by Deb Baker
"Yesterday," he lies as pat as a slice of butter, or so he imagines. The cop eyes him with a piercing stare, but Bernard stays calm and pierces him right back.
"Let me see the key," the cop says.
Bernard dutifully presents it.
"Same key fit the back door?"
Bernard nods.
"Did you ever think you might have destroyed evidence by letting all these people in here?"
"I had to see if she needed help. How was I supposed to know she was dead?" Tears form in his eyes when he says the word dead. He allows his sorrow to show.
The cop closes the notebook and hands Bernard a piece of paper. "Fill this out. At the moment, we're using every clipboard, thanks to the free-for-all. We have an entire room full of potential witnesses who haven't seen a thing." The cop looks frustrated. "You'll have to find something firm to write on."
Bernard looks around the room with satisfaction. People are filling out paperwork left and right. They're hunkered over the questions as though this is a written exam, and they want to get all the answers correct.
"And stay on this side of the room," the cop cautions him.
"What about my key?" Bernard says.
"We'll get it back to you."
A woman enters and approaches the officer, "I have to leave," she says. "I have an appointment."
She's good-looking, about thirty, give or take, wild hair, buxomy. Bernard always liked his women full-figured. Most Arizona women look like toothpicks, like they'd snap if you squeezed them. Not this one.
He notices the dog. It looks like a black dust ball.
"You can go," the cop says to her. "I have your number, if I have any more questions." She nods, stands in the entrance searching through her purse. Must be chock-full of whatever women carry with them, because it takes her a while. That dog is in there, too. She draws out sunglasses and puts them on, then swishes out with her bowwow dog. But first she touches the palm of her hand to the doorframe. Fingerprints.
The more, the merrier.
3
In the early 1900s, candy shops sold tiny bisque dolls. These half-inch, miniature dolls could be purchased for a penny-the same price as a piece of candy. Many of the penny dolls wore crepe paper dresses. Others were nude except for shoes and socks, so little girls could design and make their own clothing. The first penny dolls had mohair wigs or molded and painted blonde hair, and their eyes were painted bright blue. The smallest dolls were made with no movable parts. Larger dolls had wire- strung joints and heads that moved. Today, penny dolls are fun to collect and are still affordable, although they cost much more than a penny.
– From World of Dolls by Caroline Birch Gretchen held a penny doll in her hand. A four-inch dollhouse doll with finely painted features, it wore a pale blue silk gown and a matching hair band in its blond molded hair. It had belonged to Charlie. The doll shop owner had asked Gretchen's mother to repair a damaged arm, and she had. Gretchen had planned to return it at the party, but the doll had been forgotten in her purse. Until now.
"The Scottsdale cop asked me if I believed in the chaos theory," Gretchen said to her aunt from a stool at her worktable. Aunt Nina removed a pile of doll clothing from a chair and scooted lightly onto it. The bows in her hair matched perfectly with the pink and green swirls on her capris. Nina's precocious schnoodle, Tutu, also sported matching pink and green bows. The spoiled pet was bent on destroying the possibility of a long, pampered life by angering Wobbles, the three-legged cat who chose to live with Gretchen. Wobbles, Gretchen had found out early on, belonged to no one.
"The chaos theory," Nina said, "is a mathematic theory about finding order in chaos. I wonder if he's a New Ager like me."
Gretchen bent over the doll, still studying it. "I reached Mom. She's canceling the rest of her book tour and coming home tomorrow. I told her one of Charlie's display cases tipped over, upending a number of room boxes, and she's insisting she's going to restore the room boxes to their original forms."
Gretchen heard a hiss from Wobbles and a yelp from Tutu. Nimrod, the teacup poodle, was sound asleep in his bed, oblivious to the disagreement. Nina lunged from her seat and distracted the two warriors. She shooed Wobbles out of the workshop, closed the door, and fussed over her darling pet.
Nina reassured herself that Tutu had survived her brush with death. "Okay," she said, "where were we? What are these room boxes you were talking about?"
"They're usually little displays that contain a miniature scene. Like those dioramas kids make from shoe boxes, but much more sophisticated," Gretchen explained. "A living room with all the furnishings, for example, or the inside of a store, like a pet shop. All with very realistic miniature scale details."
"You mean like rooms in a dollhouse?"
"Not exactly, but close. Each room box is self-contained and can be an entirely different setting with no relationship to any others. What makes them really unique are all the tiny pieces of furniture and accents that go inside the room boxes. Some hobbyists are extremely creative and make their own furnishings."
"Humph. ." Nina leaned on the worktable, flashing her polka-dotted pink and green nails. How long would it have taken to paint on all the little polka dots? Probably hours, Gretchen thought.
"And your mother wants to fix them?" Nina asked. Gretchen shrugged. "It all depends on the police investigation. If they aren't sure Charlie died from natural causes, who knows when they will be through with her shop?"
"If putting the room boxes together helps Caroline through her grief, I'll be there to help my sister."
"Oh, right."
Aunt Nina didn't know a thing about dolls. She trained miniature dog breeds to travel in their owners' purses, teaching them to duck down and hide if they entered an unfriendly environment like a restaurant or grocery store. It was a perfect career for her. She had no competition and no real overhead costs. Nina had created her very own exclusive service industry, and she had more clients than she could manage. But dolls?
No way.
Her aunt kept herself busy training dogs, perfecting her psychic abilities, and matching her accessories to her outfits, not necessarily in that order.
"Don't forget I've been hanging around with doll collectors," Nina said, as though she knew exactly what Gretchen was thinking. "I love to decorate, and you and Caroline know everything there is to know about doll repair. I'll be able to tell you where all the pieces go. We'll be a great team. I'm getting a psychic message right this minute." Nina's long fingers connected with her forehead in a telepathic pose. After listening hard, she said, "We were meant to do it."
In Gretchen's opinion, Nina's psychic abilities were entirely trumped up. None of her aunt's otherworldly announcements had ever amounted to anything.
"I don't know if we should," Gretchen replied. "What about all the work piling up right here?"
"Between the three of us, it won't take long," Nina argued.
"I'm sure April would like to help, too. That would speed it up."
April was the Phoenix Dollers' favorite doll appraiser. She wore tent-sized muumuus, drove a banged-up white Buick, and lived in a dilapidated house in Tempe. She didn't care for any material possessions except for her prized collection of miniatures. Gretchen chuckled to herself every time she envisioned the large woman engulfing a mini doll in her chubby hands.
"April," Nina repeated the name acidly. "She's always hanging around. This should be just family."
"But April collects miniatures. She'd bring a lot of experience to the project."
"She should stick to appraising dolls."
"I thought you liked April."
"I do. We've just been seeing too much of her."
Gretchen glanced sharply at her aunt, who had been uncharacteristically catty lately. If she didn't know better, she'd think Nina was jealous of the time Gretchen spent with April.
Gretchen lifted the dress on Charlie's penny doll and noted the stamp on the doll's back. "Charlie's doll is fascinating," she said. "See the sta
mp on its body? It was made in Germany some time in the very early 1900s, one of the more expensive penny dolls. April could tell us more."
Nina scowled at another mention of April's name.
"Wait. ." She paused dramatically. "I feel something coming in. Yes, you need a reading."
"A reading?" Oh, no. I have to keep my aunt away from New Age shops. Over time, Nina had progressed from analyzing colored auras to communication with spirits. Now what? Readings?
"I bought my first set of tarot cards," Nina said, "and I'm practicing. You might discover your true self."
"I've found my true self. See, here I am."
"You're such a pragmatist."
In spite of all her aunt's hype about her special ability as a psychic, she hadn't managed yet to impart anything unusual, helpful, or remotely close to remarkable.
"I still don't understand why Mom wants to put the room boxes together," Gretchen said.
"Maybe Caroline needs the closure." Nina studied the little colored dots on her fingernails. "Besides, it might give you an opportunity to see more of a certain man." She glanced slyly at Gretchen. "Detective Matt Albright's divorce is almost final. But, of course, you know that."
Gretchen pretended disinterest by shrugging her shoulders. Buff, hunky, masculine Matt. Separated, living alone, but technically still-married Matt. The M word bothered her tremendously.
Matt's mother Bonnie was president of the Phoenix Dollers Club and the biggest blabbermouth on planet Earth. If she found out Gretchen had gone out on a date with Matt, his soon-to-be ex would find out, and that could create all kinds of serious problems for the detective. And for her. They had to slow way down and keep their relationship casual while he waited for his divorce to be finalized. Nina knew about her niece's attraction to the detective, but Gretchen didn't want the rest of the doll community to know.
What if he went back to his wife? If they reconciled, wouldn't she feel foolish if everyone knew? You bet. But her decision to avoid Matt made him that much more intriguing and sexy. She hadn't been able to get him out of her mind.
"Don't pretend indifference with me," Nina said.
"I like to travel light," Gretchen said, repeating her old mantra. "And he comes with a lot of baggage."
"Look who's talking? You spent seven years with a cheating man."
Steve. The years she'd wasted with the self-indulgent attorney! How naive she'd been. All those "business trips."
She'd still be buying his line if one of his little "distractions" hadn't called and spelled the entire thing out for her. The discovery that Steve had been unfaithful had felt like Camelback Mountain boulders crushing the air from her body. She'd thought she'd never breathe again. But she had.
"You make it sound like I knew he was playing around all along," Gretchen said. "The minute I found out, I ended it. No baggage here."
Nina peered at Gretchen's face as though hoping to read her mind. "One lunch date with Matt, and you've been dodging him ever since. What happened? Did he forget to use utensils? Did he make lewd and inappropriate sexual advances to the waitresses? What?"
Gretchen shrugged. "He was interesting, comfortable to be with, considerate-"
"Those certainly are serious flaws in his character. I can see why you're avoiding him."
"You're too pushy. Give me some time." Gretchen felt a twinge of guilt for speaking so harshly.
"Is his wife still stalking you?" Nina asked, not even noticing Gretchen's tone had become brisk and impatient.
"Or rather, his soon-to-be ex?"
"Once in a while I spot her. That's another good reason to stay away from him."
"She's a nutcase, all right," Nina agreed. "You know, Bonnie really wants you to get together with her 'Matty.' I bet she's the one who spilled it to Kayla. His own mother is making his life impossible." Nina clasped her hands together. "But why think depressing thoughts? What do you think about restoring the room boxes? Let's do it. Say yes, and I'll teach Nimrod more tricks."
"I'll say yes if you promise not to teach him any more tricks," Gretchen said, remembering the parade fiasco and her horror when he'd dashed into the street after hearing his "parade" command.
"It's a deal." Nina looked quizzical but was too caught up in her own drama to ask for an explanation. "But you aren't going to mention our plan to April, are you?"
"She'll find out," Gretchen said. "How do you think that will make her feel if we've excluded her?"
"But-" Nina started to say.
"No buts."
"Well, if you insist." Nina rolled her eyes theatrically. Gretchen worried about what was going on with her two buddies. She'd hate to see anything come between their friendships. Maybe working on Charlie Maize's room boxes would bring them back together.
Gretchen put Charlie's penny doll in the top drawer of her worktable, really hoping that the bloody miniature axe she'd seen on the shop floor had nothing to do with the room boxes her mother wanted to restore.
Saturday evening's festivities were in full swing along the streets of Old Scottsdale. Parking was at a premium. Gretchen and Nina found a parking space several blocks from Mini Maize. Gretchen wasn't sure why she found herself drawn back to the shop, but here she was.
"Let's go in this shop," Nina suggested, "or this one."
"Come along," Gretchen ordered. "We aren't here to spend money."
"You lured me with promises of great shopping."
"After we peek in Mini Maize."
Nina trailed behind with prancing Tutu. Nimrod rode in Gretchen's purse. He seemed as excited as the children who wore cowboy hats and rode ponies around in circles. Better yet for the tiny pup, everyone who encountered the miniature teacup poodle wanted to cuddle him. Nimrod was his own showstopper. Gretchen felt like his personal bodyguard.
She couldn't pry Nina from the window displays, so she reconciled herself to a slow, halting pace.
"How about this shop," Nina whined. "Let's go in. Just this one."
"After."
Old Scottsdale was one of Gretchen's favorite places to browse. They strolled past western-style shops filled with Native American pottery and Navajo rugs. Art galleries, antique shops, trading posts, and jewelry stores lined the busy streets.
Gretchen admired a turquoise and silver bracelet in a window. She wished she could afford to buy it, but at the moment, she was saving for her own apartment.
"It's beautiful," Nina said, stopping to admire the same piece of jewelry. "Turquoise and silver are the hottest combination this year. Let's go in. You have to try it on."
"I can't afford to even think about it," Gretchen said wistfully. Nina groaned and pulled Gretchen's arm. "Come on. Just try it on."
"No, once it's on my wrist, I won't be able to take it off."
Gretchen stood firm.
"Why fight it?" Nina insisted. "You're saving so you can move out of your mother's home, but Caroline is hardly there since she started her book tours. Stay there as long as you want. Besides, the repair workshop is right there at the house. How much more convenient could it be? You don't want to start commuting to work."
"She's coming home tomorrow," Gretchen reminded Nina.
"Because of Charlie. After that, poof, she'll be gone again. Say after me, buy jewelry."
"I need my own place. Ever since moving across the country, I've lived with my mother. Not that I'm complaining about the circumstances, it just doesn't feel grown-up."
"You lived by yourself in Boston, and you were horribly lonely."
"What makes you think that?"
"Psychic analysis."
Gretchen turned from the tempting bracelet and continued walking in the direction of Charlie's doll shop. Nina and Tutu scurried to catch up.
"I love my work," Gretchen said, stopping to let a little girl pet Nimrod. "But I'm new at it. When I agreed to the business arrangement with Mom, I didn't anticipate going it alone. It was supposed to be a partnership. Two of us. Dos. " She held up two fingers.
T
he doll restoration business she shared with her mother had taken off, but so had her mother. Once Gretchen had agreed to help with repairs, Caroline had handed most of the real work to her and was now traveling extensively to promote her new doll book, World of Dolls. In her spare time, she hunted for treasures to add to her collection or to sell at the doll shows that Gretchen attended.
Nimrod's most recent admirer gave him a kiss on the top of his head and waved goodbye.
"Caroline is having the time of her life," Nina said.
"Having you in Phoenix has been so good for her. She can pursue her writing, thanks to you. She needs you as much as you need her."
Gretchen strode along, considering the years of trouble that had plagued her family: her father's death in a car accident, followed rapidly by her mother's battle with breast cancer. She'd almost lost both of them.
She realized Nina wasn't beside her. She stopped and turned.
"You're walking too fast," Nina huffed from behind, eyes darting to catch every window display. "Slow down.
"You're a shopaholic," Gretchen called out.
Nina glanced into an art gallery. "Let's go in and check out the paintings."
"Mini Maize is right here," Gretchen said, pointing to the next shop.
"I'll be along soon." Nina darted into the gallery with Tutu at her heels, leaving Gretchen standing alone in front of the doll shop.
Here I am. Now what?
Gretchen peered through the window. A light had been left on over the main counter. She could see the display case lying on the floor. The room boxes and scattered doll furnishings still remained where they had fallen earlier in the day. From her position, she could even see where Charlie Maize's body had been found. Then she saw movement. A woman came out of the back room and approached the counter. With her back to Gretchen, she straightened a stack of magazines on the countertop.
Gretchen tapped on the window to get her attention. The woman's head snapped around. Gretchen motioned to the door. The woman met her there and unlocked it. As she stuck her head out, Gretchen could see the wariness in her eyes. "The shop is closed."
"I know. I'm Gretchen Birch. I was here this morning when Charlie's body was discovered. I wanted to come by." That sounded foolish. Why had she come to the shop?