Steve's duplicity had been the reason Gretchen left Boston permanently, and a good enough reason to end their going-nowhere relationship. Had Courtney followed him to Phoenix?
"Breaking it off before you found out would have been better for him," Nina said. "He might have had a chance."
"No," Gretchen said. "Resisting completely would have been better. A college kid, can you believe it?"
Dinners came, and Gretchen poured tea for both of them.
After they had eaten, they broke open their fortune cookies.
Nina read hers first: " 'A person of words and not deeds is like a garden full of weeds.' Humph," she said. "I don't get it. Who makes up this stuff? What's yours?"
" 'Advice, when most needed, is least heeded.' "
Gretchen stuffed the bit of paper into her purse and said,
"Tomorrow has to be a better day."
Gretchen sat at the worktable and tried to forget the disturbing events of the last few days. Steve's reappearance in her life, the loss of her Ginnys and her money, Brett's accident, Ronny Beam's violent murder, her missing knife found in his back, the mysterious package containing the Kewpie, and a confrontation with the enraged woman. Gretchen hated confrontation.
Steve had called while they were at the Chinese restaurant, and she had turned off her cell phone when she saw his number on the caller ID. She planned on leaving it off until sometime tomorrow.
She intentionally didn't check the kitchen answering machine either before retreating to the workshop, since she suspected he had called the house as well.
The house was so quiet. Daisy's bedroom door was closed, and she decided not to disturb her. Gretchen couldn't imagine having to find a place to sleep outdoors every night. Park benches couldn't be comfortable. No wonder Daisy always slept right through her visits to Gretchen. Gretchen embraced the silence of the cozy room, welcomed it after the brouhaha that always surrounded largerthan-life Nina. Nimrod dozed on his bed, and the nocturnal Wobbles sat on the table next to her, his eyes closed and a deep, throaty purr rumbling from inside of him.
She ran her hand through his silky black fur from head to tip of tail and thought about the hobby knife found protruding from Ronny's back. Her knife. Ronny was as abrasive as a Brillo pad, but who would have killed him? Even if Steve had taken her knife, he hadn't even met Ronny when it disappeared.
Steve was a tenacious trial attorney, used to stressful situations and able to remain calm in the face of just about any challenge. He handled the ugliest divorces and had been threatened often by vengeful spouses. He'd always prided himself on his ability to turn any situation to his advantage.
Steve couldn't have killed Ronny for one simple, telling fact: his ongoing bid for partnership in the law firm meant more to him than anything in the world. He would never act in a way that might harm his position.
But if Steve didn't kill Ronny, who did? Who had a motive?
Just about anyone in Phoenix who had crossed paths with the blundering, insensitive reporter.
The business phone rang beside her, and she waited impatiently for the answering machine's greeting to finish. Steve's voice, filled with barely concealed frustration, filled the room. "Gretchen, where are you? I've tried your cell and your main number. Pick up. I know you're there." A pause. "We need to discuss us. Stop hiding. I'll try back in an hour." He disconnected.
Spreading a towel on the worktable, she chose a doll from the repair bag and finished taking it apart-legs, arms, and head. She laid out the pieces, chose the right size elastic cording, and went to work on the doll's leg. She attached the cording through a hook in the leg, making sure it was snug, and ran it through the neck opening. Wobbles yawned, stretched leisurely, and jumped down from the table. She heard Nimrod snoring softly and glanced down at him. His puppy tongue protruded from the side of his mouth.
As Gretchen worked, she kept stealing glances at the mysterious Kewpie doll. Her name hadn't been on the package. It had simply been addressed to the doll repairer and sent to the hall where the doll show was taking place. Strange, although the entire thing was weird.
Someone wanted the doll repairer to receive the doll. But it was already repaired, so what was the point?
As much as she disliked admitting it, coincidence had to have played a part in the puzzle of the two Kewpies. Who knew about the other Blunderboo?
Only the entire group of doll collectors milling around the Boston Kewpie Club's table. Were they connected in some way?
It didn't make sense.
Gretchen carefully lifted the Blunderboo Kewpie doll from the stand and again felt along its neck. The repair work on the mystery doll was as good as her own work. Whoever had glued the pieces together knew how to do it. No unevenness in the joining.
She thought about the fortune cookie she had broken open at dinner. "Advice, when most needed, is least heeded."
What had Aunt Gertie said? When it comes to murder, everything is important.
I must be crazy, she told herself. Don't do it. But I restore dolls, she argued back. It can easily be fixed.
Before she could change her mind, Gretchen took the doll to the kitchen, placed it in a pan of cold water, and brought the water to a boil. Ten minutes later, she returned to the workshop with the pan, lifted the Kewpie with serving tongs, and placed it on the towel. Satisfied that the glue had sufficiently softened, Gretchen carefully pulled the head away from the body.
"You're crazy," she said again, this time out loud. Certifiably insane, off your rocker.
She peered into the Blunderboo's body cavity. Nothing.
She turned the head upside down and looked inside. Her heart thumped several irregular beats.
Something white. A piece of paper.
Gretchen extracted it with tweezers and studied the paper that had been folded multiple times into a tiny perfect square.
"What's up?" said a man's voice behind her.
Gretchen screamed.
The piece of paper fluttered to the floor as she reached for a repair hook and whirled. Nimrod, startled awake, stood and barked bravely at the intruder.
"A little testy," Detective Matt Albright said from the doorway, eyeing the weapon in her hand, a small smile playing nervously on his lips.
"Doesn't anyone knock anymore?" Gretchen said.
"I did knock. And rang the bell. You didn't answer."
"So you just walk in?"
"I tried the door, and it was unlocked." He flashed his dazzling smile. "I didn't know if you were home. I wanted to make sure the house was secure and you were safe."
Gretchen threw the repair hook on the table and stooped to retrieve the paper she had found inside the Kewpie doll. She tucked it into her pocket, hoping Matt hadn't noticed. She shouldn't have worried about that.
Matt's eyes followed the repair hook, and Gretchen suddenly realized her mistake. It had pink nail polish on the end of it.
"We need to talk," he said.
"Sure. Come on in."
"I'd rather wait outside," he said, still eyeing the pink hook. "Two months ago, I couldn't even think about looking into this room." His eyes left the hook and met hers.
"The doll thing, you know. Therapy's helping, but not that much. I'll be by the pool."
Gretchen picked up the hook, returned it to the toolbox, and slammed it shut. "I'll get us a beverage. Are you on duty or off? Wine or coffee?"
"It looks like it's going to be a long night. Coffee for me," he said.
"I can explain," Gretchen said, taking a sip of old-vine Zinfandel.
"Oh, please do. I can hardly wait."
"I discovered my knife missing the night before the doll show. The polish was hardly dry, and poof, it was gone."
Matt snapped his fingers. "Just like that? Into thin air?"