Gretchen felt a confusing mix of anger and fear for her mother. What in the world had her mother gotten herself into? Sitting in the car next to Matt, she realized she was clenching her fists, and she forced herself to relax.
She saw movement out of the corner of her eye, and Tutu appeared from the side of a house, her tongue hanging out so far it almost scraped the ground.
“There she is,” Matt said. “We’ve got her.”
“How was I supposed to know she couldn’t be trusted outside alone?”
“The backyard is fenced for a reason,” Nina said, alternating between sending Gretchen piercing glares and rubbing her face in the schnoodle’s fur. “Poor baby, lost alone in the big world.”
“How’s Wobbles?” Gretchen asked.
“Obviously he enjoyed more care and attention than Tutu.”
Gretchen stuffed her purse with the contents of Nacho’s notebook, slipping the picture of the French fashion doll into her wallet.
“I can’t bear sitting around doing nothing,” Gretchen said. “I’m taking your car for a few hours. You start calling everyone my mother knows, including relatives you might not like.”
She realized the chances of proving her mother’s innocence were evaporating with every piece of new evidence. Instead of uncovering information that would lead to a new suspect, she was cementing the case against her. She could see the headlines now: “Daughter Leads Police to Prove Mother Is Killer.”
At the moment, unsubstantiated evidence pointed to a conspiracy between Caroline and Nacho to steal the French fashion doll from someone. Why else would they discuss hiding the doll and the trunk?
“We have to find out who owns the doll,” Gretchen said.
“How are we going to do that?”
“We’ll find Nacho and make him tell us. He’s the link. And we are going to pay a visit to Martha’s nephew and ask him why he’s creeping around the doll club and concealing his identity.”
“Who? Who?” Nina said, sounding exactly like a great horned owl. “Who is Martha’s nephew? I think I missed something.”
“Joseph Reiner.”
“No,” Nina said in disbelief. “Martha was his aunt? He never said a word.” She plunked the car keys into Gretchen’s outstretched hand. “I should come along to protect you,” she said in a small voice.
“I won’t be gone long. Start making phone calls.”
Caroline stood in the incessant rain staring at Rudolph Timms’s condominium complex, a small figure lost in the early morning mass of humanity swarming around her. She clutched the case containing her laptop close to her body. It was her last hope.
She had spent the night in the Amtrak train station, acutely aware of the indigents attempting to blend with legitimate travelers, seeking dry benches to pass the night. She had become one of them, her remaining dollars slipping through her fingers as her body demanded nourishment. Soon, out of desperation, she would take a chance and use a credit card.
Her Phoenix source had apprised her of the latest developments, and she knew that a warrant had been issued for her arrest. A wanted woman. Also wanted by a more dangerous force than the local authorities.
She turned off Michigan Avenue and sought cover under the canopy of the entrance to the Holiday Inn. Glancing back once more toward the opulent Timms home, she realized there wasn’t anything more she could do in the center of downtown Chicago. She had to keep moving.
“Dead,” the voice had whispered. “You are next unless you give me what I want.”
Caroline understood the message perfectly.
She was dead either way.
12
Searching for dolls to add to your collection is fun and challenging. Dolls can be found in the most unlikely places. Garage sales, block rummage sales, local estate auctions, flea markets, even nestled among other antiques in a friend’s attic. The possibilities are endless. Keep your eyes open, and happy hunting.
– From World of Dolls by Caroline Birch
Gretchen sped along Lincoln Avenue toward downtown Phoenix, feeling released from the claustrophobia she always experienced when she spent too much time around other people. The only personal space she’d managed to find in the past three days was on a rocky mountain in arid summer heat where risking death by bugs or reptiles seemed more desirable than one more minute with Nina and her cast of loony fuzz balls.
In honor of the moment, she purchased lunch at a convenience store-a large bag of potato chips and a sugar-laden soda-and vowed to eat until the chips were history. The challenge was eating, drinking, and driving with only one good arm, but she smiled smugly at her ability to adapt to adverse conditions. She popped another chip into her mouth.
As long as her cell phone didn’t ring or Detective Albright didn’t appear in her rearview mirror, she could handle this level of multitasking. So far, there was no sign of the dogged detective who seemed to have no social life. When did the guy take a day off?
Gretchen chomped chips and admired the scenery. Luxury homes dotted the hillside along Lincoln like embedded jewels, and palm trees lined the boulevards. The weather-man reported the current pollen count.
Phoenix reminded Gretchen of the setting for a fantasy novel or science fiction movie. It even smelled foreign and exotic. As she descended from the hills into the base of the city’s valley, a brown cloud of pollution rose to greet her, the consequence of building a city’s hub in a protected basin. A strong rain or high winds would clean up the air, but Gretchen doubted that it rained much in July.
She maneuvered into a parking space near the Phoenix Rescue Mission and, after studying the outside of the building, she walked inside and approached a wizened woman behind a desk.
“Everybody gone. Eight o’clock,” she replied in broken English. “Back to street. Find work or go church or what.”
“Thank you,” Gretchen said, noticing a sign at the desk reminded all guests to vacate the premises by eight in the morning.
Gretchen had missed him, thanks partly to pesky, runaway Tutu. Reluctantly she admitted her own share of blame. She should have set an alarm.
She attempted to describe Nacho to the woman, but based on the confused expression on her face, the woman simply didn’t understand what Gretchen wanted to convey. Nacho’s name and an animated description of the knob on his head drew a blank, uncomprehending stare.
As she left the Rescue Mission, she chastised herself for never learning Spanish.
Central Avenue seemed oddly familiar after she’d spent several hours driving it the day before. Gretchen glanced at her broken wrist, the only thing she had to show for yesterday’s efforts. That and Nacho’s notebook, stowed safely in her purse. She had been mistaken to think he would call, that she could force him to respond.
As always, driving helped clear Gretchen’s mind, and she sorted out the connections among those involved in Martha’s life. Nothing made sense.
Her mother obviously knew Martha better than Nina thought, based on the parian doll and the inventory list found in her workshop. The picture in Nacho’s notebook connected him to Caroline as well.
Joseph Reiner had failed to let the doll club know of his relationship with Martha, quite an omission, considering she had just died.
And April, who openly disliked Martha, had abruptly left town after appraising articles found on the dead woman’s body. Gretchen wondered what that was all about.
She drove around the block and headed back down Central Avenue without a plan. Morning traffic clogged the street, giving her time to continue with her mental exercise and attempt to understand what was happening.
Her mother had hidden a parian doll in her workshop that had once belonged to Martha and she had also hidden a French fashion doll that, according to the inventory list, had never belonged to Martha. Martha had a picture with her when she died of the same French fashion doll.