by Deb Baker
Her eyes were riveted on the man ahead. He glanced back over his shoulder and increased his pace. Gretchen’s legs pumped faster.
Nacho cut across the street against the light. Horns blew. Someone shouted out a warning.
Gretchen’s eyes never left the fleeing man as she raced across the street behind him, even though she realized the danger in crossing a busy street. She heard her name called out and instinctively turned her head.
Nina cruised next to her in the Impala with the window down. “Let him go,” she called. “It’s not worth it.”
Gretchen looked ahead just as he left the sidewalk and disappeared between two commercial buildings. Ignoring Nina, she gave chase. Nacho was the path to her mother, possibly the key to Martha’s murder. This might be her only chance, and she wasn’t about to blow it.
He ran like a desert coyote, like his life depended on it, his arms pumping hard, his eyes, when he glanced back, frightened.
Gretchen remembered the alcohol on his breath the night before and wondered where his stamina came from. Maybe his fear was greater than hers, and that was what drove his momentum. In spite of having nothing material to show for his life, he might have more to lose than she did. If that was possible.
She began to gain on him. Closer and closer. She could hear her breath, usually controlled when she ran distances, pounding in her ears. Now it came out ragged, and she struggled to establish a rhythm. The sweltering heat beating down from the desert sun was unbearable.
He vanished behind another building. Gretchen rushed after him. Rounding a corner, something shot out at her from a dumpster against the wall and struck her below her knees. Gretchen felt herself falling. She lurched forward, trying to recover from the fall, but it was too late. She put her hands out in front of her to break the fall and felt a sharp pain in her left wrist as her body slammed into concrete.
Footsteps thundered past her. Then silence.
She struggled to her feet, holding her wrist.
Nacho, her only lead, had vanished.
__________
When Gretchen emerged from between the buildings, Nina jumped from the car and shouted at her. “Are you crazy?” she screamed. “You could have been killed. You didn’t know if he had a gun. What were you going to do if you caught him?” She clasped her hands on top of her head. “He could have had a knife and sliced you to pieces.”
Gretchen gasped for breath. She bent over and cradled her wrist.
“What happened to you?” Nina said, noticing Gretchen’s protective stance.
“Hurt…my…wrist.” An image of Nacho running flashed through Gretchen’s head. His long strides. His arm motions assisting him, increasing his speed. The arms were important.
“Let me see.” Nina hurried over to her.
Gretchen shook her head. “He…” She gasped. “…tripped me.”
The arms, she thought. What am I missing?
She realized what it was. “He dropped the bag.”
Nina scowled. “What are you talking about?”
“The garbage bag. He must have thrown it off somewhere along the way.” Gretchen straightened up. “Hurry. We have to find it.”
Gretchen ran quickly along the sidewalk, retracing her steps. Nina swung the car around and followed. The dogs, sensing a game afoot, watched side by side out the back window. Tutu yelped encouragement, her excitement spurring Nimrod to join in.
When did she notice that he was swinging both arms? After they crossed the intersection but before Nacho ducked between the buildings. She walked to the intersection and studied her surroundings. Sharp pain shot through her wrist, forcing her to support it with her other hand.
Where was Nacho now? Was he watching from a hiding place? She had to beat him to the garbage bag. Gretchen looked up and down the street but didn’t see him. She peeked into a trash receptacle on the corner, then motioned to Nina with her head.
“What?” Nina asked, stepping out of the Impala.
“You’ll have to grab it,” Gretchen said. “He stuffed the bag in here.” She gestured with her hands.
“Do I have to?” Nina said, wrinkling her nose.
“Afraid so.”
Nina pulled out the black bag with a grimace of disgust and held it away from her body. “Now what?”
“Let’s look through it in the car, then I’ll return it,” Gretchen suggested. “I don’t want to take it away from him. It’s all he has.”
Nina looked at her sharply. “After what he’s put you through, how can you sympathize with him? He threatened you. And look at your wrist. An innocent man doesn’t run away like he did. And you don’t want to take his bag? Unbelievable!”
Nina continued to grumble as they returned to the car. Her protests grew louder when she realized she’d have to search the bag herself. Gretchen’s wrist began to swell and turn a deep purple.
The search produced a single change of clothes, not especially clean, and a thick tattered notebook held together with two rubber bands. At Gretchen’s insistence, Nina found a piece of paper and a pen and Gretchen wrote out a message for Nacho with her good right hand, advising him that she had his notebook. She would return it, she wrote, when he was ready to answer her questions. She included her cell phone number.
“I’m holding it hostage,” Gretchen said to Nina. “Maybe he’s written something useful in it.”
Nina stalked over to the garbage receptacle and stuffed the bag inside. “He’ll probably murder us in our sleep,” she said on returning to the car. “That’s how he’ll get his notebook back.”
Gretchen wondered why he had run away. What had scared him?
Nina pulled away from the curb. “Where to?”
“That gas station on the corner for ice,” Gretchen said, wincing. “Then the hospital.”
__________
Caroline’s eyes traced the arch of the high ceiling, the original paintings on the walls, and the marble floor beneath her feet. She sat on a high-backed tasseled sofa. Rudolph Timms sat across from her in a broad leather chair – tall and slender, with a pronounced widow’s peak and dark, piercing eyes.
“I still don’t see the fuss over this particular doll,” he said.
“As I explained earlier, I’m researching my next book, and I’d like a photograph of the doll you own,” Caroline said, her story believable even to her ears. “For the book.”
He chuckled, obviously proud of his latest acquisition. “It is a perfect Madame Rohmer from the mid-eighteen-hundreds. Original costume and the blue Rohmer stamp on the leather body. Quite a find.”
“Glazed china,” Caroline muttered. “Swivel head?”
Rudolph Timms nodded. “And blonde wig.”
Caroline held up a small Leica camera. “A shot or two would be appreciated
His thick brows met the dark widow’s peak. “How did you find me so quickly? I only acquired the doll recently.”
“I followed the auction online,” Caroline said, feeling chilled in her damp clothes. “I considered bidding myself.”
“I would have outbid you, no matter the cost,” he said. “I had to have this doll for my very own. Whatever the price.”
Caroline arched a brow. “Whatever the price?” she repeated.
“Yes,” he agreed. “I would have paid whatever it took.”
Rudolph Timms rose. “I’ll get her.”
Caroline held her breath as he walked away.
Chapter 9
When Gretchen emerged from Scottsdale Memorial Hospital at a little after seven o’clock with a cast on her broken left wrist, she found Detective Albright leaning against his car at the curb. He sauntered over to join her.
“I’m looking for Aunt Nina,” Gretchen said, coolly while she scanned the immediate vicinity for the red Impala. “She isn’t in the waiting room.”
“Your Aunt Nina tried to hide a mutt in her purse,” he said. “The emergency room staff didn’t appreciate it.”
“Tutu wouldn’t fit in her purse,” G
retchen said. “That’s absurd.”
“That’s what the staff said.”
Matt glanced at her wrist. “Broken, I see.”
“I tripped and fell.” Gretchen’s eyes searched for Nina. She wasn’t in any mood to deal with the police, and the quicker she found her ride home, the better. She hoped the painkiller administered by the nurse would kick in soon.
“Your aunt left,” he said, his lips twitching in amusement. “I told her I’d wait for you.”
“What?” Gretchen couldn’t believe her ears. Nina abandoned her? Left her trapped with the cop who wanted to put her mother behind bars? What was Nina thinking?
“I can see by the look on your face that you aren’t happy with the arrangement.” He walked around the car and opened the passenger door. “My mother is helping Nina call the Phoenix Dollers Club members together for an emergency meeting. I didn’t give your aunt a choice.”
“Is this a trick?” Gretchen’s eyes narrowed. “If I get in the car, will you take me to Nina or…”
“Or what?” Matt laughed. “Kidnap you for interrogation and lock you in the bowels of the police station? No. Better than that. I get to hang out with a roomful of people who know Caroline Birch, and I get to listen to them discuss ways to find her.”
He still held the door open.
“You can’t do that,” Gretchen said, sliding into the seat, careful not to jar her arm.
“Yes I can,” he said. “I’m an honorary member.”
“How did your mother get the club together on such short notice and on a Saturday night?”
“Easy. She tempted them with the promise of food.”
As they pulled out of the hospital parking lot into traffic, Gretchen wondered about Nina’s mental state. She had always been on the sidelines of rational thought. But leaving Gretchen with a cop, never mind his remote connection to the doll group… The detective must have intimidated her with his badge or threatened her in some way.
Matt rolled up to a stop sign and looking both ways. “Aunt Nina’s trunk produced interesting new material in the Williams case. She turned over the items you found on Camelback Mountain - a shawl and doll picture - but she wasn’t happy about it.”
“You searched her car?” Gretchen said.
“Standard procedure when someone tries to smuggle contraband into a hospital,” he said. “Some might call it withholding evidence.”
“So, arrest me.”
“Can’t,” Matt said, lightly. “I’m using you as a decoy.”
“As in hunting for ducks.” Gretchen stifled a smile. He did have a certain charm.
Matt nodded. “Just like that. I’m hoping your mother will spot you floating in the water and fly in for a reunion.”
Gretchen didn’t like being compared to a sitting duck. “She’s too smart to think there’s any water in Arizona. She’ll know it’s a mirage.”
__________
Bonnie Albright attempted to call the meeting to order. She banged a kitchen mallet on the stovetop. People milled around holding plates heaped with assorted appetizers. Cheeses, crusty bread, fruits, and tiny sandwiches.
All ignored Bonnie.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
Tutu coolly surveyed the scene from her throne on the sofa, and Nimrod entertained the club members by being cute and cuddly. They passed him from lap to lap.
Gretchen counted three purse dogs waiting patiently in their uniquely customized bags. All, Gretchen guessed, graduates of Nina’s fine purse school. Nina really knew how to sell a product.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
“Give it up, Bonnie,” Nina said, “before you pound a hole in the stove. Pop the cork on that champagne.” She pointed to a bottle and a line of flute glasses. “And come and join us.”
Bonnie shook her head, and her red lacquered flip moved in sync. “The last time you popped the cork, social hour went on for hours, and by the time we started with actual business, no one could focus on the task at hand.”
“This,” Nina replied, “isn’t a normal, boring meeting filled with hours of tedious planning. The agenda for this evening is Caroline, and she’s a worthy reason to stay sober. But I still need a drink. Matt would you open the bottle, please.”
Nina clapped her hands together. “All purse dogs outside.”
Pandemonium reigned while miniature dogs swarmed through the room like greyhounds off to the race.
Nina gestured at the champagne bottle, and Matt moved around her and worked the cork until it exploded like a gunshot. He filled glasses and handed them out. Gretchen, refusing a glass because of the painkiller she’d taken earlier, raised an eyebrow when he held up a glass, met her eyes, and took a sip.
“Aren’t you on duty?” she asked.
“Yup,” he said. “I’m undercover, remember? I’m blending in. Don’t tell anybody, but this is only water.”
Gretchen surveyed the group. She counted twelve heads, most of them familiar from past visits. Larry and Julia stood in the far corner with a small group of specialty collectors. Gretchen remembered each of them by their areas of interest. Rita Phyller collected Barbie dolls. Susie Hocker, the youngest member of the club, had an extensive collection of Madame Alexander dolls. Karen Fitz bought as many contemporaries as she could afford on a kindergarten teacher’s wages – Lee Middletons and Zawieruszynskis were her favorites, if Gretchen remembered right.
Nina pulled her aside. “How’s your wrist?”
“Brocken,” Gretchen said. “It throbs.”
“You’re not mad at me, are you?”
“Why? For dumping the detective on me? Or for giving him the shawl and doll picture?”
“I tried to resist, but he threatened to call for backup and arrest me. I’m sorry. I really am.” Nina sipped from her glass. “He’s very charming in a rugged sort of way. He was only doing his job.”
“If I remember right, you called him ‘the enemy’ earlier today.”
“I was distraught. I overreacted a little.”
“I can’t get away from him. Every time I turn around, he’s right behind me. How did he know I was at the hospital? Did you call him?”
“No. When that nasty nurse escorted Tutu and me out of the building, he was parked at the curb like he knew we were inside.”
Gretchen thought it over. “He’s been following us.”
“I never noticed. I’m sure I would have noticed.”
Gretchen glanced across the room and met the detective’s eyes. He saluted her with his glass. She looked quickly away. “We have to be more careful from now on.”
Nina worked her arm through Gretchen’s. “Let me introduce you to Joseph Reiner. He’s an antique doll dealer from Mesa and is a brand new member of the Dollers.”
Gretchen followed Nina’s gaze. She would have remembered if she had met him in the past. Dark and swarthy, with diamond studs in both ear lobes and a goatee, he wore a short-sleeved pink button-down shirt tucked into yellow shorts.
“I know,” Nina said. “You’re wondering if Joseph is gay. No one knows for sure. No hard evidence, and I would be the last one to start a rumor.”
Gretchen grinned at Nina. “Of course you wouldn’t.”
“Just don’t offer him a glass of champagne,” Nina said.
“Why not?”
“He spent three months in jail. DWI. His fourth one. I hear he hasn’t touched a drop since he was released.”
Nina pulled Gretchen along and made the introductions. Joseph clutched a can of Diet Coke in his left hand, while he asked about the cast on her wrist.
Bonnie called out. “Yes. Tell us what happened. How did you break your wrist?”
Matt had a smart-aleck grin on his face as Gretchen gave them an abbreviated version, leaving out the part about the footrace. Even if Matt had been following Nina’s car, he couldn’t know about her encounter with Nacho, which took place behind a building off the street. So there was no accounting for the smirk on his face at the moment.
Then she r
emembered the chase across the busy street. Had he been there?
“Clumsy of me,” she finished, lamely. “I must have fallen on it wrong.”
“Speaking of falling wrong,” Nina said addressing everyone in the room. “Martha Williams took a serious fall wrong. I called this meeting to discuss Martha’s death and to ask for your help in locating Caroline. It’s no secret that a note was found with Martha that had Caroline’s name on it.”
Several heads nodded in agreement. Gretchen saw Matt scowl at his mother. She surmised that Bonnie wouldn’t be privy to any more juicy bits of evidence thrown her way by her son.
“And a valuable doll parasol was found in her pocket,” Nina continued.
Detective Albright slapped a hand against his head and looked up at the ceiling.
After a whispered consultation with Gretchen, Nina told the club members about the paisley shawl and the photograph of the French fashion doll and trunk, and about April’s evaluation of their worth. Gretchen heard the appropriate oohs and ahhs when they learned that the doll was designed by the world-famous Bru.
Gretchen could tell that the detective was disturbed by the direction the discussion was taking. It threatened to expose his shrouded secret evidence, and she planned on making her own contribution.
“Detective Albright,” Gretchen said. “Why don’t you show the club members the picture you confiscated. Maybe someone will recognize it.”
“Good idea,” Bonnie said. “Matt, you should have thought of that.”
After sending a scathing look at his mother, Matt went out to his car and returned with the bubble-wrapped package. He pulled at the tape until the items inside were exposed to all the club members.
No one from the Phoenix Dollers owned a Bru French fashion doll, nor did they know of anyone in the valley who might possess such a rare find. Murmurs of appreciation filled the room when they saw the photo.
“I heard that Martha owned a French fashion doll years ago,” Rita Phyller said.
“That’s an old rumor,” Joseph said. “I knew her quite well before she took to the streets, and she never said anything to me about owning a Bru.”