personal effects haven’t been released yet, but Joseph Reiner is making arrangements.”

  Gretchen was surprised. “The same Joseph Reiner I met at Nina’s house yesterday?”

  Matt nodded. “He’s Martha’s nephew.”

  “Why didn’t he mention that?”

  “I didn’t know myself until late last night when he called me. He seemed embarrassed by the family connection. That explained all the nervous twitching I observed at the meeting.”

  In Gretchen’s mind, that didn’t explain anything. It only led to more questions.

  “Okay,” Matt said. “I shared information with you. What do you have for me?”

  “Nothing yet,” Gretchen said, thinking of the photocopy in Nacho’s notebook and the note on the back in her mother’s handwriting. “I have the doll. Hide the trunk.”

  Gretchen felt a confusing mix of anger and fear for her mother. What in the world had her mother gotten herself into? Sitting in the car next to Matt, she realized she was clenching her fists, and she forced herself to relax.

  She saw movement out of the corner of her eye, and Tutu appeared from the side of a house, her tongue hanging out so far it almost scraped the ground.

  “There she is,” Matt said. “We’ve got her.”

  “How was I supposed to know she couldn’t be trusted outside alone?”

  “The backyard is fenced for a reason,” Nina said, alternating between sending Gretchen piercing glares and rubbing her face in the schnoodle’s fur. “Poor baby, lost alone in the big world.”

  “How’s Wobbles?” Gretchen asked.

  “Obviously he enjoyed more care and attention than Tutu.”

  Gretchen stuffed her purse with the contents of Nacho’s notebook, slipping the picture of the French fashion doll into her wallet.

  “I can’t bear sitting around doing nothing,” Gretchen said. “I’m taking your car for a few hours. You start calling everyone my mother knows, including relatives you might not like.”

  She realized the chances of proving her mother’s innocence were evaporating with every piece of new evidence. Instead of uncovering information that would lead to a new suspect, she was cementing the case against her. She could see the headlines now: “Daughter Leads Police to Prove Mother Is Killer.”

  At the moment, unsubstantiated evidence pointed to a conspiracy between Caroline and Nacho to steal the French fashion doll from someone. Why else would they discuss hiding the doll and the trunk?

  “We have to find out who owns the doll,” Gretchen said.

  “How are we going to do that?”

  “We’ll find Nacho and make him tell us. He’s the link. And we are going to pay a visit to Martha’s nephew and ask him why he’s creeping around the doll club and concealing his identity.”

  “Who? Who?” Nina said, sounding exactly like a great horned owl. “Who is Martha’s nephew? I think I missed something.”

  “Joseph Reiner.”

  “No,” Nina said in disbelief. “Martha was his aunt? He never said a word.” She plunked the car keys into Gretchen’s outstretched hand. “I should come along to protect you,” she said in a small voice.

  “I won’t be gone long. Start making phone calls.”

  Caroline stood in the incessant rain staring at Rudolph Timms’s condominium complex, a small figure lost in the early morning mass of humanity swarming around her. She clutched the case containing her laptop close to her body. It was her last hope.

  She had spent the night in the Amtrak train station, acutely aware of the indigents attempting to blend with legitimate travelers, seeking dry benches to pass the night. She had become one of them, her remaining dollars slipping through her fingers as her body demanded nourishment. Soon, out of desperation, she would take a chance and use a credit card.

  Her Phoenix source had apprised her of the latest developments, and she knew that a warrant had been issued for her arrest. A wanted woman. Also wanted by a more dangerous force than the local authorities.

  She turned off Michigan Avenue and sought cover under the canopy of the entrance to the Holiday Inn. Glancing back once more toward the opulent Timms home, she realized there wasn’t anything more she could do in the center of downtown Chicago. She had to keep moving.

  “Dead,” the voice had whispered. “You are next unless you give me what I want.”

  Caroline understood the message perfectly.

  She was dead either way.

  12

  Searching for dolls to add to your collection is fun and challenging. Dolls can be found in the most unlikely places. Garage sales, block rummage sales, local estate auctions, flea markets, even nestled among other antiques in a friend’s attic. The possibilities are endless. Keep your eyes open, and
happy hunting.

  – From World of Dolls by Caroline Birch

  Gretchen sped along Lincoln Avenue toward downtown Phoenix, feeling released from the claustrophobia she always experienced when she spent too much time around other people. The only personal space she’d managed to find in the past three days was on a rocky mountain in arid summer heat where risking death by bugs or reptiles seemed more desirable than one more minute with Nina and her cast of loony fuzz balls.

  In honor of the moment, she purchased lunch at a convenience store-a large bag of potato chips and a sugar-laden soda-and vowed to eat until the chips were history. The challenge was eating, drinking, and driving with only one good arm, but she smiled smugly at her ability to adapt to adverse conditions. She popped another chip into her mouth.

  As long as her cell phone didn’t ring or Detective Albright didn’t appear in her rearview mirror, she could handle this level of multitasking. So far, there was no sign of the dogged detective who seemed to have no social life. When did the guy take a day off?

  Gretchen chomped chips and admired the scenery. Luxury homes dotted the hillside along Lincoln like embedded jewels, and palm trees lined the boulevards. The weather-man reported the current pollen count.

  Phoenix reminded Gretchen of the setting for a fantasy novel or science fiction movie. It even smelled foreign and exotic. As she descended from the hills into the base of the city’s valley, a brown cloud of pollution rose to greet her, the consequence of building a city’s hub in a protected basin. A strong rain or high winds would clean up the air, but Gretchen doubted that it rained much in July.

  She maneuvered into a parking space near the Phoenix Rescue Mission and, after studying the outside of the building, she walked inside and approached a wizened woman behind a desk.

  “Everybody gone. Eight o’clock,” she replied in broken English. “Back to street. Find work or go church or what.”

  “Thank you,” Gretchen said, noticing a sign at the desk reminded all guests to vacate the premises by eight in the morning.