“I’m not at all surprised.” Nina gingerly sorted through a stack on the table. “Here’s a gas receipt.”
Gretchen glanced over at the paper in Nina’s hand. “A gas receipt? He has a car?”
“Of course not. He must have picked it up from the street.” Nina squinted at the fine print.
Gretchen took the receipt. “The gas was purchased yesterday with a credit card.”
“Who knows why he has it,” Nina said, dismissing it. “Keep going.”
Gretchen put it aside and unfolded a piece of paper that had been folded multiple times, one of many stuffed into the notebook. “Phone numbers, random scribbles, pages ripped out and stuffed back in. I can barely make out his handwriting. Sorting through this mess is going to take time.”
“Spend the night here,” Nina suggested. “I’ll make some herbal tea, and we’ll get it done, however long it takes. Every hour counts.”
“Let’s get to it then,” Gretchen said. “And make us something stronger than herbal tea. Give me something with caffeine. Coffee, if you have it.”
Several hours later and after multiple cups of coffee, Gretchen and Nina were nearing the back of the notebook and the last few pages.
Gretchen turned a page and almost spewed coffee across the scattered papers on the table. “Look at this.”
She held up a crumpled sheet of paper.
Nina gasped.
It was a copy of the picture of the French fashion doll reposing serenely in her wooden trunk. The exact same photograph Gretchen had found on the mountain that now was held as evidence by the Phoenix police. “We should have started at the back of the notebook. Doesn’t it figure?”
Gretchen stared at the copy of the valuable doll, then turned the paper over. “There’s a message on the back,” she said, reading aloud.“‘I have the doll, but the trunk is too large. Hide it for me.’” She glanced quickly up and handed it to Nina. “The handwriting is different from the rest of this notebook. It’s not Nacho’s, but I know that handwriting from somewhere.”
“You should know it,” Nina said. “It’s Caroline’s.”
Caroline studied Rudolph Timms and wondered about the best approach.
“Were you aware when you purchased the doll,” she said, “that it had been extensively repaired.”
Timms uncrossed his long legs and stood up. “Impossible,” he said. “This doll is in mint condition.”
“I’m afraid it isn’t.” Caroline shone the light on the doll’s head. “Porcelain is translucent. Repair materials are not. See the streaks?”
Timms leaned forward. “Yes. I see them.”
“The streaks indicate repaired cracks. If we removed the doll’s head, I could demonstrate more effectively.”
“That won’t be necessary,” Timms said weakly. “I’ll have to see about a refund, I suppose. I don’t mind purchasing a repaired doll, but the price must be right. What I paid for this particular doll was obscene.”
Obscene by his standards? Caroline’s eyes scanned her opulent surroundings.
If Timms had been an experienced collector he would have thoroughly examined the doll before agreeing to the price. Caroline wondered, in the end, if Timms’s pride would prevent him from pursuing the dishonest seller.
Perhaps the seller, in a hurry to unload the doll, hadn’t known that the doll had been restored. Caroline wasn’t about to admit that she, herself, performed the repairs. It hadn’t been her intention at the time to deceive a potential buyer.
“Please tell me who sold you the doll.” Caroline contained her anticipation. The name. She needed the name of the seller. “The doll community is very tightly knit. We dislike those who give our industry a bad name.”
Timms looked embarrassed, a tinge of pink spreading from his neck and creeping toward his widow’s peak. “My secretary arranged the transaction for me. I believe an escrow service was involved.”
“She must have a name. At the very least she should have the name of the service.”
“Of course. She handles all my affairs very efficiently. There’s a small problem, however.”
“Yes?” Caroline asked, impatiently. “A name shouldn’t be complicated.”
“My secretary is away at the moment. Somewhere in the Amazon on a small boat or something equally remote. I’m afraid I’m helpless without her.”
He gazed longingly at the doll. “Such a waste. Perhaps I’ll keep the doll after all but at a reduced price, of course. My secretary will return next week, and she will handle the transaction.”
Caroline stared at Rudolph Timms in dismay. A week would be too late. The muffled voice on the phone had been clear about that. She’d be dead by then.
11
The Internet has revolutionized the doll industry. eBay and other online auction services connect doll collectors and doll dealers around the world. Rare and sought-after items appear for sale on a daily basis, and it is the wise doll connoisseur who follows the auctions. Remember the old adage-the early bird gets the worm? In doll-collecting lingo that translates in a meaningful way. The earliest buyer always wins the prize.
– From World of Dolls by Caroline Birch
Gretchen greeted Sunday morning with a moan. It took her a good minute to realize she was in Nina’s extra bedroom. She hated mornings, and she hated energetic, bubbly morning people who thought watching the sunrise gave them special powers. At the moment, she hated Nina.
“It’s already nine o’clock, sleepyhead.” Nina sat down on the bed with a bounce. “Two things. First, you left your cell phone in the kitchen, and Steve called this morning. I told him you’d return his call when you got up.”
Gretchen managed to sit up with the support of her one good arm behind her. She cracked an eye.
“I’m going to my meditation center,” Nina said. “If I clear my head of all this stuff floating around, maybe I’ll get a reading on your mother.”
Nina’s methods of handling emergency situations differed drastically from Gretchen’s.
“Take the dogs with you. Please,” Gretchen said.
“I can’t very well take Tutu along. How would I watch her? Nimrod could stay in his purse, but he’d be a distraction. Anyway, he’d much rather stay here with you.” Nina patted Gretchen’s leg. “I’ll stop at Caroline’s and check on Wobbles.”
“Feed him.”
“I will. I won’t be gone long. Have some coffee, it’s fresh, and call Steve back. What’s the plan for the day?”
Gretchen managed to remain sitting upright without the leverage of her arm. She rubbed her eyes. “I can’t think straight. I need coffee first.”
“I’m off then.” Nina fluttered around, gathering her things, kissed Tutu good-bye, and left.
Gretchen slipped into a borrowed robe, pink with green satin trim at the knee-length hem, and shuffled into the kitchen. She poured a cup of coffee and leaned against the counter, sipping it. Everything seemed to move in slow motion without the use of her left hand, but she was grateful that it didn’t hurt this morning.
After she poured the second cup, she returned Steve’s call and related the events of the past two days. For once, Steve heard her all the way through without interrupting.
“You need to come home,” he said when she finished. “This is nuts. You don’t want to involve yourself in something illegal. This is murder we’re talking about.”
“I can’t leave now. Nina needs me.”
“I need you, too. Doesn’t that factor in at all?”
“Of course it does.” Gretchen felt a flash of guilt. She really hadn’t given much thought to Steve recently. But why should she? Couldn’t Steve get by for a few days without her? “But I have to find my mother,” she insisted.