Gretchen Birch Boxed Set (Books 1-4)

by Deb Baker

  “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 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 get your own apartment and 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.

  The 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 goodbye kiss on the top of his head and waved goodbye.

  “Caroline is having the time of her life,” Nina said. “Having you in Phoenix living with her 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?

  “I was her best friend,” the woman said, without opening the door any wider. “I’m Britt Gleeland. I made most of the miniature dolls on display in the shop.”

  “I’m surprised I haven’t met you before.”

  “I’m not a member of the Phoenix Dollers.”

  Gretchen knew that there were two distinct doll groups: doll collectors and miniaturists. They each had their own clubs and shows, so it wasn’t unusual that she hadn’t met Charlie’s friend before. Of course, there were always crossovers like April, who loved all aspects of the doll world.

  “I’m sorry for your loss.” Gretchen said.

  “Thank you.” Britt Gleeland had dark hair in a tightly rolled French twist with a fringe of long bangs. She was about forty-five years old and wore a crisp white blouse, dark skirt, and business-like heels that matched the professional expression on her face.

  “Can I come in?” Gretchen asked.

  “It’s not a good time.”

  “I won’t keep you long.” Gretchen couldn’t believe how quickly the police had wrapped up their work at the shop. How long had it been? Less than twelve hours?

  “Very well,” Britt said, reluctantly standing back.

  Gretchen moved past her and noticed a shopping bag on the floor next to the counter.

  “I’m collecting some of my dolls,” Britt said. “Charlie had them on consignment, so t
hey belong to me. I don’t know what’s going to happen to the shop now that she’s gone, and I was concerned about retrieving them.”

  “I hope you left the display pieces.”

  “Why?”

  “My family will be restoring the display case and would like everything to be just as it was. Please don’t remove anything just yet.”

  “I didn’t hear anything about that,” Britt said. “But it doesn’t matter. I’ve only gathered up the dolls that Charlie had on consignment.” Britt squatted and picked up a room box. “I don’t know what I’ll do without a best friend. They take years to acquire.” She glanced up, her eyes teary.

  Acquire? What an odd thing to say. It sounded like she was talking about a doll collection rather than a human relationship.

  “Charlie sent me an invitation to attend a party after the parade,” Gretchen said. “Do you know what we were celebrating exactly?”

  Britt rose and shrugged. “She liked to invite people to the shop, hoping they’d make purchases. And she’d been working on a new display she wanted to show. I had a migraine this morning, or I would have been here when it happened. I might have been able to save her.”

  Gretchen walked over to the display case on the floor. The display case had wooden partitions, each with slightly larger dimensions than the room boxes.

  The case was surprisingly light. She righted it, then saw an inscription on a small metal plaque attached to the top. In memory of Sara Bellingmore.

  “Who’s Sara?” Gretchen asked.

  “Charlie’s younger sister,” Britt said, running her fingers over the letters.

  Gretchen retrieved one of the room boxes and tucked it into a display panel. It fit perfectly. “The room boxes must have been in the window,” Gretchen guessed, noticing a red table covering in a heap near the window. “That’s why the area around the window is empty now.”

  “Yes,” Britt said, rather stiffly.

  Wasn’t it unusual that the authorities would open up Charlie’s shop so soon after Charlie’s death? Wouldn’t they want to keep people out? “Did the police give you permission to come in and take the dolls?” Gretchen asked.

  “Of course. Officer—now what was his name?”

  “Kline?”

  “That’s it.”

  “You have your own key?”

  “We were best friends.” Britt started to bristle. “You have no authority to question me. You’re acting like I did something wrong. I’d like to see proof that you have permission to be here.”

  “I didn’t mean to imply…”

  “I have to ask you to leave now.” Britt escorted Gretchen and travel companion, Nimrod, out of Mini Maize.

  Gretchen joined her aunt on the street of Old Scottsdale.

  “I can’t believe some people,” Nina said. “That crabby gallery owner threw us out. No dogs, the guy said.”

  “Join the club,” Gretchen muttered. She felt sufficiently chastised. Why had she questioned Charlie’s friend.

  Who do I think I am? Jessica Fletcher?

  Chapter 4

  “Peanut flour,” April Lehman exclaimed early Monday morning while jiving to the beat of “Wake Up Little Susie.” Her heavy frame heaved from the exertion, her legs pounded away on the gym mat.

  “Peanut flour?” Gretchen asked.

  Curves was packed, as usual. “Change stations now,” the programmed voice commanded, as it did every thirty seconds all day long. The women moved in a large circle, climbing onto different machines or creating their own moves on the square platforms spaced at intervals around the exercise equipment.

  The doll collectors, who all gathered at Curves to exercise three times each week, were keeping a steady stream of conversation going. Gretchen looked around at the familiar group: Rita, the Barbie enthusiast; Karen, the kindergarten teacher who liked Lee Middletons; and April, the club’s doll appraiser and Gretchen’s friend. April always seemed on the verge of collapsing after the first pass around the circle.

  “Peanut flour?” Gretchen repeated.

  “Peanut flour?” echoed Ora, the Curves manager.

  Bonnie Albright hurried in before April could expand on her peanut flour comment. Bonnie was not only Detective Matt Albright’s mother, she was president of the Phoenix Dollers Club, and the biggest gossip of the group. She wedged into the circle between April and Gretchen.

  “Where’s Nina?” Bonnie asked, her red wig slightly skewed. She had applied lipstick in a shaky line around her mouth.

  “She’s picking up a client,” Gretchen said. “Enrico is back in training.”

  “The Chihuahua?”

  Gretchen nodded. “He needs a monthly refresher course.” Enrico didn’t forget what Nina taught him; he simply refused to cooperate.

  “How’s your mother?” Bonnie asked.

  “She came in late last night. She’s still sleeping.”

  “Let me get back to my story about Sara Bellingmore,” April said. She plopped on the thigh abductor, but didn’t attempt to work the hydraulic machine. She wiped her face with her sleeve.

  When Gretchen had mentioned the inscription on Charlie’s display case, April had pounced on the chance to hold center stage.

  “You remember Sara,” Rita said to Bonnie. “She was Charlie’s sister.”

  “The name doesn’t ring a bell.” Bonnie ran in place on a platform.

  Gretchen smiled to herself. Bonnie’s version of running amounted to a few sloppy arm swings and small heel lifts.

  The mechanical voice interrupted, and everyone moved to the next position in the large circle.

  “You knew her, Bonnie,” April said. “She was a miniature collector. She also collected antique penny dolls and must have had several hundred of them. She had a table at one of our shows a few years back, brimming with those tiny little dolls.” April sighed wistfully. “I should have bought all of them. I love penny dolls.” Gretchen’s friend was a serious miniature doll collector, but cash was always tight for April.

  “Now I remember her,” Bonnie said, looking thoughtful. “The miniaturists keep to themselves, but so do we,” she acknowledged.

  “Sara died last year,” April said. “She ate a slice of banana bread made with peanut flour.”

  “Don’t you mean peanut butter?” Bonnie said.

  “Peanut flour,” April emphasized. “It has a very mild peanut flavor. Sara died from an allergic reaction to the nuts. Her throat swelled up, and she suffocated to death.”

  “What an awful way to go,” Gretchen said. “Peanut allergies are dangerous, especially severe ones.”

  Rita piped up. “I have a friend who gets sick if she eats anything that’s been prepared in a pan that contained peanut oil, even if the pan is washed out first.”

  April leaned over to catch her breath after the first turn around the machines. Gretchen worried she might pass out, but, after a few seconds, April straightened up. “I need to lose some weight, and exercising isn’t doing it.”

  “You have to stop putting all that food in your mouth,” Bonnie scolded, throwing tact to the wind. “I’ve never seen anyone eat so much.”

  “Try the Curves diet,” Rita suggested. “That’s how I lost all my weight. And you get to eat a lot of food.”

  “A new diet class is starting up,” called Ora from the front desk. “Want me to sign you up?”

  April shook her head. “I have it all figured out,” she said. “I started a submarine sandwich diet yesterday. I can eat as much as I want and I’ll still lose weight. Besides, I love subs.”

  “Dumbest thing I heard today,” Bonnie muttered, loud enough for everyone to hear.

  “I think the sub diet is worth trying,” Gretchen said. After a few days of nothing but submarine sandwiches, April would be so tired of them she’d stop eating all together and start losing weight.

  “At least I have one supporter in this group,” April huffed.

  “Get ready for a ten second count,” the mechanical voice said. The women st
opped exercising and pressed fingers against their necks and wrists.

  “Sounds like Charlie and Sara shared a love of miniatures,” Gretchen said, turning the conversation back to the miniature shop owner’s death.

  “Charlie really loved her sister.” April left the circle and sat down in a chair. “My heart rate is over the chart. I need a rest.” She slung an arm over the back of the chair. “Charlie always thought Sara had been murdered, but she couldn’t prove it. Charlie wouldn’t stop talking about it. When she wasn’t working at the shop, she was investigating Sara’s death.”

  “What did the police say?” Gretchen asked. “Surely they would have investigated her claim.”

  April dug her reading glasses out of her pocket and perched them on the end of her nose. She looked at Gretchen over the top of the lenses. “Nothing came of it.”

  “The police are investigating as though Charlie’s death could be murder,” Gretchen said, remembering last night’s interrogations and the technical equipment used at the scene.

  Bonnie perked up. “Maybe my Matty knows something,” she said. “You could call him, Gretchen. Wouldn’t that be romantic?”

  “Matt’s with the Phoenix police,” Gretchen reminded her. “Charlie died in Scottsdale, in a completely different jurisdiction.”

  What a break for me. The last thing she needed was Matt Albright coming around, asking her questions and sending signals her way. More than once, she’d caught him watching her with those intense, dark eyes. She had to stay away.

  “Charlie probably had a heart attack,” Gretchen said, hoping the doctor at the scene had been overly cautious.

  “Love Potion Number Nine” came on the boombox and livened up the group. Bonnie sang along.

  “Maybe we’ll find out more when we go over to her shop this morning,” April said. “Did you call and get permission?”

  “I did,” Gretchen said, still surprised at how easy it had been. Her mother had supplied the name of Charlie’s only surviving brother, now an MS patient in a Florida assisted living complex, and he had granted access to the shop. In return, Gretchen promised to clean up the shop and send photographs of the room boxes to him.