“And what have been the results of your search so far?” he demanded.
Gretchen didn’t say anything.
“She’ll show up when she shows up,” Steve continued. “It doesn’t matter if you’re in Arizona or Massachusetts. I have my career to think about. We can’t have any scandal, especially right now when the firm’s partners are deciding my future. The timing couldn’t be worse.”
Ah, Gretchen thought, the truth comes out. He wasn’t concerned about her well-being at all. His request that she come home was a precautionary career move.
“I’m going to see what happens today,” she said. “I’ll call you tonight.”
“I’ll expect to hear from you by eight. Boston time. You’d think one broken bone would be enough for you.”
Gretchen closed the phone and threw it in her purse. For seven years she had hoped her relationship with Steve would evolve into something permanent. That dream was fading as fast as a drop of moisture in the desert.
Would she end up in spinsterhood like Nina? She already had the stereotypical cat.
Was the cost of marriage to Steve worth the price she’d have to pay? She had already lost the ability to refuse his increasing demands, her inability to say no more pronounced when dealing with him. She rarely crossed him for any reason. Had she subconsciously dimmed her own personality to accommodate his?
Could she move past his recent indiscretion and forget, as well as forgive?
Worry about that later, she scolded. Focus on today and the task at hand.
Tutu caught Gretchen’s attention when she trotted down the hall and whined at the front door. Nimrod trailed at a distance.
“Okay,” Gretchen said in a surly tone. “I’m coming. But be quick about it.”
She opened the door, and Tutu ran out. The dog didn’t stop in the yard to sniff around and find the perfect spot, and if Gretchen had been more awake, she would have remembered that Tutu preferred wee-wee pads and indoor plumbing over normal dog outhouses.
Tutu lowered her body close to the ground and ran full-out down the street without a single glance back, like an escaped convict with the irresistible taste of freedom in her mouth.
Gretchen stood in the doorway with her mouth open in shock. Recovering somewhat, she slammed the door before Nimrod had the chance to join in the escape. Running barefoot into the street, she shouted Tutu’s name. The spoiled schnoodle was nowhere in sight.
Gretchen had managed to lose Nina’s dog mere moments after beginning her dog-sitting assignment.
She had a decision to make. Follow the demented dog immediately in bare feet, wearing Nina’s pink and lime green robe, or quickly change into her own clothes and pull on her sandals. Tutu already had a wide lead, and Gretchen’s only hope of catching up with her would be if the roving rascal encountered a distraction. A cute boy dog would do the trick.
Gretchen gasped. What if Tutu was in heat?
An image of Nina’s reaction to the loss of her prized pet trotted through Gretchen’s head, replaced quickly by an image of Tutu giving birth to schnoodle mutts.
She took off running.
The desert morning heat was already oppressive. The pavement under her feet felt hot and sticky. A bird perching on an overhead electrical wire panted through its small, open beak, and the sound of sprinklers laboring to water the lush tropical yards filled the air.
And sun, sun, blazing sun everywhere.
“Wait up,” she heard someone call out behind her. She whirled to see Matt Albright loping toward her, wearing running shoes, cargo shorts, and a yellow T-shirt. He looked fresh and scrubbed, and he wore that dazzling yet deceptive smile.
Gretchen turned back to the task at hand and continued running, squinting against the sun’s intense rays and wishing for a good pair of sunglasses more than a pair of shoes.
“I heard you were an avid runner, but your commitment astounds me,” he said, catching up. “Me? I would have changed out of the robe and probably worn shoes.”
“There are vast differences between the two of us, Albright.” Gretchen ignored the pain in her tender soles. “For example, if it was my investigation, I’d be out questioning Martha’s acquaintances, and I’d be compiling a list of suspects.”
“My henchmen take care of that,” he said, jogging easily. “Can I get a picture of this?”
“Of what?” Gretchen peered between houses as they ran side by side. If she had shoes on, she could leave him in her desert dust.
“A picture of you jogging in your cute robe.”
“Go away,” Gretchen said, huffing slightly.
Matt stopped running and fell behind. “If you step on a scorpion, you’ll be back at the hospital,” he called after her. “I spent enough time waiting around there for you yesterday.”
Gretchen slowed and stopped, staring at the ground with growing panic. “I hadn’t thought of that.” Scorpion stings were excruciatingly painful, according to reports by several Arizonians who had been stung and lived to tell about it. Their venom wasn’t deadly, but death seemed preferable to the pain they inflicted.
“They have clear bodies and that makes them hard to see.” He stood with both hands on his hips. “Anyway, that isn’t what you’re looking for? What’s up?”
“Tutu escaped.”
“The yappy mutt?” he said. “I thought she seemed in a rush when she blasted out of the yard.” Matt looked down the block. “But are you sure you want to find her?”
“Tempting thought, but I have to. Nina would kill me.”
“I’ll help then. I wouldn’t want to be partially responsible for your demise.”
After a brief consultation on the best search tactics, they returned to the house, Gretchen walking gingerly, alert to the threat of stinging monsters. Matt walked another half block to get his car. He waited outside while Gretchen changed into the same clothes she had worn yesterday: green capris, a white tee, and sandals.
They cruised slowly down the street in Matt’s unmarked police car. Gretchen decided to make the most of this opportunity to pump the cop for information, forgetting momentarily that she could count her future health by mere minutes if she didn’t find Tutu.
“Who tipped you off about the doll in my mother’s workshop?” she said.
“What makes you think someone tipped me off?”
“Why do you answer every question with another question?”
“Do I?”
Gretchen sighed heavily and continued to scan for Tutu. She rolled down the window and called Tutu’s name. The more Gretchen thought about the police search at her mother’s house, the more certain she became that the police had known not only what they were looking for, but also where they were looking for it. “Did it ever occur to you,” she said, “that your tipster might have planted the evidence?”
“Vivid imagination,” Matt said. “You must be some sort of artistic type. What do you do for a living?”
“Nothing at the moment. I’m unemployed. I have another question for you.”
“Of course.”
“Who claimed Martha’s body?”
Matt stopped the car and studied her, his brows furrowed. Eventually he said, “I guess telling you won’t hurt the case. Her body and personal effects haven’t been released yet, but Joseph Reiner is making arrangements.”
Gretchen was surprised. “The same Joseph Reiner I met at Nina’s house yesterday?”
Matt nodded. “He’s Martha’s nephew.”
“Why didn’t he mention that?”
“I didn’t know myself until late last night when he called me. He seemed embarrassed by the family connection. That explained all the nervous twitching I observed at the meeting.”
In Gretchen’s mind, that didn’t explain anything. It only led to more questions.
“Okay,” Matt said. “I shared information with you. What do you have for me?”
“Nothing yet,” Gretchen said, thinking of the photocopy in Nacho’s notebook and the note on the back in her mother’s handwriting. “I have the doll. Hide the trunk.”