by Deb Baker
Classic drug addict’s philosophy, Gretchen thought. They blamed their circumstances on bad luck and the actions of others, instead of taking control and making different choices.
“I don’t feel too good,” Ryan said, leaving the door ajar. “I think I’m sick.”
Matt gave him a cold stare.
The porch was covered with cigarette butts and round burn holes. Gretchen tried to look past Ryan into the house, but the interior was dark. The sunlight blinded Ryan. He covered his eyes. “Make it quick,” he said. “I gotta go. I’m gonna be sick.”
Gretchen tried not to look at the silver ring piercing his lower lip.
Matt leaned against the stucco wall, outwardly relaxed and appearing casual. But he wasn’t. “First, I have a complaint. You assaulted this woman.”
Ryan glanced at Gretchen. “She chased me down the street and grabbed me. I was looking through the window, and she started yelling and coming after me.”
Gretchen squirmed. He wasn’t lying. When he said it like that…
“You struck her and knocked her down.”
“She started it.” Ryan said, a kid’s whine in his voice.
“Let it go,” Gretchen said to Matt.
“But he assaulted you. Don’t you want to press charges?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
Gretchen didn’t know why not. All she knew was that she felt sorry for him. She’d worked with the afflicted before, serving meals and donating money when she could spare it. Ryan, although not exactly destitute, had a certain helplessness about him. He brought out the maternal side of her, as weird as that sounded.
Go figure. She felt sorry for the guy who slugged her.
She looked up at the crumbling pink stucco and wondered how many drug addicts lived inside. “I only wanted to talk to you about your mother,” she said to Ryan. “You didn’t have to hit me.”
“I really think it’s important that you press charges,” Matt said.
“No.”
“Can I go now? I’m really gonna be sick.”
“Not yet,” Matt said. “How did you learn that your mother died?” He didn’t say murdered. Ryan was too messed up to wonder why he would be questioned if his mother had died from natural causes.
“One of her friends came by and told me.”
“When?”
“Saturday…um…like afternoon.”
“Who?”
“Britt somebody.”
“What did she say?”
“That my mother had a heart attack.”
“What kind of relationship did you have with your mother?”
Gretchen studied Matt. Cool, crisp, and professional but with the appearance of casualness. Even though he wasn’t taking notes, she was sure he’d remember ever word of the conversation.
“Not too good, but it was her fault. She didn’t approve of my lifestyle. Wanted me to be more like her, like everybody else.” Ryan’s eyes were bloodshot, and his face was pale.
Who would want to look and feel this bad every day?
After several more questions, Ryan hunkered down on the side of the porch and retched.
Gretchen and Matt looked at each other.
“We’ll have more questions later,” Matt said to him.
Gretchen wasn’t sure Ryan heard.
She stepped off the porch with Matt right behind her. “I don’t understand you at all. I thought we were in agreement,” he said in a low voice. “Wasn’t the whole point to bring him in for questioning? The assault was a perfect opportunity. His mother was murdered and…I don’t know why I’m even trying to explain it to you.”
Gretchen frowned at him. Men! Talk about miscommunication. Or more like no communication. Other than a few Neanderthal grunts, none of them had the ability to express themselves. “I wish you had told me you were going to threaten him,” she said, looking back. Ryan had disappeared inside.
“I wish you had told me what you wanted.”
“You need to drop it,” Gretchen said, wanting the last word. “I’m not pressing charges.”
This time Matt scowled at her.
Gretchen stepped carefully off the old porch. “What’s going to happen to him?” She meant it philosophically, but Matt took her literally.
“If you aren’t interested in pursuing charges? Nothing. I really want to know why he’s been hiding. And why he struck you.” Matt stopped by her car. “Why did he think you were a cop when he opened the door?”
Jeez. Did she really have to go into this? She stopped and dug through her purse.
Matt leaned forward and peered inside. “Where’s the little fluff ball?”
“He’s with Nina. We’re meeting at the shop. Here it is.” She held up the Best in the West badge. “April gave me this and had pinned it on right before Ryan looked through the window. He saw it and automatically assumed—”
“So yesterday he thought he was punching a cop?” Matt shook his head.
The situation seemed to be getting worse.
Without waiting for a reply, Matt turned and started out down the street, whistling a tune.
“Where are you going?” Gretchen called after him.
“Back to my car.”
“I’ll give you a ride.”
“I’m a terrible passenger.”
“My driving was that bad?”
“I’m really just a bad passenger.”
“We’re miles away from your car.”
“One point four miles, to be exact. Don’t worry about me. If I need help, I’ll call for a squad.”
Look who’s the impossible one now?
“Wait up.” She trotted to catch up.
“I’d love company,” Matt said. “But the logistics are complicated. For example, who’ll drive your car?”
“You can give me a ride back.”
“This gets sillier by the second.”
“You started it.” Using the same tactic Ryan had. Blame it on the other guy.
Matt raised his arms in a gesture of surrender. “Okay, let’s go.”
Gretchen looked around at the boarded-up houses and litter in the yards. “This isn’t the best neighborhood to leave my car. Or to be walking.”
“Anyone bother us, I’ll shoot them.” He flashed that great smile, swung his head to check for cars, and jaywalked across Van Buren. Gretchen trailed him across, then quickly fell in next to him.
They silently cut around a slow pedestrian, and Matt’s arm brushed against hers. She sucked in her breath, feeling young and foolish. Not a bad feeling. Not at all.
Matt glanced at her. “Are you finished at Mini Maize?”
“Probably after today.” Should she tell him about the miniature bloody weapons and the tiny, painted stains on some of the furnishings? Wouldn’t he know about them from the crime scene analysis? “We found interesting things in the collection. Weapons, fake blood on some of the furniture.”
He nodded. “We assumed that was part of some crazy doll collector’s scene.” Another grin. “Charlie’s prints were the only ones on them. They have nothing to do with her murder.”
“I disagree,” Gretchen said. What else was new? They disagreed on so much. Matt might send jolts of electricity through her entire nervous system, but his wattage wasn’t entirely compatible with hers. Kind of like putting cables on the wrong battery terminals.
“Let’s have your take on it then,” Matt said. “As if I’m not going to hear it anyway.”
“I think she realized she’d been poisoned and tried to make it to the door. She took the time to knock the display over as a clue, in case she didn’t survive. There’s something strange about the display. I can’t put my finger on it though. Oh, I know—“ Gretchen stopped, snapped her fingers as though she just thought of it. She waited for him to stop walking, too. “Maybe it’s because of the miniature peanut butter jar. You know the one? It was under her body.”
His jaw dropped open. “Where did you get that information?”
“I know who I didn’t get it from.”
They approached Matt’s unmarked car. Daisy was nowhere in sight. She must be at the audition, if the audition was real. It was hard to tell what was reality and what was fantasy when it came to the homeless woman.
Gretchen looked at Matt. She had thrown out a hasty theory, but it made sense. “I’m sure you’re right,” she said. “The display case has nothing at all to do with Charlie’s or Sara’s murder. Nothing at all.”
“You can’t fool me. I hear the sarcasm in your voice. I’m not your ordinary insensitive male, you know. I have feelings.” Matt opened the passenger door for her. “Hop in.”
Chapter 15
“Nina and I had breakfast at a dog-friendly restaurant,” Britt said, laughing. “Can you believe it?” Britt and Nina were back at work at Mini Maize. If you could call it work.
Nina laughed, too. “The restaurant had a patio with a fire hydrant fountain and our waitress served mutt muffins. Not to us, of course, but the dogs loved them. Britt and I had coffee and people muffins.”
“I’ll be talking in my sleep again tonight,” Britt said laughing along. “Or barking.”
“You really should see a hypnotist,” Nina relied. “You have to be losing lots of sleep.”
Nina, Gretchen decided, could benefit from a little hypnosis herself. Her aunt put all her attention and affection into animals. She needed a male companion to ground her. Although she certainly looked content enough at the moment.
Tutu and Nimrod played at their feet. Enrico watched from the safety of Nina’s leg, peeking out beside her painted toenails, snarling a warning whenever the other dogs came too close.
April swung through the door, carrying her usual bag of subs. “I lost another five pounds,” she announced, setting the bag on the counter.
“Five pounds a day is incredible,” Gretchen said, not really believing it was possible. But April did look thinner.
“Caroline can’t come,” Nina said. “She has a tip on a collection of antique dolls that’s for sale. She’s driving to Fountain Hills to look at them.”
The piles on the card table were still as they had been yesterday. After Gretchen’s encounter with Ryan, all work on the room boxes had ceased for the day. “Let’s each take a room box,” she said, “and see what we come up with. I think we can wrap this up in a few hours.”
They settled in. Gretchen was continually amazed at Charlie’s gift for interior design with the tiny, detailed pieces, the unity of her composition and the precision of the scale.
Gretchen paused from her work on the backyard scene to watch Britt and Nina. Britt had chosen the Victorian bedroom scene, carefully placing each item where she thought it might have gone. By the hint of a smile on her face, Gretchen could tell she enjoyed working with the miniatures.
“I’m finished,” April called, proudly showing them the orchard and church scene. I found a blue velvet hat in my pile. I’m going to add it to the leftovers since I don’t know where it goes. I think it was made from a cardboard pattern. Isn’t it cute?”
“Charlie used simple household supplies for many of her projects,” Britt said to April, who hung on every word. “She was very creative.”
“Making minis would be fun, especially making the little people,” April said. “I’d love to try it.”
“I’m starting a baby sculpting class soon. Why don’t you sign up?”
“Count me in.”
“Here comes someone I’d like you to meet,” Britt called out, looking toward the door. “My daughter, Melany.”
Britt’s daughter was in her twenties, slightly overweight, and wore no makeup, not even mascara. She was frumpy next to her mother, who bustled over to give her daughter a kiss on the cheek. Gretchen couldn’t see much resemblance—Britt with her tailored blouse and immaculate French twist, Melany in rumpled shorts and a top that was way too tight.
“Bernard’s been taken to the hospital,” Melany said to her mother, an almost hostile expression on her face. “I thought you’d want to know.”
“What happened?” Britt clutched her throat.
“A jar of bug juice exploded.”
Had Gretchen heard her correctly? Bug juice? It sounded like an insect killer, or a name for a summer camp juice drinks.
“Bug juice is a concoction Bernard uses,” Melany explained when she noticed the other women’s lost expressions. “It turns new wood a grayish brown. He uses it to age wood details for his doll houses.”
“I warned him several times about mixing chemicals,” Britt said. “Is he going to be all right?”
“I think so, but his left arm was injured.” The coldness was back in her voice. “The bug juice hit like shrapnel from a bomb. I had stopped at his house to deliver a miniature orchid bouquet for a wedding display, and his neighbor told me what happened.”
“How awful,” Britt said.
“What is this bug juice made from,” Gretchen asked, “that it has the capacity to explode?”
“To get the effect he’s looking for in the wood, he uses an old-timer’s recipe,” Britt said. “He puts rusty nails in a glass jar, then pours vinegar over the nails. He’s supposed to put the lid on loosely and leave it for a few weeks. If the lid is too tight, it can produce a gas and the pressure builds.”
“The poor old man,” April said.
Britt picked up her purse and slung it over her shoulder. “Melany and I will check on him,” she said. “We’ll let you know.
After Britt and Melany left, Gretchen told Nina and April about the visit to Ryan’s house.
“Do the police think he murdered his mother?” Nina asked.
“I don’t know. We’ll have to wait and see what happens, but I assume he’s a prime suspect, especially because he’s an addict.”
“Let’s take a break and drive over to Joseph’s Dream Dolls,” April said. “I love that place, and Joseph could use some company. He was so distraught when he came by.”
Gretchen picked up a miniature lamp. “Joseph was at the parade on Saturday, but he wasn’t here at Charlie’s. Mom said he had been invited, so why was he walking in the opposite direction when I saw him. I’d really like to ask him a few questions.”
“Let’s finish here first,” Nina suggested.
Twenty minutes later, they had completed the room boxes. Gretchen looked at the finished scenes: a Victorian bedroom and sitting room, a man’s dressing room and bedroom, an orchard near a church, and a dilapidated backyard. How did the tiny peanut butter jar found under Charlie’s body fit in? Gretchen glanced over at the fifth room box, at its hasty construction. She wondered how it would have fit in with the others. If only Charlie had had time to finish it.
After taking pictures with her cell phone of the completed settings, Gretchen tucked Nimrod into her purse.
Nina had her hands full with Tutu and her current client, Enrico. Enrico watched the action suspiciously from his Mexican tapestry purse, ready to defend himself from the entire world if necessary. Short-dog syndrome, Gretchen thought. Like short-man syndrome. A Napoleon complex.
Not that Matt had that problem, although he wasn’t very tall. Gretchen, at five-eight, could look right into his dark and stormy eyes without tilting her head much at all. Why was she thinking about him? Jeez. Get over it. Did every thought have to lead back to the detective? Did it?
“I’ll drive,” crash-prone April announced.
“I’ll drive,” Nina said immediately.
“Let’s go with Nina,” Gretchen said. No one in their right mind would drive with Fender Bender Mama.
****
Nina darted through traffic in her red vintage Impala. She’d had the chrome polished recently, and it glistened in the warm Arizona sun.
Gretchen found herself wedged into the backseat with the canines. Between the three dogs, they’d managed to streak and smudge both back passenger windows. Gretchen’s clothes were covered in dog hair.
She had given up on keeping th
e dogs from racing across her lap. Any minute now she expected Enrico to lunge for her throat. He stared at her with his beady little eyes, waiting for her to make a wrong move.
Why am I the one in the backseat?
April glanced back. “Sorry,” she said to Gretchen. “But I really don’t fit back there. Maybe in a day or two when I lose more weight.”
“No problem,” Gretchen said, not meaning it.
“I think we could solve this case,” April said. “Break it wide open. Let’s do a little digging and see what happens.”
“We’re the Mod Squad,” Nina said, veering around a slow car ahead of them.
Gretchen slid sideways. Enrico snarled.
“Charlie’s Angels,” April said.
“Without Charlie,” Gretchen joined in.
“Detective Matt Albright can be Charlie,” Nina said.
“No,” Gretchen said. “He can’t.” She saw Nina and April give each other a glance.
Nina checked her rearview mirror. “Oh, no,” she said, slowing down.
“Yikes,” April said, glancing in her side mirror.
Nina changed to the right lane and came to a stop along the curb. Gretchen looked back and saw a Phoenix squad car pull in behind them. “Were you speeding?” she asked Nina.
Nina shrugged. “I wasn’t paying attention.” She shuffled through her purse, rolled down her window, and stuck her driver’s license out.
The cop bent down and studied each of them through Nina’s window. All three dogs watched out the side window. Enrico growled. The cop shot him a no-nonsense look. “Do you know why I stopped you?” he said to Nina.
“I’m not sure, but I know I wasn’t speeding,” Nina said, smiling her widest and brightest. “I can see an orange aura surrounding you, Officer.” Nina used a long, polished nail to draw a circle in the air around his torso. “That means you’re confused. This is all a misunderstanding.”
The officer frowned. “I need your identification, too.” He looked right at Gretchen.
“As you can see, I wasn’t driving. I’m in the backseat. Why do you need mine?”
“Hand it over.”