She pointed to a stack of boxes pushed against the wall. Unless company arrived, the cabana served as a storage area rather than a guest room, housing the dolls her mother sold at shows.
“Let’s start here,” Gretchen said. “The police didn’t even come out to the cabana. Maybe she hid the doll with her other dolls.”
“Seems too obvious.” Nina squatted and pried a box open.
“I agree, but we have to start somewhere. I have a copy of the list itemizing all of Martha’s collection. Let’s see if any of the dolls in these boxes matches any on the list. Keep your eyes out for the French fashion doll. And unwrap them gently; they’re fragile.”
Gretchen opened a box and carefully unwrapped each dolclass="underline" closed mouth, open mouth, mohair wigs. Dolls dressed in sailing outfits, gingham jumper dresses, drop-waist dresses in pink polka dot and cotton sateen, marked dolls, sleepy eyes, molded teeth.
“Look at this one,” Nina said, holding up a blonde-headed doll dressed in a knit suit with sapphire glass beads. “And this.” She picked up a dark-haired doll dressed in a sarong.
“She told me about these,” Gretchen said. “They’re Mary Hoyer dolls she found at an auction. This one is Dorothy Lamour, and that one…” she gestured at the doll Nina held. “… is Marilyn Monroe. There should be a Katharine Hep-burn and a Lana Turner somewhere in the box.”
“Here they are,” Nina giggled. “They’re cute, too.”
A sharp bark sounded from the house.
“I better check on the pooches,” Nina said and scurried off.
Gretchen immersed herself in the boxes, unwrapping each doll and checking it against the photocopied list. The contents of the boxes matched her mother’s personality: wild and randomly packaged. Dolls from all eras scattered among the boxes. A doll from the forties in this box, another from the same period in that one. No labels on any of the boxes. Disorganized but meticulously cared for. A contradiction of life. Order within disorder.
Gretchen glanced at her watch and realized that an hour had passed since Nina left the cabana. She finished packing up the last box and stood. Nothing. Not one doll from the list. No French fashion doll. She felt disappointed. It should be easier than this.
“I’ve been playing secretary,” Nina said, hanging up the phone when Gretchen arrived in the kitchen. “Larry called for an update and to say he’s delivering the doll with the new hand-made wig directly to the customer. He’s giving him a bill but will tell the customer to send payment to Caroline. Larry said he’ll work out the fee with her later.”
“That’s nice of him,” Gretchen said absently, opening the refrigerator and peering inside.
“April called to say she’s decided to work out at Curves every day instead of every other, so we can join her if we want to.”
“That’s nice,” Gretchen muttered.
“And Steve called and left a message.”
Gretchen closed the refrigerator. “What did the message say?”
“That he’s been trying to reach you on your cell phone. That Courtney told him what she did, and he can explain.” Nina snorted. “I’d like to hear him explain that one.”
Gretchen took a chocolate croissant from a bag on the counter and bit into it. “I can have this,” she said, defensively. “I worked out this morning.”
“Are you going to call him back?” Nina wanted to know.
Before Gretchen could answer with her very first firm and resounding no, a snarl erupted from the purse lying on the chair next to Nina.
“Enrico’s up from his nap,” Nina said.
Gretchen and Nina walked side by side through the Biltmore Fashion Park. Nimrod rode on Gretchen’s shoulder in a white cotton purse embroidered with miniature black poodles. The poodles attached to the purse wore red hair bows, which complemented Gretchen’s burned face. The savage demon, Enrico, poked out from Mexican tapestry, a gravelly hum resounding from his throat that threatened to grow into a growl.
After a disagreement with Nina, which Gretchen won, Tutu had stayed at home with Wobbles. The purse dogs traveling by shoulder bag represented Gretchen’s reluctant compromises.
“Okay,” Nina said. “We made two copies of Martha’s key, one for you and one for me.”
“I know that, Nina. I was with you.”
“It helps to verbalize. Keeps it orderly.”
“Right.” Gretchen could feel Nimrod’s tail thumping against her ribs in perpetual puppy happiness.
“We left the original key right where we found it in that smelly old bag.”
“As bait.”
“That’s the part I don’t get.”
Gretchen pursed her lips and winced. “I have to buy another tube of lip balm.” She brushed her fingers across a blister forming on her lip. “We’ll let everyone know that we found Martha’s belongings. We’ll call all the Phoenix Dollers and-”
“There must be over one hundred members. Most aren’t even active.”
“We’ll call the active members. We’ll make the discovery sound exciting and tell them where it is. Then we’ll wait and see what happens.”
“Maybe nothing will happen.”
Gretchen shrugged. “Maybe you’re right, but do you have a better idea?”
“Yes, we should find the door that it opens. We’ll try it in locks until we find a fit.”
“That’s also part of the plan.”
Nina stopped walking and looked at a storefront. “I’m going into Chico’s. Enrico, hide.” She tossed a liver treat into the purse, and Enrico dove out of sight. Nina grinned and strode into the shop. Gretchen wandered into the Flip Flop Shop and purchased two new pairs of shoes, one gold, the other silver. With the tops of her feet burnt the color of Tutu’s red lace collar, flip-flops were the only shoe she could wear for awhile.
Nina appeared behind Gretchen as she paid at the cash register. Gretchen glanced at her watch. “Let the games begin,” she said.
Caroline tapped into the eBay site and keyed in the words antique dolls. She heard the computer churning and watched the list of auction dolls appear on her screen. Her eyes were red-rimmed from countless hours spent monitoring the site.
She scrolled down. Closed the site. Keyed in the Mc-Masters Harris Auction Company site and scrolled through the auction lot listings. Then Theriault’s. She scanned every online doll auction house. The Internet sites had highly specialized bidding technology, some with audio and video of the live auctions, offering customers the ability to participate with the touch of a keystroke.
Caroline sank into the center of the lumpy motel bed and closed her eyes. An hour later she awoke, startled. A door slammed in the hall, and she could hear muffled voices in the next room through the paper-thin walls.
She struggled up, unaware of the time or the day. She bent over, stretching the taut muscles in the small of her back.
Caroline went back to work, the computer startup display glowing green.
An audible gasp. She rubbed her eyes and looked again.
“French Jumeau Bébé, 1910, paperweight eyes, holding a Steiff monkey.”
Caroline knew the inventory list by heart. She clicked on a tiny photograph, and the image opened up. Large and bold. Worth the long wait.
Another of Martha’s dolls.
20
Little French girls eventually tired of playing with miniature copies of their mothers. Instead they wanted to play with versions of themselves. The Bébé doll, created in the image of young girls, was born in the late eighteen hundreds. Emile Jumeau took credit as the original designer. While some may dispute his claim, no one can challenge the beauty of his dolls’ faces or the exquisite detail of the costumes they wore.
– From World of Dolls by Caroline Birch