Dolled Up For Murder

by Deb Baker

  “I’m staying, too,” Larry said.

  Another round of waiting began. Gretchen watched the sun go down from a chair next to the window. The officers standing guard resorted to playing cards. Nina left to monitor her pets with Larry in tow, and Gretchen found herself alone with Matt. He glanced up from a magazine.

  “What did she say?” Gretchen asked.

  “Excuse me?”

  “You said she was in shock at the scene of the accident.”

  “Schmidt,” he said, calling to one of the officers. “You talked to Caroline Birch?”

  The taller of the two officers looked up from his card hand. “Yah, but she talked gibberish.”

  “What did she say?” Gretchen said.

  Officer Schmidt lowered his cards and folded them into his beefy palm and frowned in concentration. “Let’s see. She musta thought she was auditioning for a part in a movie or something. She said she was waiting forever to be discovered, and this was her big break.” He fanned the cards and threw one down. “What do you expect? She was in shock.”

  Gretchen sat up straight in her chair. She felt a wave of dizziness and clutched the side of the chair. “How did you identify her?” she asked slowly. The answer was important, more important than they knew. “How did you know she was Caroline Birch?” she demanded, rephrasing the question.

  The officer continued to scowl. “We ran the plates.”

  Matt leaned forward and abruptly dropped the magazine on a side table. “What?”

  “She wasn’t carrying identification,” the officer said defensively, sensing he’d said something wrong.

  “No purse?” Matt asked.

  Officer Schmidt shook his head. “Not a scrap of paper anywhere. No purse. No wallet. Just a paper bag with a few dirty clothes wadded up inside.”

  Gretchen jumped up. She wanted to scream at the top of her lungs. Instead she shouted to no one in particular, “That isn’t my mother in recovery. She didn’t have a car accident.”

  “What are you saying?” Matt said.

  “The car accident. It wasn’t my mother in the car. It was Daisy, the homeless woman.”

  Gretchen and Matt stood beside her bed. The nurse in charge of the recovery room watched to make sure they obeyed the rules. Their instructions had been clear. No speaking to the patient. One minute, no more, to make the identification.

  This was highly irregular. Frowned on by administration. But under the circumstances…

  She seemed small and helpless wrapped in hospital linens and gown, and her eyes were closed. Her head was wrapped in white bandages, and tubes snaked from beneath the bedding and traveled up into a maze of equipment and monitors.

  The woman who was her mother. But wasn’t.

  If Daisy were conscious, she would be pleased at the attention, the part she unwittingly played. She had finally received top billing to a sold-out audience.

  Gretchen struggled between feelings of intense relief that she wasn’t viewing her injured mother and overwhelming guilt because of that relief. A woman lay before her, struggling for life. Whatever distance Gretchen had felt from Daisy and her way of life was now shortened. Her possession of Caroline’s car had established a connection, and Gretchen vowed to do whatever she could to help Daisy. If only she would live.

  Where was her mother? Gretchen’s search led her in a circuitous path, and with each loop she found herself traveling closer to Nacho and Daisy. How did a ragged collection of indigents get to occupy center stage?

  Gretchen felt a gentle nudge and looked up into Matt’s questioning eyes.

  She nodded.

  16

  Modern baby dolls have soft bodies and natural hair that can be brushed and styled. Some even have that wonderful baby smell. The need to nurture plays a key role in our love of baby dolls. We all need to give love and reach out for companionship, and we learn it at a young age. You have only to watch young children feed, dress, and cuddle their own baby dolls to understand the complex emotions of maternal joy.

  – From World of Dolls by Caroline Birch

  Gretchen opened one eye. She was lying in her mother’s bed. Sunlight beamed through the slatted blinds, and Wobbles rose from the bed covers and stretched luxuriantly.

  Images from the night before flashed through her mind. Nina’s expression when she learned that Daisy, not her cherished older sister, lay beyond the waiting room doors. Endless phone calls, correcting false information dispersed earlier to frightened relatives. The reaction that remained central in Gretchen’s mind was Aunt Gertie’s unique analysis: “The woman who fell from your mountain obviously wasn’t murdered for love, so it had to be about money,” she had said late last night. “She hid her dolls, and everyone’s scrambling around hoping to cash in. It appears you and your airhead Aunt Nina and, of course, the cops, who never know anything anyway, are the only ones who don’t know what’s going on.”

  “What about my mother?” Gretchen had asked.

  “Your mother knows more than anybody,” Aunt Gertie insisted. “That’s why she’s holed up.”

  Holed up? Gretchen hadn’t heard that expression since the days she watched old westerns with her father. The Hole-in-the-Wall Gang and Bonnie and Clyde. Holed up invoked images of outlaw behavior, albeit romantic, glorified criminals who died young.

  Gretchen forced the image of Bonnie and Clyde’s last moments from her mind. Riddled with bullets.

  Aunt Gertie’s down-home attitude appealed to Gretchen in spite of her phrase turning. She said what she meant and did what she had to do and didn’t care what others thought of her. You always knew where you stood with Aunt Gertie. She epitomized their family of mostly strong women.

  Gretchen couldn’t say the same for herself. She was the exception.

  She made her second vow in the last twenty-four hours. The first was to Daisy and their future relationship. The second was to herself. She would, in military terms, muster up, find those strength genes running renegade inside her, and harness them together.

  Today she would wear her new attitude like a gun holster on her hip.

  “Let’s go,” she called to Nina, buried under a pile of blankets on Caroline’s sofa where she had collapsed in exhaustion. Tutu’s head popped out at the bottom of the blankets next to one purple-lacquered toe. When Gretchen pulled back the covers she found Nimrod sleeping in Nina’s armpit. “Rise and shine. We’re on a mission today, and you’ll have to start out at a run to keep up with me.”

  Wobbles wound through her legs while she made coffee. She dumped two extra tablespoons into the filter to symbolize her new strength and fortitude and then fed all the animals. “The dogs are staying home today, Nina. We have to stay flexible because…” She leaned into Nina’s blanketed form as it rose and moved toward her like a zombie from beyond. “… today we will either find my mother or find out what really happened, or both.”

  Nina, slumped in a kitchen chair while Gretchen toasted sourdough bread and sliced a thick wedge of Vermont cheddar. “Eat,” Gretchen ordered.

  She checked her array of voice machines: apartment in Boston, cell phone voice mail, and her mother’s personal answering machine. A few acquaintances in Boston wondered when she would be back, a message from Steve sounding annoyed and wanting to know what was going on “since yesterday’s fiasco,” and a message from Larry.

  “I’ve put all Caroline’s projects on hold,” Larry said. “Except a few of the most pressing jobs. When I let the dogs out yesterday I also reprogrammed the voice message on Caroline’s business machine, directing all calls to my number until further notice. I hope you don’t mind. If you find that you have to do something with your hands because waiting is driving you mad, I left a few simple restringing jobs behind. There’s no hurry on those, though. Keep me posted.”

  Briefly Gretchen wondered if Larry’s intentions were as unmotivated as he pretended. Reprogramming her mother’s machine seemed like a bold thing to do, considering the competitive nature of the doll busine
ss. Well, Gretchen reasoned, her mother would have lost customers with unmet deadlines anyway.

  She decided to ignore Steve’s message and his petulant remark. This was the new Gretchen Birch.

  She drove away from the house with a grumbling, pet-free Nina riding shotgun. Detective Albright pulled out from the curb behind them. “Doesn’t he have anything better to do?” Gretchen said. “He knows by now that I don’t have a clue where she is. Is he waiting for me to solve the case for him? Tagging along to claim the prize and win a promotion?”

  “He’s probably looking out for you,” Nina said. “I think he’s cute.”

  When they turned onto Lincoln, Gretchen dialed 911. “I’m being followed,” she said into the phone. “The driver is shaking a tire iron at me in a threatening way and displaying obscene gestures. In fact, he tried to run me off the road. Please help.”

  Nina stared at Gretchen.

  “No, he’s too close to read his license number.” Gretchen gave the dispatcher her location. “He’s driving a blue Chevrolet. Me…?” Gretchen hesitated, searching the cars ahead of her and spotting a likely candidate. “I’m driving a yellow Mercedes convertible. We’ll be passing Twenty-fourth Street soon.”

  A few minutes later, Gretchen heard sirens in the distance. Without signaling, she abruptly pulled over on the shoulder of the street, startling Matt, who had no recourse other than to continue on ahead of her. He slowed, then pulled over when he heard the siren and saw the lights looming behind him.

  “Imagine his surprise,” Nina said, watching the police vehicle slide in behind Matt’s car.

  Gretchen pulled back onto Lincoln and drove past the startled detective, who was already out of his vehicle flashing his badge at the responding police officer. “We don’t have much time to make our getaway,” she said, adapting a choice word from Aunt Gertie’s repertoire. “He’ll be after us as soon as the police officer realizes who he is.”

  “I didn’t know you had it in you,” Nina said, incredulous.

  Gretchen smiled wordlessly.

  Nacho streaked down the street with Gretchen in hot pursuit and Nina somewhere behind in the Impala. She wore her favorite running shoes in anticipation of this exact scenario. Best of all she had surprised him instead of the other way around. She had seized the advantage and was right on his heels.

  But she had yet to figure out how to stop him, short of a full-body tackle, because she really didn’t want another broken bone.

  She was so close behind him that his smell filled her nostrils, ripe body odor and dirty clothes. And fear. She smelled his fear. Even though she had never smelled fear before, she knew this was it, the same way any predator knows the smell. She’d had her share of fear last night. It was his turn.

  Passersby looked on in astonishment as the two darted down the sidewalk clogged with people heading for work. A dog barked. Gretchen reached ahead with her good hand and tried to get a grip on the back of his shirt. He squealed and wrenched away.

  How to stop him? She might have an uncanny new inner strength, but her dull mental processing could use some sharpening. Suddenly the answer came to her.

  “Daisy’s hurt,” she managed to call out through bursting lungs. “She had…” Gretchen puffed. “… a car accident. She’s in the hospital.”

  She sensed him wavering, an almost imperceptible change in his speed.

  “She needs you.”

  Nacho slowed to a trot, and Gretchen forced herself to be patient. Don’t grab at him. Let him come to you now.

  He twirled, still moving, backwards. “You’re lying.”

  “No, she was driving my mother’s car.” Gretchen saw a flicker of recognition in his eyes. He knows, she thought. He knows about the car but not about the accident.

  “She’s hurt badly. I can take you to her.”

  She pulled her cell phone from a clip on her belt. She had planned ahead to keep her hands free from the burden of a purse. The clip was Nina’s idea to allow her freedom to move. Gretchen wished she’d thought of it sooner.

  “We’re ready,” she whispered into the phone.

  From the corner of her eye she saw Nina’s Impala pull up to the curb, and Nacho warily slid into the backseat, tensed to make a run for it if necessary.

  Gretchen slid in right behind him, leaving Nina alone up front to taxi them to the hospital. “You’re traveling light today,” she said, “Where’s your bag and Daisy’s shopping cart?”

  “At my place,” he said. “Like it’s any of your business.”

  “My place?” He had a place?

  “Take Sixteenth Street,” Gretchen advised Nina. “We don’t want to run into our persistent detective friend.”

  They drove the rest of the way to the hospital in silence, a dubious expression on Nina’s face. The windows were rolled down to disburse the rank air. Nacho stayed alert, one hand on the door handle. Gretchen sat on an angle, eyeing Nacho in case he decided to make a swift exit.

  The critical care receptionist scrunched her nose and gaped at Nacho. Her eyes flicked up and down his body suspiciously, taking in the protrusion on the side of his head, but her expression lightened when she recognized Gretchen.

  “Your mother’s feeling better today,” she said, still operating under mistaken identities. “She’s awake.”

  “We’d like to see her,” Gretchen said, well aware of the family-only rule and seizing the opportunity to bypass it without having to explain that Daisy’s next of kin was an imaginary movie producer.

  “Only for a few minutes. The doctor will be in soon.” She studied Nacho. “Is he family?”

  “Uncle Nacho,” Gretchen said. “And this is Aunt Nina.”

  “You have quite a family,” the receptionist said, unaware of the hostile glare Nina shot at Gretchen. “Room three twelve. Only one of you in the room at a time. We don’t want to tire the patient.”

  The critical care unit was a formidable place, capable of intimidating the most resilient visitor. The air buzzed with activity in spite of the hushed atmosphere.

  After finding the right room, Gretchen cast a look down the hall and, after making sure they weren’t watched, motioned to Nina and Nacho to follow her in.

  Daisy, encased in white bedding and bandages, looked like an octopus, tentacles of plastic tubing rising in the air.

  She opened one eye and smiled when she saw Nacho standing in the doorway.

  “Look at this,” she said. “The show is sold out on opening night. Hello, fans.”

  “You gave me a scare,” Nacho said, moving close and taking her hand. “I worried about you when you didn’t come back.”

  “We all worried about you,” Nina said.

  “This is like a fancy resort for me,” Daisy said. “Three squares a day and a button for room service. I might learn to like it here.”

  Nacho continued to hold her hand.

  “Did you tell them?” Daisy asked him.

  “Not yet.” Nacho’s face softened.

  “It’s time to tell them. They’re her family,” Daisy said.

  Nacho blew out a sigh and turned to Gretchen and Nina.

  “Caroline flew out on a plane right after Martha died,” he said. “She didn’t want to leave a trail, so I moved her car away from the airport. She gave me a credit card, and I drove it to Cave Creek and used the card to fill up the gas tank. I did it just like she said.”

  “Where did she go?” Gretchen asked.

  “She said she had to take care of something important that involved Martha. She wouldn’t tell me anything more than that.”

  “How do you know my mother?” Gretchen asked. “And why would she ask you to help her?” She didn’t say the obvious, that Nacho had little to give in the way of support.

  “Martha trusted her. That was good enough for me. You’ll have to ask her yourself why she came to me.”

  Gretchen eyed Nacho. Unkempt, a knob on his head sprouting up like a cactus through the dry desert earth, defiance in his stance. “D
o you know there’s a warrant for her arrest? The police think she may have killed Martha.”

  “That’s not true.”

  “What about the doll trunk?” Nina said.

  “She left a bag in the backseat of her car. She told me to open it and follow the directions she had written on the picture.”

  “The same bag I found in the shopping cart? With the doll trunk?”

  Nacho nodded.

  “Where’s the doll?”

  “I never saw a doll.”

  “Okay,” Gretchen said. “You went to the airport with her, she gave you a credit card and her car, and asked you to take care of the doll trunk. And all this time she didn’t tell you where she was going or why she was going there. Do I have that right?”

  “You got it,” Daisy said, her voice like a dove feather, soft and lilting. “Only I love to drive around. Haven’t had a car since the late eighties. Whee, it was fun.”

  “That’s why you had Daisy’s shopping cart?” Gretchen said to Nacho. “Because she wanted to drive around?”

  “She was supposed to park it over by McDowell,” Nacho said. “That was the plan. Instead, Daisy was gone overnight.”

  The unemployed actress put on an appropriately chastised expression, as if to say that the bandages wrapped around her head proved that her punishment outweighed her crime.

  Gretchen studied Daisy, and it struck her that the homeless woman would have viewed the car as more than a simple pleasure ride. She would have thought of it as shelter. “Instead of abandoning the car you were sleeping in it, weren’t you?” Gretchen said.

  “I know I shouldn’t have,” Daisy said. “I wanted to take one last ride, then I planned to park it right where Nacho said.”

  Nacho scowled at her, eyebrows meeting in one bushy line, tufts of stubble sprouting from unlikely pores in his face. Concern, rather than anger, apparent in his eyes. An obvious bond existed between them.

  “And I would have, too, if someone hadn’t rammed into the back of the car. I lost control and flew right off the road.”