Bury Me With Barbie

by Wyborn Senna

  “Mama.” Chaz climbed off his seat and went over to her, giving her a bear hug around the waist. She looked down at his little taco face and picked a crumb off his cheek.

  “You know this isn’t a very healthy dinner,” she told him.

  “Yeah, but it’s fun,” he grinned, reprising his first hug with one more fierce.

  The leftovers were bagged and taken back to Caresse’s apartment, where she discovered the March issue of Barbie International wedged inside her mailbox.

  54

  At 3 p.m. on Tuesday, March 4th, P.J. returned to Jordanne’s apartment. She had spent most of Monday night worrying that Darby would storm over and attack her for bothering his girlfriend. Nothing played out.

  Now Jordanne was at work and the unit across from hers, occupied by Jordanne’s confrontational neighbor, was quiet.

  P.J. carded the door and let herself in.

  She was there to find her blond American Girl dressed in Senior Prom, and she wasn’t going to leave until she’d gotten her back.

  The apartment stank of stale cigarette smoke and sweet perfume.

  Her first move, once inside, was to close Jordanne’s slightly parted drapes, covering the window that overlooked the street.

  She looked around the boxy abode, with its front living room, back kitchenette, tiny bathroom, and single bedroom. Furnishings were sparse, and there were few places to hide treasures. P.J. went into the kitchen and pulled out every drawer, rummaging through bills and silverware, paper clips and pens. She systematically checked each cupboard, sneering at the cheesy Corelle dinnerware and cheap pots and pans. Spices were non-existent, as were condiments. The refrigerator/freezer yielded nothing aside from salad fixings, Diet Dr. Pepper, and Chunky Monkey ice cream.

  Leaving the cabinets and drawers open, she went into the living room and looked under the sofa and matching chairs by tipping them back on their rear legs. On a corner lamp table, an overflowing ashtray filled with both Darby’s and Jordanne’s cigarette butts demanded emptying. She grabbed it and took it to the kitchen trash, dumping the pile of ashes and butts onto trashed papers and discarded cans.

  In the bathroom, P.J. followed the routine she’d set forth in the kitchen. First, she opened every drawer, rifling through hair clips, brushes, bobby pins, tweezers, and makeup. Then she opened the cabinets, which yielded nothing but shampoo, conditioners, cleansers, a crusty bottle of Drano, sponges, and a toilet brush.

  The first place P.J. looked in Jordanne’s bedroom was beneath her queen-sized bed. The bedspread, either left over from the Peter Max era or purchased from an overpriced retro shop, was a garish mix of pop art flowers. The floor beneath the bed was clear with the exception of one sneaker, a single sandal, and a pair of navy knees socks that were balled up and dusty.

  The nightstand had one narrow drawer that was empty except for some Kleenex, a pen, and a Timex wristwatch. P.J. sighed. She had left the most obvious place one might stash a doll from prying eyes for last: the closet.

  Trendy tops and tiny skirts were interspersed with ratty jeans, over-sized shirts, and conservative dresses. The closet floor was scattered liberally with shoes. P.J. compulsively paired the shoes and lined them up beneath the hanging clothes. When she was done, she counted twenty-two pairs and two odd ones, a considerable number of shoes for a recent high school graduate with a crappy job.

  Returning to the bed, P.J. reached underneath and retrieved the sneaker and sandal. She took them to the closet and placed them with the odd ones, bringing the total up to twenty-four pairs. Now they lined up perfectly in two rows of twelve.

  The high closet shelf was packed with bulky sweaters. P.J. knocked them all to the floor, hoping to jar a hidden doll loose from a chunky cable or a double-knit cardigan.

  Nothing. The AG dressed in Senior Prom was not in Jordanne’s apartment.

  P.J. closed her eyes. The young woman either had the doll with her or had given it to someone for safekeeping.

  She would have to confront Jordanne in person.

  55

  After Brian picked up Chaz, Caresse decided to put on flannel jammies and spend some time on the computer. She hadn’t visited the Best Barbie Board or surfed in more than forty-eight hours, which had to be some kind of personal record.

  Armed with a cup of coffee, she had the packet of photos Monya had given her at the County Times as well as the photos Ann had given her from the Walnut Creek PD handy. She pulled the notes she’d reviewed at Taco Bell out of her purse and laid them alongside the latest Barbie International, fully prepared to do some ruminating before she hit the sack. She faced the screen and realized something was missing. Ah, music!

  With the radio on, the night was perfect. After logging into her email, she deleted a personal Capricorn horoscope, an e-card notification, a word-of-the-day email, and a notice about a clothing sale. She was about to read an email from her brother Craig with the subject line “What? I was really sure you’d call back!” when she was IMed by Sierra Walsh.

  SW: Haven’t heard from you. How’d the interview go?

  Caresse was glad she was online. She had a lot to share.

  CR: Gonna be a kick-ass feature. Forget the mod. That’s just the tip of the iceberg. Vala’s got Sorbonne, TantCaresse Pois, Atelier Fest, Ganz Festlich, Kindergeburtstag, Sonntagskleid, Huebsch Und Praktisch, and a huge array of Bild Lilli dolls…

  Caresse paused and decided to hit “send.” She’d already given Sierra a lot to digest.

  SW: Wow!

  CR: No guarantees the spellings are correct off the top of my head ;-)

  SW: LOL!

  CR: Her husband wants her to sell everything, so the article will run to promote the fact she’s going to auction everything off in early May.

  SW: Damn!

  Caresse took a deep breath. She was ready to spill the big beans.

  CR: I don’t think she’ll be selling her prototype accessories, though.

  Sierra’s reply came in less than a heartbeat.

  SW: Prototype accessories?

  Caresse smiled. Sierra was going to faint when she told her what she’d seen.

  CR: She’s got prototype versions of the car keys to Ken’s Rally Day, the fish belonging to Picnic Set, the scissors to Sweater Girl, the hot water bottle for Registered Nurse, the snake bracelet to Commuter Set, and the charm bracelet to Resort Set. There are a few more, but I can’t picture them off the top of my head. She let me take photos, but I don’t think the photos of her prototypes are for publication.

  SW: Ooh, share, share!

  CR: That’s not all. She got thirty compacts from a trial batch Mattel ran before producing Roman Holiday. Mattel engraved all three of Barbie’s initials on them before deciding they were nearly indecipherable. She keeps those on a necklace. The one on her bracelet is even more special. Inside, it has a real mirror, and it’s engraved XO, KC underneath the powder puff.

  The IM window was blank for a full minute after Caresse hit send. She pictured Sierra on the floor of her office, in need of smelling salts.

  Finally, she got a response.

  SW: Got pictures to share of the compacts?

  CR: You bet, but she doesn’t want them in the feature. I don’t think she’s told too many people about them. I mean, aside from friends and acquaintances. Which could be kind of a lot of people, but not the whole subscriber list to BI.

  SW: That’s a bummer. Readers would love to see that stuff.

  CR: Well, we’ve got enough cool stuff for pix. And I can describe the accessory prototypes in text, so not to worry.

  SW: Okay, thanks. Email your story with the pix you want to use when you’re done.

  CR: Will do. I aim to have it done in less than two weeks.

  SW: Okay, well, when you’re ready, I’m all eyes 8-)

  Caresse smiled.

  CR: Okay, CU.

  The IM box blinked out, and Caresse was looking once again at her regular inbox. Craig’s email, “What? I was really sure you’d call ba
ck!” warranted a look.

  She opened his note.

  Caresse, whatcha been up to? All is well here. Busy, busy. San Diego is beautiful, as always. Carol wants to take a trip this summer up the coast, maybe all the way up to Washington State (where her folks are). Would have to drop in on Cami and see how she’s doing, but first, the motorhome needs a few things done to it before we embark on a thousand-plus mile trip. Cherry says hi, says you don’t keep in touch. What else can we pick on you about? Oh, Mom and Dad said please call or they are threatening to visit one of these days.

  She leaned back in her chair and smiled. Whenever she got her parents on the phone, her mom would be on one receiver at their home in Bethany and her dad on the other, but her dad never got a chance to say boo. Her mom was the official chatterbox, a former Chi Omega gal, president of her sorority in college, born to socialize. Basically, all Caresse had to do was listen, but making the call in the first place drove her to distraction.

  Anyway, did you catch that national news report about the Barbie doll theft and murders? Write when you get a chance so I know you’re okay. Love, Craig

  She hit reply. In the background, her radio continued to croon.

  Dear Craig,

  Sorry to be elusive, but what else is new? I have not seen the news report, but I know all about it. On that note, however, you mentioned meeting a Barbie collector named Devvon West on the Greyhound to Vegas. Turns out that a woman using I.D. in the name of Devvon West, with an untraceable downtown L.A. address, rented an Altima from Enterprise in Oswego, New York, the same day Gayle Grace and her husband were murdered, and her doll collection at home was pillaged. You said Devvon was blond and pretty (I think) on your voicemail. Anything else to add to that in light of this little “co-inky-dink?”

  I think a trip up north to see Cami would be awesome. I should drop her a line. Strangely enough, she lives kinda near where another Barbie doll theft/murder took place. This has gotten way past creepy. Everyone, hide your dolls! Aah! ;-)

  Love you, Caresse

  She closed out of Gmail and Googled “Vegas Barbie Murder.” She quickly found a number of articles and a two-by-three–inch reproduction of the penciled police sketch of the woman seen outside Zivia’s home the night of the murders. She right-click/copied it as a jpg and wallpapered her desktop with it.

  The woman in the hooded sweatshirt looked vaguely familiar. Her hair had been sketched to suggest fair shading, and her eyes seemed dark, perhaps hazel or brown. The shape of her mouth and possibly her nose gave her the idea she’d seen this woman, or someone similar, in the past.

  She reached for her copy of Barbie International and flipped to the section that showed postage-stamp-sized head shots of the staff. Ruling out the guys who wrote regularly for the magazine, she focused on female staff writers. Strangely enough, all of the women had dark hair, so she ruled out all six and moved on to the in-house staff that controlled matters from the magazine’s headquarters, including Sierra.

  Sierra herself looked a little like the sketch, but her eyes were blue and her nose wasn’t quite as pinched as the sketch suggested.

  Caresse laughed out loud. The concept that the managing editor of Barbie International was committing homicides was ludicrous. She had heard Sierra got every doll she wanted and was constantly acquiring more. Yes, she could be a control freak, but wasn’t that typical of bosses with stressful business demands?

  She looked at Katia, who handled distribution, and dismissed her upon noting her highlighted dark brown hair and sepia eyes. Sharidan was African-American and Kumi was Japanese, so she scratched them off the list next. Nona was a chubby redhead and Tess was dishwater blond with full cheeks, so they were crossed off as well. Lilani had light brown hair and a prominent overbite, so she was out. The rest were dismissed for other reasons, including a hooked nose, super curly hair, jug ears, and middle age. Among the Barbie International staffers, Sierra was the closest thing to a match with the sketch, so Caresse considered her match-the-face attempt a bust.

  The news site was still open on her screen, and she read the entry titled “No Beef With Lil Beef.”

  Police say mitochondrial DNA evidence has now possibly linked the Vegas Barbie double homicide to another homicide earlier this year in Tucson, Arizona.

  FBI investigator Vance Jacobi said, “While examinations can associate a hair to a person on the basis of microscopic characteristics, absolute personal identification cannot be ascertained. Nevertheless, due to similarities between the Tucson and Las Vegas murders—not regarding the M.O. but insofar as Barbie dolls were taken in bulk on both occasions—investigators consider this a meaningful break. The similarity between strands of blond hair found at both scenes is significant.”

  The composite sketch of the suspected Vegas killer was released for the first time last month. Based on a sighting of the late Rick Uzamba by friends who had come to visit the bodyguard at his $8.5 million palatial estate, it was first assumed that the eyewitnesses, both roadies for Lil Beef, were offering up the idea of a mysterious blond woman holding duffel bags and standing at the foot of Uzamba’s driveway as a red herring to cover animosity between Lil Beef and various rival hip-hop/rap artists.

  Lil Beef has long been prominent on the hip-hop scene, receiving publicity at every turn for gimmicks including subsisting entirely on meat, labeling himself as “anti-vegetarian.”

  Uzamba was under house arrest at the time of his murder due to prosecution by federal authorities who charged him with possession of six unregistered machine guns. He was due to be released in mid-October.

  Caresse closed the webpage and thought for a moment. The killer had used different methods each time, but hadn’t used a gun until she went to Walnut Creek—after the murders in Vegas. If Rick kept guns, could she have picked one up while she was getting the dolls?

  She reached for her Taco Bell notes and added “gun from Vegas?” under her scribbles about Nancy Roth.

  Thinking about Nancy, she reached for the envelope of photos the Walnut Creek PD had supplied. She took a sip of coffee and leaned back in her chair, steeling herself for a reprise of the black–and-white carnage while the week’s top ten played in the background. She spread out the shots of Nancy’s doll room and grabbed her issue of Barbie International, opening it to the feature on Nancy. Next, she opened the folder on her hard drive that contained all the pictures Ward had taken of his wife’s collection.

  Going left to right in each shot, she moved pictures from the NANCY folder to a new folder she’d created, which she’d named NOT_TAKEN. By the time an hour had passed, the NANCY folder was left only with pictures of items that were missing.

  She listened to the music as she studied what the killer had taken. They were smaller, choice items that, when gathered together, could be moved in one trip. The killer had obviously learned from her experience in Vegas not to take more than she could carry in a single haul. None of the items jumped out at Caresse; they were all items any hardcore vinyl collector or Tutti fan would want. Nevertheless, she now had a list of missing items for the Walnut Creek PD.

  She stood up, straightened her twisted flannel pajama bottoms, and headed to the coffeemaker to refill her mug. She was finding excuses not to look at the more graphic photos in the packet, but she couldn’t stall forever. Rushing through the photos of Nancy face down in the carpet and the close-ups of her wounds, she flipped to the shot of the shattered chair that had been pushed away from the computer desk. If Nancy had been seated at her computer when the first shots were fired, it would explain why the chair had been reduced to kindling.

  It wouldn’t explain, however, why Nancy’s computer monitor was lying on its side on the kitchen floor several feet from the desk and the flat-screen monitor had been hurled as far as its cord could take it without becoming unplugged from the power strip. It also wouldn’t explain why the computer tower had been decimated at close range.

  Her mind flashed to an old movie scene. She couldn’t recall the
movie title, but she did remember that the main character didn’t like what he was seeing on TV, so he pulled out a gun and blasted the screen to smithereens.

  You would only shoot or throw a TV or monitor if you didn’t like what you were seeing or reading, she thought. You would only decimate a computer due to online angst.

  Nancy was a big fan of the Best Barbie Board, and she would logically log in to read messages and post her thoughts while at home.

  Could the killer know her from the Best Barbie Board?

  She opened a browser and logged on to the BBB. Doing a search for any threads containing Nancy’s name called up discussions about her murder, but that wasn’t what she was searching for at this point. She needed to take a look at the victim herself. Nancy’s user name was NANCY_PANTS, so Caresse did a search for all of her posts from the most recent to those dating back as far as the archives would take her.

  At 4:56 p.m. on Saturday, February 9, Nancy had posted a message.

  NANCY_PANTS: Hey, guys, I forgot to tell you something. Remember when P.J. and I had that run-in about the Tutti train case? I know it was a long time ago, so a lot of you probably won’t remember it, but I still do! Turns out I didn’t send it to her! I still have it! Think she will forgive me if I send it to her now? Gulp! LOL!

  Huh. At 4:56 p.m., Nancy was supposedly dead, so why would this post be showing up after the fact? Was P.J. the lead Caresse had been seeking? The “run-in” mentioned was something to pursue. She did a search for the phrase “train case” and struck gold with a patch of notes dating back to April 2007.

  PJ-RULEZ: Just wanted everyone to know that NANCY ROTH is a liar and a thief! I PayPaled her for a Swing-A-Ling Tutti Round Train Case on March 15th and have NOT received it! I HAVE FILED for my MONEY BACK from PayPal but Nancy provided delivery confirmation to PayPal so I HAVE NOT BEEN reimbursed! Nancy DID send something, but it was a box filled with CARDBOARD and NEWSPAPER and STYROFOAM!