by Deb Baker
Bracing it against the wall, she climbed the rungs, then, with incredible effort. given her broken wrist, she pulled her body the rest of the way up and dropped over the other side. She loped up to the trailhead and passed the posted safety warnings while she scanning the ledges above her.
The last of the straggling hikers passed as she veered to the left and began the steep climb up Summit Trail. The only thing on her mind was her reunion with her mother.
Twilight descended quickly in the desert but Gretchen’s eyesight adjusted readily to the change. Perhaps her mother didn’t realize the dangers of being on the mountain after dark. They would have time to descend safely as long as she hadn’t gone all the way to the top. Gretchen doubted that. The few times they had hiked the mountain together their goal had been a point on the enormous boulder. The same one that attracted all the tourists and offered a splendid view of Phoenix and the valley below.
The boulder towered ahead, rising like an obelisk before her. She scurried up until she stood on its highest point. Her mother was nowhere in sight. Right when she decided she must have been wrong about their meeting place, she heard a voice softly call her name.
She twirled around on the ledge and stared with dawning terror at the image before her.
It wasn’t her mother standing back in the shadows of the mountain.
Too late, she remembered where she had seen one of the dolls in the picture.
Chapter 27
Gretchen stared in horror as Larry Gerney stepped from his protected position against the mountain rocks, a gun hanging loosely at his side. Strands of hair from the silver wig he wore blew in the gentle breeze, reminding her of her mother.
Or a caricature of her mother.
The picture should have warned her.
She remembered picking up the Schoehut wooden doll and admiring it in the back room of the China Doll Shop. At the time, she had noted the slight crack around its nose and she remembered that Larry had watched her intently.
The wooden doll’s picture was among those she had found hidden behind the false cabinet wall.
One of Martha’s.
Larry’s financial problems and the threat of losing his doll business could be strong motives for stealing valuable dolls and murdering Martha.
His talent for making human-hair wigs was exhibited in the intricately fashioned replica of her mother’s own hair that he wore on his head. The hikers who had witnessed Caroline’s descent from the mountain must have pointed accusatory fingers based solely on the color of her hair.
As Larry walked toward her with a gleam of triumph in his madly blinking eyes, everything fell into place.
He was the Inspector.
Another epiphany realized too late.
Inspector Dreyfus, Clouseau’s boss in The Pink Panther, had been driven crazy by Clouseau’s bumbling antics, resulting in wildly twitching eyes just like Larry’s. Martha had made a mockery of Larry’s involuntary facial spasms by comparing him to a slapstick comedy character.
“You had to interfere,” Larry said without emotion. Quietly. “You couldn’t leave well enough alone.”
“All I want is to find my mother. I don’t care about the dolls.” Gretchen stole a glance at the ledge she stood on. Too close to the vertical drop. She edged away from the precipice toward Larry.
“The dolls. Yes, thank you for finding the French fashion doll. I searched Caroline’s house several times and couldn’t find it.”
Gretchen thought of the times Larry had offered to check on the animals as she sat at the hospital waiting for news. Of the unlocked door and her personal items slightly out of place. Of how easily he could have planted the parian doll while feigning concern. “You tipped off the police,” she said. “You told them about Martha’s doll and the list.”
Larry grinned, pleased with himself, while Gretchen tried not to stare at the gun in his hand. “Martha entrusted all her dolls to me while she slowly drank herself to death. Always talking about how she’d get a place of her own again and take them back. My business dying with well over a million dollars’ worth of dolls wasting away in the storage room.”
Larry’s mouth contorted in contempt. “I sold one of her dolls to pay the rent and keep afloat a little longer. I didn’t expect her to notice, but she did. She started stealing them back, if you can believe that, and I had to stop her.”
“What does any of this have to do with my mother?” Gretchen asked.
“Caroline helped her. I got that much out of that drunken sad excuse for a human being.” Larry’s eyes flickered, his hand that held the gun seemed unsteady. “The pathetic woman begged me to let her go, thinking she could buy her life in exchange for information. She told me she had hidden the Jumeau Triste doll at Bonnie’s house one day when she was away. I don’t fault Bonnie for that. But Caroline…”
Larry looked off over the city lights. “Caroline willingly aided Martha in destroying me. Now it’s my turn to destroy her. I followed them one night when they drove out to Joseph’s, and I saw them give him the Kewpie. Caroline should have minded her own business, just as you should have.”
“So you made the silver wig and wore it when you killed Martha.” Gretchen felt cold fingers of fear. Pale, chilly fear.
“I thought I could get to Martha before she gave the doll to Caroline, but I was too late. Caroline had already hidden the most valuable doll in the collection. I don’t care about the rest of the dolls. I’ll wait until this all dies down, and I’ll sell them in the future, one by one. I can wait. But I need some cash to get by, and the French fashion doll is my ticket.”
That’s why he needed to alter the list, Gretchen realized. He needed to sell off some of the dolls, and he didn’t want them traced back to Martha’s collection.
He came closer. “I thought I killed Caroline when her car left the road. I thought, what a break to see her on the highway. What an opportunity. Eliminate the prime suspect in the murder investigation. Closed case with all the pieces in place.”
“It must have been quite a surprise to find out you almost killed Daisy.” Gretchen glanced around for an escape route or something to use as a weapon. She was trapped between the ledge hanging over a sheer drop and a determined killer with a gun.
“It doesn’t matter anymore. Caroline strikes again, as you can see.” Larry patted the wig with his hand. “A double murderess. Or make that triple, because I hate to inform you but your dear aunt is next. I assume she knows about the French fashion doll as well, and I consider that deadly information.”
“My mother’s been arrested,” Gretchen said, desperately. “You won’t get away with this.”
“It’s time for you to take a little dive,” Larry smirked, gesturing with the gun. “I dislike noise, and would prefer not using this little toy, but I found it in Caroline’s closet. Wasn’t that convenient for me? One more piece of incriminating evidence against her.”
Gretchen thought she saw movement in the gloom, a flash of motion behind Larry. Coyotes would be on the prowl as darkness swept over the desert. And mountain lions.
A dark shadow loomed up behind them. Gretchen hoped it wasn’t a mountain lion. Cougars were known for occasional attacks on humans, usually young children and dogs, but occasionally an adult.
A fist-sized rock flew through the air and hit Larry on the side of his head. His head snapped forward, surprise registering on his face as he raised his left hand to his face.
He spun away from Gretchen and fired.
Another rock flew out of the gloom, soaring straight and true, striking Larry in the face.
Gretchen, aware that this might be her only chance, hit the ground and rolled away from the ledge, toward a pile of rocks. Larry fired wildly into the dark, unable to see his attacker.
Another rock. Another direct hit to his face.
Larry had temporarily forgotten about Gretchen, intent on stopping the assault.
He fired several more times.
Gretchen’s hand fou
nd a jagged rock the size of her palm. She rose and hurled it, striking him in the back.
Another large rock sailed from the shadows.
The onslaught drove Larry backward toward the ledge while Gretchen continued to edge away.
His head jerked in her direction, and he aimed the gun at her. She flinched as he pulled the trigger.
Gretchen heard a click.
He tried to fire again.
Another click.
Realizing he had used the last bullet, he flung the gun at Gretchen then took a step in her direction, stumbling to find a solid foothold.
Another rock flew, and Gretchen saw movement. Silver hair shone in the rising moonlight, and she expected to hear the moaning howl of a werewolf rising from the apparition. The vision approached with the wrath of a mother bear protecting her cub. Then Gretchen saw a goddess running forward, Gretchen’s oasis in the desert sands.
Gretchen’s hand found another rock, and she put everything she had into launching it.
“I’ll kill you both,” Larry shouted, his face puffed with rage.
He took a step back, then another, lifting his arm to protect his face, teetering on the brink of the abyss. Another rock hit him, and he flung his arms overhead, struggling to maintain his balance. His foot slipped from underneath him, and Gretchen watched as he fell backwards over the edge.
His screams reverberated through the aptly named Echo Canyon as her mother’s arms encircled her.
Gretchen cried for the first time since arriving in Phoenix, all the anguish of the last week rising inside her and exploding outward. She clung to the warmth of their shared embrace even after they began their descent from Camelback Mountain.
Chapter 28
“Larry’s going to live,” Gretchen said when she hung up the phone, incredulous that anyone could survive that fall. “His back is broken, but he was conscious and he confessed. The police released Nacho this morning.”
Gretchen sat at the kitchen table with her mother and Nina. Dogs and cats scampering underfoot.
Caroline clamped her hand to her chest. “You can’t imagine how frightened I was when I saw Larry’s car parked next to the trailhead. I knew he killed Martha, and I was afraid of what I would find up there. I never dreamed it was you.” She cupped Gretchen’s hands in her own.
“You saved my life,” Gretchen admitted. “I don’t know why I missed his car when I started the climb. I must have run right past it.”
“You wanted so badly to believe that you were on your way to meet your mother,” Nina said. “You weren’t thinking about anything else.”
Gretchen agreed. “I’m glad the police released Nacho. They could have charged him with obstruction.”
Caroline took a sip of tea. “When I asked him to stall for time, I didn’t expect him to take such a drastic step. But that’s Nacho…” Her voice trailed off.
Gretchen frowned. “Why did Martha have a note asking you to hide her French fashion doll if you already had the doll?”
“I wondered about that also,” Caroline said. “Martha left the doll in my workshop, and I think after she left, she must have realized that she forgot to leave the note. She ran into Larry on her way back, and he chased her up the trail, so she never had the chance to return and leave the note.”
“What about Joseph,” Gretchen said. “Why did he lie about the Kewpie?”
“I think he was simply afraid of involvement,” Caroline said. “He didn’t want his name added to the list of suspects.”
“Poor Julia,” Nina said. “She didn’t know a thing about it. I don’t know how she’ll run the shop with Larry in prison.”
“Julia’s tough,” Caroline said. “And the club members will help her through it.”
Nina chuckled. “Daisy almost fainted when she heard that she slept through all the excitement.”
Gretchen frowned in thought. “How did you get past the police at the airport? According to Matt Albright, officers were waiting for you.”
Caroline smiled. “I expected a welcoming committee and I really didn’t want to explain from a jail cell so....let’s just say that Larry isn’t the only one who knows how to throw together a disguise. If Bonnie’s son hadn’t spent so much time drinking lemonade with you, he wouldn’t have been late, and he certainly would have recognized me the moment he saw me. I managed to scoot right past those other officers.”
“I think Matt likes you,” Nina said to me.
Nimrod gave a little yip from his poodle purse on the doorknob.
“Look who’s awake,” Nina exclaimed. “He needs a home, Gretchen. His family decided a dog is too much commitment, since they travel extensively. They asked me to find him a good home.” Nina stared at Gretchen with pleading eyes.
Gretchen slid a peek at Nimrod and his ears perked forward. Wobbles sat contentedly under Nimrod and purse, watching over Tutu and Enrico.
“Look.” Nina pointed out. “Even Wobbles likes Nimrod.”
Gretchen, amazed that she would even consider owning a purse dog, grinned at Nina. She pushed back her chair and lifted the black curly teacup poodle from his traveling home. “Okay,” she said. “If Wobbles says he approves.”
Wobbles, reserved with his comments, looked on.
“He said yes,” Nina said. “I heard him through a special energy field.”
Caroline laughed, a deep, throaty roar. “It’s good to be home.”
“I have a new helper,” Nina said. “Daisy’s interested in learning to train purse dogs. You’re right, Gretchen, she’s a natural.”
Caroline laughed again. “Things have changed so much in one week. Gretchen’s here, we have a new houseguest in the spare bedroom, and the house is full of pet life.”
“I hope you don’t mind,” Gretchen said, realizing what an imposition she must be.
“Not at all. I didn’t know how lonely I’ve been until I saw the house brimming with activity.” She glanced at Gretchen. “Why don’t you stay? We can clear out the cabana for you. I have more repair work than I can keep up with, and you’re looking for a job. Stay and be my partner.”
Gretchen smiled awkwardly. Could she exchange her life in Boston with its East Coast sophistication and changing seasons for eternal heat and sun and transient neighbors? She’d lived her entire life in Boston, born and raised, and all her connections and roots were there. Except for her mother, who had yanked her roots up without a backward glance.
“Steve wouldn’t appreciate it,” Gretchen said, lamely.
Nina sighed deeply. “You two have to make the next step or change direction. I’m all for dumping him and starting over.”
“Nina,” Caroline said. “This isn’t your business.”
Gretchen left her mother and aunt bantering at the table and slid through the patio doors. She sat on the edge of the pool, dangling her toes in the lukewarm water, the sun already a burning glow above.
She dialed Steve’s cell phone and was surprised to hear his voice when she expected to connect to his voice mail.
“My mother’s home,” she said. “It’s over.”
“Has she been arrested?”
“No. The real murderer confessed.”
Steve blew a sigh of relief over the airwaves. “I’m sorry I didn’t show more support, but I had to distance myself until it was over. If your family had been involved in that murder, it would have destroyed my chances for partnership. You know how much that means to me.”
Gretchen knew exactly how much the partnership meant to him. It meant enough that he had abandoned her at a time when she needed him the most.
Seven years of work on this relationship.
How much did it mean to her? How much was she willing to sacrifice? And what about Courtney, the intern?
Was Steve willing to put the same effort into the relationship as she was? As much as she wanted to believe that he was committed, his actions spoke against him.
Gretchen stared up at Camelback Mountain.
“Steve,”
she said, closing her eyes. “I’m going to stay in Arizona for awhile. I need to sort out my priorities and decide what I want to do with my life.”
The rest of the conversation was predictable. Steve, the divorce attorney, gave a brilliant closing argument.
“No,” Gretchen said, surprising herself with the force of her conviction, with the forcefulness of that one small word.
Aunt Gertie’s parting words popped into her head. Stay strong.
“My mind is made up. I’m staying.”
THE END
GOODBYE DOLLY
(A Gretchen Birch Murder Mystery)
by
Deb Baker
ONE
Gretchen Birch stood next to the flatbed trailer parked in the driveway leading to the house and eyed the mounds of dolls. Howie Howard, the auctioneer, worked the crowd like a harmonica tongue slap, all swinging elbows and agile, fluid mouth movements. Gretchen had a first-timer’s knot of nerves in her stomach the size and weight of a Sunkist grapefruit.
“Do I hear twenty? There’s a two oh. Thirty. Forty. Fine box of dolls.” Howie’s head bobbed like one of the swivel-head dolls boxed up in Gretchen’s doll repair workshop. “Fifty? No. Forty going once…sold for forty dollars.”
The smell of popcorn from a portable concession stand wafted through the air, catching the attention of a group of neighborhood kids. Cars filled with potential buyers searching for curbside parking edged slowly past the auction site.
Gretchen glanced at the stucco-and-tile house where Chiggy Kent, the once-vibrant founder of the Phoenix Dollers Club, had lived. Dragging an oxygen tank connected to her nostrils, Chiggy had finally succumbed to the persistence of her concerned neighbors and the ravages of lung disease and now resided at Grace Senior Care. But if she’d had the breath to resist, she would have forced them to haul her out kicking and screaming.
Chiggy’s doll-making skills hadn’t improved with experience or with advanced age. At least six hundred handmade dolls cluttered the open-bed truck, and Gretchen winced at the poor workmanship. Dolls’ eyebrows wisped in unlikely directions, painted with heavy, awkward strokes. Eyelashes that would have impressed the legendary Tammy Faye, notorious queen of eye art.