Gretchen Birch Boxed Set (Books 1-4)

by Deb Baker

  After towel-drying Nimrod and complaining about the stench of chlorine and other pool chemicals, Nina set off with the promise to return in a few hours for the trip to the Phoenix Rescue Mission. Gretchen checked the answering machine after she noticed its red light flashing. “I’m making progress on these repairs.” Larry’s voice boomed through the room. “If Caroline turns up, give me a call. Otherwise, I’ll keep at it.”

  Gretchen was grateful for Larry’s help, whatever his underlying motives might be. Meeting deadlines was an important part of restoration. Again she went through the motions of checking for messages at her apartment in Boston, but the effort felt mechanical and wasted. Whatever her mother was up to, it didn’t include confiding in her family.

  She changed into her swimming suit and lowered her body slowly into the blue, sparkling water. Wobbles, a true sun worshiper, basked contentedly from a lounge chair. He lifted his head to the sun’s rays with dreamy eyes. Gretchen envied his relaxed, worry-free existence.

  She thought about Steve and their future together. She had lost her job permanently and her mother temporarily, and now she had to face Steve’s lack of commitment to her. He didn’t seem particularly interested in the events that sent her to Phoenix or the details associated with her mother’s disappearance.

  For the first time in seven years, she realized that he marginalized her, that he thought his concerns and worries and actions were more important than hers.

  If she didn’t call him, how long would it take him to call her? Interesting, she thought, to conduct a test.

  The doorbell rang, interrupting her calculated decision to outwait Steve. She stepped from the pool, wrapped a beach towel around her waist, and padded through the house, trailing water. Matt Albright stood on the porch.

  “Come in, Detective,” Gretchen said, swinging the door wide after passing the two Shirley Temple dolls. Nina and her pranks. But he deserved it after his cold, callous handling of the search and his false friendliness.

  He seemed surprised at Gretchen’s warm greeting, took a step forward, and smiled. Once again Gretchen admired the way his face lit up. “I caught you in the pool,” he said. “And call me Matt. Our mothers are good friends. No need to be so formal.”

  When he saw the dolls on the bench, the smile slid from his face, and he stopped in his tracks.

  “What’s wrong?” Gretchen said with mock concern. “Are you ill? You look feverish.” He did look pale and slightly unsteady. Panic flickered in his eyes.

  How could a buffed-up cop exhibit such fear over a harmless doll? Nina’s trick didn’t seem so funny after all, and Gretchen felt mean-spirited for going along with it.

  “Give me a second,” she said, snatching the dolls and quickly transferring them to a shelf in the closet. “Would you like some iced tea?”

  He nodded wordlessly and followed her into the kitchen. Gretchen poured two tall glasses of lemonade.

  She handed him a glass and led the way to the patio, choosing a table under a wide umbrella. She fluffed her damp hair and sat down, still wearing the towel around her waist. The sun sizzled overhead, instantly sucking the moisture from her skin. The swim a few minutes ago seemed like a distant memory as her body temperature climbed.

  Before sitting down next to Gretchen, the detective stopped to stroke Wobbles, running his hand over the cat’s long body several times. At least he doesn’t have felinophobia, she thought.

  “You will probably regret offering me a cold drink when you find out why I’m here,” he said.

  “Try me.”

  “We’ve issued a warrant for your mother’s arrest,” he said. “We want her for questioning in the death of Martha Williams.”

  “Quit beating around the bush,” Gretchen said with exaggerated sarcasm. “Get right to the point. All this small talk is killing me.”

  “I’m sorry. I couldn’t think of an easy way to break it to you.”

  “You’re making a big mistake.”

  “All the signs point to her.”

  “Expound on that,” Gretchen said, tightly, working to dredge up some of that Birch inner strength.

  Strength. That was something she and her mother knew about. A malignant tumor like Caroline had encountered inspired courage and resolve in the face of adversity.

  She twirled her mother’s pink bracelet.

  “First, we have the note Martha managed to write before she died. That’s damaging. We have the first evidence of a motive. Money. That doll from your mother’s workshop was worth three thousand dollars. The entire list could be worth a half million dollars or more.”

  “The entire collection of dolls on the list, perhaps,” Gretchen agreed. “You’re forgetting that they no longer belonged to Martha when she died. For all we know, the collection was broken up and the dolls sold as individual pieces. One three thousand dollar doll is hardly a motive for murder.”

  “That remains to be seen.” He studied Gretchen. “Your mother also had means. Martha died on that mountain.” He pointed up to the peak. “Practically in Caroline Birch’s back yard. And where is she when we want to question her? She’s disappeared.”

  “Circumstantial evidence, Detective.” Gretchen followed his gaze upward. The red rocks glowed in the sunlight. “I can’t believe you got a warrant on those grounds.”

  He held up his hand, and with his other hand ticked off each point. “She had means-it happened on her home turf.” He tapped a finger. “She had a motive-valuable dolls.” Tap. “And she’s missing-no alibi.” Tap.

  “She’ll explain everything when she comes home,” Gretchen insisted.

  “We have witnesses,” he said, dropping his hands to the table and spreading his fingers wide. “A man and a woman were hiking together on the mountain at the time it happened.”

  Gretchen felt light-headed. “They saw it? They saw my mother murder Martha Williams?” Her voice climbed several octaves.

  He shook his head. “They didn’t see Martha fall. But they saw your mother fleeing. According to their account, she practically ran over them coming down the mountain. She came from the exact spot where Martha Williams was pushed.”

  “Martha Williams committed suicide,” Gretchen said, weakly.

  “I’m afraid not. Martha Williams was murdered.”

  Gretchen stared at the mountain blankly. There had to be a logical explanation. All the strength she had summoned threatened to seep away. Two witnesses saw her mother on the mountain when Martha died. She could no longer dismiss his theory as pure speculation. Something awful occurred on Camelback Mountain, and her mother was there at the time. What explanation would she give for running away? Did innocent people run?

  “We have an APB out on her car,” he continued. “I’m sorry.”

  Gretchen’s gaze met his, and she almost believed he truly was sorry.

  “You have to tell me where she is. She has to come in and clear this up.” He leaned closer. “Where is she?”

  “I’m afraid I really don’t know.”

  Maybe, Gretchen thought, it’s time to pool their resources and work with the police. To a degree. She considered sharing the discovery of the doll shawl and photograph with him, but that might only give the police more reason to suspect her mother. It wouldn’t help find her, and it wouldn’t help exonerate her. The bag Gretchen found must remain her secret until she understood its significance. Until she located the French fashion doll and the trunk, the shawl would stay hidden with Nina.

  “She left without telling anyone where she was going. That’s why I came to Phoenix. Nina’s worried about her.”

  “You wouldn’t withhold information to protect her, would you?”

  Gretchen shook her head. “Believe me, I want to find her more than you do. Tell me who appraised the doll you found in the workshop?” April Lehman knew about the doll shawl, and Gretchen hoped she hadn’t shared her knowledge with the police.

  “An appraiser over in Glendale. April Lehman wasn’t available. Seems she left
town for a few days.”

  The detective drained his glass and stood. Gretchen walked with him through the backyard gate and around the side of the house. The home’s landscaping matched the wildness of the Sonora Desert and Camelback Mountain: spiked cacti, red-hued boulders, and spindly whiplike Ocotillos that were leafless in dry July but exploded with red blossoms in April.

  A chameleon darted across the walkway in front of them.

  “Someone threatened me last night,” she said, and related the encounter and the words spoken by the homeless man: “Get out while you still can.”

  “And you think he has something to do with the Williams murder.”

  Murder. Gretchen cringed at the word.

  “Yes,” she said. “I think he knows something important. My plan is to find him.”

  “Well, my plan is to find Caroline Birch.” Matt stopped at his car, a nondescript blue Chevrolet with no official markings. “How about this? You keep me informed, and I’ll do the same.”

  “Aren’t you going to threaten me with jail if I withhold information? I am, as you recall, the main suspect’s daughter.”

  Matt smiled. “You watch too many cop shows. This isn’t a movie. Besides -”

  She interrupted him. “I know. Our mothers are friends.”

  __________

  Gretchen sat on a stool in the workshop and imagined her mother bent over a broken doll, in the process of restoring it to its original splendor. A healer. Her mother’s lifework brought renewal, not destruction.

  From one of the repair bins marked as sale dolls, she selected a grime-coated wax doll with a damaged nose. Once the doll was cleaned and repaired, her mother would take it to a doll show along with boxes of other dolls collected for that purpose.

  Sitting in the shop, she felt closer to her mother.

  Using light pressure, she began to clean the doll with cold cream, carefully spreading it around the eyes and ears with a Q-tip.

  Gretchen smiled to herself. When she was learning the business, her mother had set her up at a table laden with paraffin wax and candles and supplies, and instructed her to experiment. Carve it, she’d said, mold it into shapes, and color it with crayons. Then melt some in a pot and create something entirely new.

  It was one of her most memorable adult play days, and when she had finished, she possessed a working knowledge of wax dolls and their care.

  This particular doll’s nose had worn away. Gretchen reached for a hair dryer hanging from a peg over the bench, turned it on, and blew hot air on the area until the wax surrounding the worn nose became malleable. Carefully and patiently, she pushed the wax toward the end of the nose until she had created a new one.

  She held the doll up and examined her work.

  __________

  Caroline approached the luxury condominium without a concrete plan of action. Turning off Michigan Avenue, she found the condo units she sought. Complete with indoor parking and spectacular lake views. A uniformed doorman stood at attention inside the glass doors, a buffer between the building’s self-proclaimed elite and the commoners from the street below.

  Caroline tucked silver strands of hair under her baseball cap. She brushed her hands across her shorts and top, smoothing out wrinkles caused by sleeping in her clothes. Her right hand clutched her laptop. She knew she would never get past the guard.

  She entered a series of numbers on her cell phone, and the same woman picked up on the first ring.

  “Please,” she said, trying to keep the sound of desperation out of her voice. “I realize that Mr. Timms is away, but if I could only see the doll for a minute. That’s all I need.” It was the truth. One of the first truths in this scheme of deception and lies.

  Caroline leaned against the side of the high-rise building and closed her eyes.

  When she opened them, the security guard had repositioned, moving closer, eyeing her with distrust.

  “Mr. Timms called early this morning,” the woman said. “I told him you had arrived. His private plane will land within the hour. His trip was successful, allowing him to return earlier than expected. Call again in a few hours.”

  “Thank you.” Caroline disconnected as large rain drops splattered on the walk around her. Thank you. Thank you. She trembled in anticipation. A few hours of waiting would feel like several long, agonizing days. She could hear every lost minute ticking away in her mind.

  Rain pelted her. She ran to the other side of the street, protecting her laptop and cursing Chicago’s unpredictable weather: damp, humid, dreary.

  With any luck she would be out of this city by nightfall.

  Chapter 8

  Nina sat at the kitchen table, her hands covering her face in horror while Gretchen broke the news. Tutu and Nimrod, temporarily forgotten by their caregiver, ran roughshod over the house. Gretchen heard a warning hiss from the bedroom followed by a yelp, and both dogs bolted back into the kitchen. Tutu sported a fresh claw mark on her nose, and Gretchen measured the extent of Nina’s anguish by her failure to even notice.

  “This is a nightmare,” Nina wailed. “Slap me. Wake me up.”

  Gretchen would have gladly followed Nina’s instructions if she thought a slap would help. Wasn’t she the one who should be crying on Nina’s shoulder, not the other way around? What had happened to her cool, mystical aunt?

  “Call Steve,” Nina said through broken sobs. “We need a lawyer.”

  “Steve’s a divorce attorney. He won’t be able to help us. Matt said the most important thing is to find her and bring her back.”

  “Matt who?” Nina asked through a space between her fingers.

  “Matt Albright, the detective.”

  “Oh, suddenly he’s Matt. What happened to Detective Albright? You’re forgetting who the enemy is.”

  “No, I’m not.” Gretchen handed Nina a box of tissues. “He’s right. She has to come back and explain what happened. He isn’t the enemy. Martha’s killer is the enemy.”

  “What are we going to do?” Nina blew her nose loudly. “Caroline better have something to say for herself. How could she become involved in something like this?”

  “We need to find out who really killed Martha.” Gretchen paused to absorb the scope of what she was proposing. “And we need to find out why my mother was on Camelback Mountain. What happened up there?” She chewed the inside of her cheek while she thought about the possibilities.

  Nina slammed her hands on the table. “Let’s go. I can’t stand just sitting here.”

  She rounded up her dogs, stuffing Nimrod in his purse and bundling Tutu in her arms.

  Gretchen nodded. “Let’s go find the elusive Nacho.”

  Nina drove like her life hung in the balance, and Gretchen realized for the first time how close her mother and her aunt really were. She, too, fought against a growing pressure around her own heart, the physical pain of life gone awry. Losing her job seemed insignificant now. Even her issues with Steve seemed petty.

  “Slow down,” Gretchen called. “We won’t be much help to her if we’re dead.”

  “Where did April go?” Nina asked, easing off the gas a little. “April didn’t say anything to me about going away.”

  “It’s to our advantage. I didn’t tell Matt about the shawl and picture and was worried that she might.”

  “I think she knows more than she’s letting on. Maybe she wants to beat us to the doll. Remember, it was her idea to keep it a secret.”

  Gretchen gripped the dashboard as Nina took a sharp right turn. “You might be overreacting. April seemed harmless to me.”

  “She hated Martha. You saw her reaction. She even admitted it. She could be our killer.”

  Gretchen considered April - enormous, lumbering April. “How could she have climbed up the mountain to push Martha? She can barely manage a porch step.”

  “You’d be amazed at how limber large people can be when they want to,” Nina said, turning onto Thirty-fifth Avenue and continuing past the Phoenix Rescue Mission.


  “There it is.” Gretchen pointed ahead, and Nina swung over and found a parking space. She left the car running so cool air continued to circulate.

  Gretchen and Nina stayed inside the car and looked at the church.

  St. Anskar’s Parish was set back from the street. Its whitewashed façade gleamed in the sun, and a large gold cross glistened above a small courtyard leading to the massive front doors.

  “We’re a little early,” Gretchen said, impatiently checking her watch.

  Fifteen minutes later people began to arrive at the church. Most of them came alone, shuffling slowly down the street, silent and weary from the heat, motivated by the promise of a free meal. Each turned in to the courtyard and followed a walkway that led around the side of the building. Gretchen and Nina watched from the car.

  “Should we wait here until he comes by?” Nina asked. “Or go inside?”

  “Let’s wait here and confront him on the sidewalk,” Gretchen said. “We don’t know how he will react, and we don’t want to create a scene inside. When he comes, I’ll get out and stop him.” She glanced at the dogs in the backseat. They panted heavily and smeared saliva on the back windows.

  Gretchen watched an old man limp past, wearing more clothes than should be bearable.

  “Well,” Nina said. “I hope he comes along soon, or the car is going to overheat.”

  Gretchen turned slightly in her seat and peered down the street in the opposite direction. “We’re in luck. Here he comes,” she said, clutching Nina’s arm.

  He wore the same clothes he’d worn last night and carried the same black garbage bag tucked under his arm. As he approached, his gaze fell on Nina’s red Impala. He froze in place.

  “What…?” Gretchen began, confused by his response. He was reacting to the car as though he knew it. She jumped out when she saw him running away.

  “Stay here,” she commanded, slamming the car door and breaking into a run. He turned a corner, and she followed. Gretchen’s pulse throbbed as she gave pursuit. She was in excellent condition from hiking and jogging and could keep up with almost anyone. But he had a wide lead that she would have to close.