by Deb Baker
“‘Advice, when most needed, is least heeded.’”
Gretchen stuffed the bit of paper into her purse and said, “Tomorrow has to be a better day.”
_____________________
Gretchen sat at the worktable and tried to forget the disturbing events of the last few days. Steve’s reappearance in her life, the loss of her Ginnys and her money, Brett’s accident, Ronny Beam’s violent murder, her missing knife found in his back, the mysterious package containing the Kewpie, and a confrontation with the enraged woman.
Gretchen hated confrontation.
Steve had called while they were at the Chinese restaurant, and she had turned off her cell phone when she saw his number on the caller ID. She planned on leaving it off until sometime tomorrow.
She intentionally didn’t check the kitchen answering machine either before retreating to the workshop, since she suspected he had called the house as well.
The house was so quiet. Daisy’s bedroom door was closed, and she decided not to disturb her. Gretchen couldn’t imagine having to find a place to sleep outdoors every night. Park benches couldn’t be comfortable. No wonder Daisy always slept right through her visits to Gretchen.
Gretchen embraced the silence of the cozy room, welcomed it after the brouhaha that always surrounded larger-than-life Nina.
Nimrod dozed on his bed, and the nocturnal Wobbles sat on the table next to her, his eyes closed and a deep, throaty purr rumbling from inside of him.
She ran her hand through his silky black fur from head to tip of tail and thought about the hobby knife found protruding from Ronny’s back. Her knife. Ronny was as abrasive as a Brillo pad, but who would have killed him? Even if Steve had taken her knife, he hadn’t even met Ronny when it disappeared.
Steve was a tenacious trial attorney, used to stressful situations and able to remain calm in the face of just about any challenge. He handled the ugliest divorces and had been threatened often by vengeful spouses. He’d always prided himself on his ability to turn any situation to his advantage.
Steve couldn’t have killed Ronny for one simple, telling fact: his ongoing bid for partnership in the law firm meant more to him than anything in the world. He would never act in a way that might harm his position.
But if Steve didn’t kill Ronny, who did? Who had a motive?
Just about anyone in Phoenix who had crossed paths with the blundering, insensitive reporter.
The business phone rang beside her, and she waited impatiently for the answering machine’s greeting to finish. Steve’s voice, filled with barely concealed frustration, filled the room. “Gretchen, where are you? I’ve tried your cell and your main number. Pick up. I know you’re there.” A pause. “We need to discuss us. Stop hiding. I’ll try back in an hour.” He disconnected.
Spreading a towel on the worktable, she chose a doll from the repair bag and finished taking it apart--legs, arms, and head. She laid out the pieces, chose the right size elastic cording, and went to work on the doll’s leg. She attached the cording through a hook in the leg, making sure it was snug, and ran it through the neck opening.
Wobbles yawned, stretched leisurely, and jumped down from the table. She heard Nimrod snoring softly and glanced down at him. His puppy tongue protruded from the side of his mouth.
As Gretchen worked, she kept stealing glances at the mysterious Kewpie doll. Her name hadn’t been on the package. It had simply been addressed to the doll repairer and sent to the hall where the doll show was taking place.
Strange, although the entire thing was weird.
Someone wanted the doll repairer to receive the doll. But it was already repaired, so what was the point?
As much as she disliked admitting it, coincidence had to have played a part in the puzzle of the two Kewpies.
Who knew about the other Blunderboo?
Only the entire group of doll collectors milling around the Boston Kewpie Club’s table. Were they connected in some way?
It didn’t make sense.
Gretchen carefully lifted the Blunderboo Kewpie doll from the stand and again felt along its neck.
The repair work on the mystery doll was as good as her own work. Whoever had glued the pieces together knew how to do it. No unevenness in the joining.
She thought about the fortune cookie she had broken open at dinner. “Advice, when most needed, is least heeded.”
What had Aunt Gertie said? When it comes to murder, everything is important.
I must be crazy, she told herself. Don’t do it.
But I restore dolls, she argued back. It can easily be fixed.
Before she could change her mind, Gretchen took the doll to the kitchen, placed it in a pan of cold water, and brought the water to a boil. Ten minutes later, she returned to the workshop with the pan, lifted the Kewpie with serving tongs, and placed it on the towel.
Satisfied that the glue had sufficiently softened, Gretchen carefully pulled the head away from the body.
“You’re crazy,” she said again, this time out loud.
Certifiably insane, off your rocker.
She peered into the Blunderboo’s body cavity.
Nothing.
She turned the head upside down and looked inside. Her heart thumped several irregular beats.
Something white. A piece of paper.
Gretchen extracted it with tweezers and studied the paper that had been folded multiple times into a tiny perfect square.
“What’s up?” said a man’s voice behind her.
Gretchen screamed.
The piece of paper fluttered to the floor as she reached for a repair hook and whirled. Nimrod, startled awake, stood and barked bravely at the intruder.
“A little testy,” Detective Matt Albright said from the doorway, eyeing the weapon in her hand, a small smile playing nervously on his lips.
“Doesn’t anyone knock anymore?” Gretchen said.
“I did knock. And rang the bell. You didn’t answer.”
“So you just walk in?”
“I tried the door and it was unlocked.” He flashed his dazzling smile. “I didn’t know if you were home. I wanted to make sure the house was secure and you were safe.”
Gretchen threw the repair hook on the table and stooped to retrieve the paper she had found inside the Kewpie doll. She tucked it into her pocket, hoping Matt hadn’t noticed.
She shouldn’t have worried about that.
Matt’s eyes followed the repair hook, and Gretchen suddenly realized her mistake.
It had pink nail polish on the end of it.
“We need to talk,” he said.
“Sure. Come on in.”
“I’d rather wait outside,” he said, still eyeing the pink hook. “Two months ago, I couldn’t even think about looking into this room.” His eyes left the hook and met hers. “The doll thing, you know. Therapy’s helping, but not that much. I’ll be by the pool.”
Gretchen picked up the hook, returned it to the tool box, and slammed it shut. “I’ll get us a beverage. Are you on duty or off? Wine or coffee?”
“It looks like it’s going to be a long night. Coffee for me,” he said.
_________________________
“I can explain,” Gretchen said, taking a sip of coffee and hoping she really could.
“Oh, please do. I can hardly wait.”
“I discovered my knife missing the night before the doll show. The polish was hardly dry, and poof, it was gone.”
Matt snapped his fingers. “Just like that? Into thin air?”
Gretchen nodded warily. “Don’t you believe me?”
“You’ve never lied to me before.”
Gretchen searched his face for signs of sarcasm, because she had lied to him in the past. At the time, she felt it was absolutely necessary. Had he known?
His face remained unreadable. He hadn’t touched his coffee.
He leaned back in the lounge chair and laced his fingers behind his head. The pool glistened in the mild October night air. Spot
lights placed strategically around cacti and shrubs highlighted the desert plants. Camelback Mountain rose against the skyscape, and the moon hung low beside it.
Gretchen ran a bare foot over the cool Mexican tile surrounding the swimming pool and took another sip of coffee.
It could have been a perfect moment.
Matt had a compact, athletic body and a scrappy attitude. Completely the opposite of Steve, who had a good five inches on Gretchen’s five eight. She could look directly into Matt’s eyes without tilting her head. Steve was blond, fair-skinned, and slim. Matt had dark hair and a perpetual Valley of the Sun tan.
Gretchen wondered why she was comparing the two men, since one was a cheat and the other was… well…married. Sure, he was in the middle of a divorce, but maybe they’d still work it out. And in any case, divorced men came with a lot of baggage, and Gretchen liked to travel light.
“And you have no idea who might have stolen your knife?”
Gretchen shook her head.
Was it a lie if she didn’t actually say no out loud?
Matt flipped through a notebook and jotted something into it. Gretchen tried to read upside down but failed.
“We’re running prints right now. I know it’s your knife, but someone else’s prints would help your testimony. I really hope yours aren’t the only ones that show up.”
Gretchen couldn’t agree more.
“Since you’re here, I’d like to report a theft,” she said, relating the suspicious mix-up at the auction and the false address Duanne had given when registering.
When she finished, Matt said, “It sounds harmless to me, a simple mistake.”
“I’m out three hundred dollars.”
“I’ll ask around. If I hear anything, I’ll let you know.” Matt leaned forward resting his elbows on his knees.
He was so close.
“What’s the story with Steve?” he asked.
“We broke it off before I moved to Phoenix.”
“He doesn’t seem to know that.”
“Yes, well…he’s persistent.”
“Men can be that way.”
Why was he looking at her like that?
“What about you and your wife?” Gretchen asked.
“My mother must have told you we’re divorcing. She wouldn’t have passed up a chance to share that news.”
“We never discussed it,” Gretchen lied. “So, technically, you’re a married man.”
“Technically, yes.”
Too bad, she almost said out loud.
They were both quiet for a minute. His body radiated major magnetism. She had to work to resist the pull.
Gretchen stood up.
Matt rose beside her.
“I’ll let myself out,” he said. “Stay out of trouble.”
She watched him swing open the patio gate and disappear into the night.
What luck! He hadn’t arrested her for withholding information. It certainly paid off to personally know the lead detective.
Gretchen thrust her hands into her pockets, and suddenly remembered the paper. She pulled out it out and unfolded it near a candle glowing on the patio table.
“Wag the Dog” was scribbled across the paper in large, loopy handwriting.
Gretchen slumped. What kind of message was that? She felt cheated.
There are all kinds of nuts in this world, she thought, blowing out the candle and closing up the house for the night.
After knocking and listening at the door, Gretchen entered the spare bedroom. Daisy must have checked out of the guest room while she and Nina were playing hide-and-seek with a black Jetta. An occasional meal, a shower, and a real bed for a short nap were all Daisy would partake of before quickly heading back to her life on the street. Gretchen couldn’t see the attraction.
She turned off all the phones’ ringers before turning on the alarm clock.
THIRTEEN
Gretchen slept fitfully and rose early Sunday morning, hoping a hike up Camelback Mountain would ease the turmoil in her mind.
By the time the sun rose at six thirty, she had already reached the footpath leading to the trailhead. Fifteen minutes later she paused to look at the valley below and experienced her usual wonder at the magnificent view of Phoenix. She followed a trail to the right called Bobby’s Rock Trail, not nearly as long or as strenuous as Summit Trail, but she didn’t have enough time before the doll show for the challenge of Summit.
Red clay dominated the landscape with a scattering of ocotillos, barrel cacti, and palo verdes. Gretchen used her binoculars to zoom in on the birdlife of the Sonoran Desert. She heard the high-pitched trill of a rock wren and searched for the elusive Gila woodpecker that builds its nest hole in saguaro cacti.
An hour later, Gretchen returned to the trailhead and spotted Matt on his way up. She watched him approach and observed the rigidness of his face, the tense jaw, and flashing eyes.
All business.
She gave him a tentative smile. “Hey,” she said. “You’re out early.”
“Looking for you, as usual.” He came to a stop. “You aren’t on your way up, are you? I don’t feel like climbing today.”
“Nope. I’m going down.”
“That’s probably the best news I’ll hear all day.”
“What’s up?”
Matt ran his fingers through dark, unruly hair, and Gretchen saw that he hadn’t shaved this morning. “I should apply for a transfer to vice,” he said. “It would be a cake-walk after this.”
“Let’s talk on the way back.” Gretchen started down the path to the street. “I have to get ready for the doll--”
Ahead, she saw Steve walking at a fast pace up the street headed in her direction.
Great. Just great.
Steve looked up and spotted her. His pace increased.
Gretchen rolled her eyes and placed her hands on her hips in a confrontational stance. Steve might be king of the hill in a court of law, but he was approaching her mountain and her space. He’d picked the wrong hill this time. She had tried to block him out of her mind, but if he wanted to persist, she was as ready as she’d ever be.
Behind her Matt spoke quietly into a cell phone. “Send the closest unit,” he said, and gave his position.
“Do you want to tell me what’s going on?” Gretchen said without looking back at him, instead watching Steve stumble along on the rough path.
“Your boyfriend’s fingerprints were all over the knife we found in Ronny Beam’s back,” Matt said. “I’m taking him in for questioning.”
Gretchen couldn’t believe what she said next. Of all the responses she could have given at that precise moment, of all the things she should have said in Steve’s defense, considering their seven-year relationship and her deep conviction that he couldn’t possibly have murdered Ronny, she blurted the first thing that popped into her head.
“He’s not my boyfriend!”
_______________________
“How’s the doll show going?” Caroline asked over the phone. Her voice was light and airy. California agreed with her. Or maybe it was all the excitement of the book tour.
“Wonderful,” Gretchen said, forcing the same lightness. “I’m selling quite a lot of dolls.”
Even though the show ended early because of Ronny Beam’s murder.
Gretchen would tell her mother everything when she came home. Not now. She would only worry, or worse, abandon her tour.
“I knew you could do it,” Caroline said. “Is Nina helping out?”
“Oh, yes. She’s the highlight of the show.”
Caroline laughed. “And Steve? Did you give him a big sendoff like you said you would?”
“A big sendoff? That’s one way of putting it. I wish he hadn’t come to Phoenix.”
“I have to tell you, I thought you two might get back together. And I wasn’t pleased at the prospect.”
“I thought you liked Steve.”
“I could see what initially attracted you to him, but he’s changed
. More self-absorbed, more easily angered, and less considerate of you. He’s forgotten what’s important in life.”
“I think he’ll find time soon to reflect on what’s important,” Gretchen said.
“I hope so. I wish him well.”
“Me, too.”
________________________
Nimrod and Sophie hammed it up for their expanding audience, easily drawing the biggest crowd of the show to Nina and April’s table. Who needed dolls at a doll show to create a buzz when you had cute, miniature puppies?
Gretchen could hardly focus on the dolls she needed to repair. She even considered removing the sign that offered her restringing services. Customers pored over her remaining Ginny dolls and the new batch of Barbie dolls, yet all Gretchen wanted was privacy to sort through her emotions.
She had filled Nina in on the morning’s events when she arrived at the hall, and they had agreed to keep Steve’s situation a secret from the other doll dealers for the time being. And from her mother, who didn’t need distractions from home to interfere with her tour.
Gretchen couldn’t get the sound of the wailing sirens from this morning out of her head. She couldn’t forget Steve’s pale face peering out at her from the back of the squad car.
“That’s him?” Steve had asked in disbelief right before being unceremoniously escorted into the squad car. “The guy who’s replacing me? The Boy Scout from the doll show?”
This was so embarrassing. And awkward. “I never said I had a replacement for you. Nina did.”
“I recognize the name. Matt Albright. This cop who’s threatening me is the guy you’re dating?”
“We aren’t dating.” Gretchen glanced at Matt in time to see a raised eyebrow and amusement playing at the corners of his lips.
“Can we discuss this later?” she said. “The police think you might have something to do with Ronny’s murder.”
“That’s ridiculous.” Steve turned to Matt. “I demand my rights.”
Matt sighed. “I don’t have to read you your rights,” he said. “You aren’t under arrest. Yet.” He held up a pair of handcuffs. “I would use these if I was arresting you.”