Gretchen Birch Boxed Set (Books 1-4)

by Deb Baker

  “A Shirley Temple doll,” April said, excited. “It can’t be over a half inch tall.”

  “Not a bit of detail was sacrificed,” Britt bragged. “The mouth, the eyes, the fingers—all as perfect as the original doll.”

  Nina reached out with a jeweled forefinger and touched the Shirley Temple doll’s blond curly locks.

  They all leaned in again and peered into the box. Dozens and dozens of exquisite, dainty, mini-miniatures were lined up in padded rows. Teeny beds of bubble wrap cushioned them from breakage.

  “You can’t imagine the work that went into these,” Britt said. “Now I’ll have to find another miniature shop to sell my creations.”

  Gretchen looked over at the room boxes. “Did you make any of the dolls for Charlie’s special project? For these room boxes?”

  “Charlie asked me to make some for her.” Britt’s face brimmed with self-pride. “And I obliged. She had very specific instructions on what she wanted. A clergyman sculpted at a precise height, a married couple for the Victorian era. She said she wanted to dress them herself, so I dropped them off here the day before when we had dinner together, before she…” Britt’s composure slipped, and she worked to restore it.

  “Where are the room box dolls?” Gretchen hadn’t seen any miniature people other than those with price tags in some of the other display cases.

  “She must have them in the back room. Maybe she didn’t have time to arrange them before she died.”

  “They were part of the display then?”

  “Apparently,” Britt said.

  “You don’t know for sure?” Gretchen watched Britt fuss with her French twist.

  “Of course, I know. Don’t be silly. We were best friends.”

  Britt’s nervous fingers played over her bangs.

  Chapter 11

  Matt appeared on the sidewalk outside of Mini Maize but refused to enter the doll shop. “I’m taking Gretchen to lunch,” he said, doll phobia sweat shiny on his forehead.

  April tittered. Nina and Caroline looked on expectantly. Gretchen swung outside before her aunt had time to push her out.

  “I thought you were in therapy,” she said, as they walked down the street.

  His humor came back as soon as they left the storefront. “I am. Can’t you tell?”

  They found a restaurant with an outdoor courtyard and sat down at a small, round table. A waiter took their orders—tortilla soup for Gretchen, who was watching her weight since her morning resolve to become a hot Arizona babe, enchiladas for Matt.

  Gretchen kept one eye peeled to the street and sidewalk. But chances were that the wacko wife wouldn’t appear and cause trouble. She’d wait in the background until he was gone.

  With the doll club members’ passion for gossip, her altercation with Kayla wouldn’t stay a secret for long, unless April was more dependable than Gretchen when it came to confidences.

  “What are you looking for?” Matt asked, following Gretchen’s gaze down the street.

  “Nothing,” she answered. “Can I ask you a personal question?”

  “You’re interested in my personal life?” He had laugh crinkles around his eyes. “I bet it’s because I’ve put extra effort into my grooming today. I’ve showered, brushed my teeth with extra whitening toothpaste, and I used a manly scented deodorant called Wild Beast. Just for you.”

  That sexy grin. Gretchen hid her amusement.

  The waiter brought tortilla chips and salsa.

  “Why isn’t your divorce final yet?” Gretchen picked up a chip and broke it in half. ”I don’t have much experience with the process, but friends of mine have gone through them in much less time.”

  “Ah, I see you’re getting impatient?”

  “Please tell me.”

  “Kayla has pulled every trick in the book.” No smile now. “Several appearances have been rescheduled at the last minute, she’s changed attorneys three times, she’s appealed to the court for more time due to one problem after another, it goes on and on. Sometimes I think I’ll never be free.”

  “What about Detective Kline? Is he single?”

  Matt gaped at her. “You don’t waste time, do you?”

  Gretchen laughed. A jealous streak? This was interesting. “I’m inquiring for my aunt. That did sound terrible, though.”

  “He’s single. And looking for a serious relationship. So now I have a question for you.”

  “Okay.”

  “Why were you at the shop today? After what I told you last night, I had hoped you would reconsider and stay home.”

  “You ordered me away.”

  “Order seems a little strong. I gently suggested it.”

  “Gently suggested it?” Men really were impossible to deal with.

  “I don’t want you anywhere near Charlie Maize’s shop. But since you refuse to listen, please tell me you’re almost done.”

  “We’re sorting through the pieces, deciding which room box each of them goes into. It wouldn’t take long if my mother and I were the only ones working on it. Instead, the shop is filled with small animals and several people who are in the way more than they are helping.”

  “There’s more safety in numbers. Keep it that way. All I’m asking is that you remain alert.”

  “You’re making too much of it.”

  “That’s my job. To expect the worst.”

  The food came, temporarily distracting them.

  “Anyway,” Gretchen said, between mouthfuls, “none of us knows what the room boxes represent. Based on the detail pieces that go into them, they’re all from different time periods. There doesn’t seem to be a common theme.”

  “Are you trying to read too much into them? I heard Charlie was a bit odd toward the end. It might just be a hodgepodge.”

  Gretchen remembered the miniature street signs. She had shoved them into her purse thinking she would ask around or check a phone directory later. Now, she drew them out.

  “We found these on the floor. I was meaning to ask Mom if she recognized any of them, but then I became distracted.” By him!

  She handed over the tiny green street signs. “At least the signs are all the same, green with yellow lettering. They’re the only things in the group that are consistent.”

  “Twenty-nine Hanbury Street.” Matt read each one aloud. “De Russey’s Lane, Seventeen seventeen Elm Street, North Ninety-two Second Street. Four room boxes? Each with a street sign?”

  “Five room boxes, actually. But we aren’t sure the fifth one is part of the display.”

  Matt handed the tiny signs back. “I know every corner of this city. None of those addresses are familiar to me.”

  “Any suspects yet?”

  “We’re working on it. Nobody claims to have seen Charlie on Saturday morning. Britt Gleeland had dinner with her the night before and saw nothing unusual in Charlie’s manner. Britt’s daughter went by the shop to drop off some miniature flower arrangements, but it was locked up. She looked through the window and saw nothing unusual.”

  Gretchen watched Matt carefully. She saw concern etched on his face.

  “Wrap it up soon,” she said.

  “You, too,” he replied.

  ****

  “I could hardly wait for the two gigglers to leave,” April said from a stool at the Mini Maize checkout counter. “They went out for a late lunch, and I don’t expect them back anytime soon.”

  Gretchen released Nimrod from her purse. He trotted off, sniffing around the edges of Charlie’s display cabinets.

  “What a pair,” Caroline said from a seat at a card table Gretchen had set up after finding it folded in the corner of the storage room. Piles of room box furnishings covered the square table.

  Nina’s friendship with Britt Gleeland certainly had come on fast and furious. Gretchen hoped her aunt wouldn’t share any confidential information with Britt. She regretted opening her own big mouth. Now the secret about Charlie’s poisoning threatened to spread like valley fever.

  The
two sisters both had died in agony. It gave Gretchen the creeps just thinking about what they went through. She was glad April and her mother were still at the shop to keep her company.

  “April and I decided to take pictures of the room boxes,” Caroline said. “Before and after photographs.”

  “But neither of us can figure out how to use the camera part of our phones.” April chuckled. “You’re the only one of us that isn’t technology challenged.”

  Gretchen pulled her cell phone from her purse. “Smile.” She took April’s picture, then showed it to her friend.

  April sighed. “I’ve lost five pounds, but you’d never know it. I have another hundred to go.”

  “One day at a time. Smile, Mom.”

  Caroline turned away from the camera’s eye. “Not me! The room boxes.”

  Gretchen took pictures of the empty room boxes. After each snapshot, she checked it for clarity on the small phone screen.

  “Joseph Reiner stopped by while you were gone,” April said, wiping grime and footprints from a little mahogany bed frame. “He was extremely upset by Charlie’s death. He broke down and cried twice in the short time he was here.”

  “I’m sorry I missed him.” Gretchen had lost a convenient opportunity to ask the Joseph’s Dream Doll shop owner about his presence at the parade. She still wondered why he hadn’t been at Charlie’s doll shop with the rest of the invitees.

  “I have the room box pieces separated as best I could,” Caroline said. “It wasn’t as hard as we originally thought it would be. The time periods are different, that helped. But I still have a small pile of unknowns.”

  On one corner of the card table, Caroline had placed Victorian pieces. Gretchen studied the grouping, gently touching the fabrics. A miniature mohair sofa, wooden bedstead, mirrored dressing table, a woolen floral rug. And all the articles that would complete a setting from the late 1900s.

  Gretchen glanced sharply at her mother.

  “I know,” Caroline said softly. “I see it.”

  “What?” April said, hurrying over.

  “Flecks of blood on the sofa,” Gretchen said. “Not too much. Just a little. And more on this painting. A spot or two.”

  “It almost looks like an accident,” April said. “Like Charlie spilled red paint.”

  “What about the red paint on the edge of the axe and knife? Those weren’t accidents.” Gretchen went through all the pieces on the card table, one by one.

  “What in the world was Charlie thinking?” Caroline rubbed her eyes. “This one is a Victorian household, That…,” she said, pointing at a different pile. “…is a farmland setting with a church in the background. Little crab apple trees, a bale of hay, not much else.”

  April held up two tiny steps. Decrepit, worn, a touch of blood on the first stepping-stone. “From the backyard pile. Mini windows with small panes, some broken, a wooden door.”

  Caroline gestured toward another group of items. “This is also a bedroom, but from a later era and much more luxurious. An oriental rug, mahogany bed and dresser, fan back chair. Look at the precious Martha Washington bedspread.”

  “And the pile of unknowns.” Gretchen looked through the leftover pieces. Tiny sheets of old plywood, bits of paper, things that might not have anything to do with the room boxes.

  “It sure would be fun to make my own miniatures sometime.” April picked up another item and wiped it with her cloth. “I’d never be as accomplished as Britt, though. Not many doll makers are. It’s extremely detailed work. You need a lot of patience.”

  “Was Sara’s craftwork as good as Britt?”

  “At least as good, maybe better,” her mother answered.

  “Where are the dolls Britt made for the room boxes,” Gretchen asked.

  “We haven’t gotten that far,” Caroline said. “Now that we’ve cleaned up and organized the room furnishings, we’ll place those where we think they go and move on to finding the dolls.”

  April sucked soda through a straw. “I’d like to give Gretchen an award,” she said, presenting Gretchen with a small wrapped box. “I’m so proud of you. I thought you’d like a little memento of your accomplishments since coming to live in Phoenix.”

  “But why?” Gretchen said. “I haven’t accomplished anything.”

  “You will.”

  “That isn’t true, Gretchen” Caroline said, watching from the table. “You’re very talented.”

  Gretchen opened the cover and peeked in to find a gold badge. It had a shiny gold finish and was shaped like the sun. The inscription read Best in the West.

  “Let me pin it on you.” April scooped up the badge.

  “Best in the West?” Gretchen asked, laughing. “Best what?”

  “Best restoration artist,” Caroline called out.

  “But that’s you.”

  “There.” April finished pinning it on and stood back to admire it. “You look great, real professional. The gold matches your hair. And I have one for Caroline, too.”

  April handed another package to her mother.

  Gretchen turned to check her reflection in the window and was startled to see a man peering in. He wore a dirty sleeveless T-shirt. A black do-rag covered his hair. A silver ring pierced his lower lip, and a tattoo wound around his right arm like barbed wire.

  He stared at Gretchen.

  April shrieked.

  “That’s Charlie’s son, Ryan Maize,” Caroline said softly.

  He was young. About twenty. Wiry with dirty, ill-fitting jeans that dragged on the sidewalk. Black running shoes that had seen better days. Ryan’s eyes shifted nervously to the badge pinned on Gretchen’s chest. His eyes grew wide and frightened. When Gretchen moved closer to the window, he darted out of sight.

  Gretchen slammed out the door, breaking into a run. “Wait,” she shouted. He disappeared around a busy corner. She raced behind him onto the sidewalk bordering Scottsdale Road.

  So this was Charlie’s son. But why was he running away? Why did he look so frightened? Gretchen was used to jogging and hiking. Camelback Mountain and the desert air were perfect conditioning tools, and though she wanted to lose a few pounds Gretchen considered herself aerobically fit. She’d been a runner her entire life.

  Ryan Maize, however, was younger and very quick, weaving among shoppers, never looking back. He shoved someone out of the way. Gretchen heard gasps and squeals from those on the sidewalk as she chased after him. She threaded through the crowd and leaped over a dropped shopping bag, running as fast as she could.

  What was she doing? What was she going to do if she actually caught up to him? What if he had a gun or a knife? She’d karate kick the weapon out of his fist. Sure, right. Brucaleen Lee.

  Ryan pulled ahead. Gretchen was fast, but she wasn’t fast enough. He was getting away.

  Stop, she thought, let him go. No, she wouldn’t give up.

  The loose soles of his shoes were his downfall. Gretchen saw him stumble. She picked up speed, giving it all she had. Did he know about his mother? That she was dead?

  Gretchen was using all her energy to catch him. She didn’t have the breath to speak. She reached out, and her fingertips almost touched his back.

  He pulled away. And tripped again. This time she got a firm hold on the back of his shirt. She heard it rip.

  Chapter 12

  Ryan Maize ducks down and tries to twist out of the woman’s grasp. She has him by the back of his shirt, and she’s incredibly strong, like the lioness of Babylon.

  He hears the cloth tear.

  If he wasn’t bingeing at the moment, she wouldn’t be catching him.

  Too much alcohol and crack cocaine in his past.

  Whatever he’s on, he can’t remember taking it. That worries him.

  It isn’t his fault that he’s in a weakened condition. Everything goes wrong for him. People don’t help him enough. Like his mother. If she hadn’t refused to help him out, he’d be doing really good. Healthy, happy, and rich. All he needs is a little suppor
t from the people around him. He needs just one little break.

  Life sucks, and then you die. That’s his motto.

  He twists again, trying to break her grip. She’s on him like the evil witch she is.

  Shapeshifters masquerading as cops. What’s next?

  He’s coming down, slowly descending from an alternate reality.

  She’s a real cop. He’d seen the badge. That’s what he gets for going back to the shop, for wanting one last look.

  “Stop running and listen to me,” the female cop says. Words staccato through the air like breaks in the time continuum. Moments lost.

  For him, it isn’t lost moments, it’s lost years. All gone.

  Twenty-one going on dead.

  The cop’s breath is labored, or is that his?

  He whirls and catches another glimpse of the badge.

  You can’t even tell the law from the rest of society. A fake woman has him in her power. A Matrix society and he alone realizes the truth.

  Ryan karate-chops the hand.

  No reaction.

  She must be undercover.

  Then why the badge?

  A voice inside of Ryan’s head answers him. It always does. It’s dependable like nothing else in his life is.

  Ego. Power. They’re all alike, even the women. Especially the women.

  Ryan jabs her hard with his elbow, and he feels the release.

  Freedom.

  Run!

  If she catches up again, he’ll sucker punch her.

  Anything to get away. Anything at all.

  “Your mother is dead,” the woman says, and Ryan is slammed up against the side of a building. She must know all the martial arts. A trained assassin. Who would have guessed by looking at her?

  He thinks he will throw up because of the heat pouring through the cracks of the street. He sees serpents twisting out of the poured concrete, coming for his soul.

  She repeats the statement. Dead, dead.

  Ryan makes a fist. He puts everything he has behind it, everything he has.

  The punch connects, and the woman goes down. Surprisingly fast.

  His strength and power must be growing.

  She doesn’t move.