"It'll only take a minute."
Tulip sighs heavily for the dramatic effect. All right, she hopes the sigh implies, but you're taking up my valuable time.
"What?" she asks, tapping a foot against a privacy wall. Hurry up, the foot implies. Make it quick. She watches a lizard slink up the wall and duck behind a withered vine.
"You were standing on the curb?"
"Yeah, that's right."
"What did you see?"
"Not much. The deed was done when I looked out in the street."
"The deed?"
"That's an expression. I didn't, like, see a thing."
"How about the box? Did you see the box?"
"What kind of box?"
"Cardboard box."
"Maybe."
"What do you mean, maybe? Either you saw it or you didn't. Which is it?"
She narrows her eyes. "Yah, I saw a box. That guy who got killed had a box when he ran up."
"What happened to it?"
"You said this would only take a minute."
"We can continue our conversation downtown."
"Some other guy picked it up."
"What did he look like?"
"Like he's been sleeping on park benches for about a hunnert years. He had a bunch of blue clothes on, y'know?
Smelled, too."
"Ever see him before?"
"Do I look like someone who'd know a bum?" She kicks aimlessly at the curb, then looks down at her black toenails.
Man, how she hates cops.
15
Everyone at the doll show was talking about Ronny Beam's murder in the parking lot yesterday. The vendors spoke quietly among themselves so their customers wouldn't overhear. Nothing like murder to draw people together, Gretchen thought, observing a renewed camaraderie among the competitors. People lined up for admission, many of them arriving out of curiosity. Thrill seekers. Nina bought the Sunday newspaper, and they quickly scanned it together behind Gretchen's table. "Murder Among Dolls." Ronny, always in search of the story of a lifetime, had finally found it. Page one, front and center. Many of the customers wanted to know the sordid details, hoping to hear more at the doll show than they'd learned from the local news. Gretchen kept her ears tuned to the rumor mill, hoping to learn something that might exonerate Steve. If only he'd stayed in Boston.
At the first chance she had since arriving at her table, Gretchen keyed a number into her cell phone.
"Howie Howard, please," Gretchen said.
"Speaking," he said. "Who is this?"
"Gretchen Birch, remember me?"
"Any relation to Caroline Birch?"
"She's my mother." Gretchen thought again of the responsibility her mother had given her, and how she'd botched the task of acquiring the Ginnys.
"Wonderful woman." Howie's voice was rich and deep, perfect for an auctioneer.
A customer picked up a Barbie doll, lifted its dress, and peeked under. What was the fascination with Barbie's bottom? Nearly every potential buyer had to see what she had on underneath.
"You were at the auction at Chiggy's," he said. "I saw your name on the registration list."
"I'm sorry about Brett. I know how close you two were."
"I don't know what I'll do without him."
A customer approached with an armful of dolls, and Gretchen signaled Nina for help. Nina trotted over with Nimrod under her arm, and Gretchen turned away so she wouldn't be overheard.
"I wanted to confirm an address on the registration list,"
she said. "I must have written it down wrong. Brett gave me the wrong box of dolls, and I'd like to return it."
"You can give the box to me. I'll take care of it for you."
"It would be easier if I handled it myself so I can get my Ginny dolls back. I was hoping to sell them today at the show. Besides, you have more important things…"
Gretchen let the sentence dangle awkwardly. More important things to do. Like planning a funeral and burying a friend.
"Suit yourself," Howie said. "What's the name of the guy you're looking for?"
"Duanne Wilson."
"Let me get the registration list." After a short pause, Howie came back on the phone and read off the address.
"That's exactly how I wrote it down," Gretchen said, disappointed. "The address doesn't exist."
"Then I can't help you," Howie said.
"Did he pay with a check? If he did, his address might be written on the check. I'm sure it was just copied down wrong."
Gretchen heard pages rustling on the other end of the line.
"You're fresh out of luck today. He paid cash."
Gretchen sighed heavily. She was at a dead end in her quest to recover the dolls.
"I have an idea," Howie said. "Maybe he lives on Fortythird Avenue, not Fortythird Street. Someone could have written down street instead of avenue."
"There's a difference?"
"You bet, little lady. A big one. Aren't you from around here?"
"I moved to Phoenix a few months ago. I'm still learning my way around," Gretchen said, perking up. Howie chuckled. "We have numbered streets all the way down to Central Avenue, and then they turn into avenues. What you need to do is drive along Camelback Road and keep going. It's a long way."
"Thanks," Gretchen said. "You've saved my career."
She'd check it out after the show.
"Mailman," April called out. Gretchen looked up and saw Eric Huntington of the Boston Kewpie Club heading her way with a brown-wrapped package between both his beefy hands.
The package was small and square, exactly the size of the one delivered yesterday.
Eric stopped in front of Gretchen's table and smiled at Nina, who said, "I can already tell, you're much friendlier than yesterday's mailman."
"This package is a special Sunday delivery addressed to the doll repairer," he said.
Gretchen stared at the package. "Do I have to accept delivery?" she asked.
"Afraid so," Eric replied. "The label is very specific." He set the package down on the table and ran his finger along the address. "See. 'The Doll Repairer' in capital letters. That can only mean you, since you're the only one here."
"Mail doesn't run on Sunday," Nina pointed out, stuffing Sophie in her travel purse and slinging it across her shoulder. She plopped Nimrod down on Gretchen's lap.
"It is an enigma," Eric said. "Someone shoved the package under the club's table, of all places, then ran off. Rather scruffy character, probably earned a few coins to deliver it. I'm surprised someone didn't stop him at the entrance."
His eyes followed Nina. "Where are you off to?"
"I need a cup of coffee," she said. "I've only had one jolt so far this morning, and I need another."
"I could use one myself," Eric said. "Mind if I join you?"
Gretchen watched them walk away, Tutu in the lead, straining against her leash, and Sophie checking out the show's action from Nina's purse.
Nimrod settled into Gretchen's lap, and she bent down to rummage through her tools for the perfect doll hook to slice through the strong packaging tape.
She scanned the front for information. No return address. No postal stamp. Yet she recognized the same handwriting as the last package: large, loopy letters. If this was someone's idea of a joke, the timing couldn't be worse.
"Aren't you going to open it?" April peered at her from the next table, her reading glasses perched on the end of her nose. A purple muumuu covered her enormous body like a pair of drapes.
"I don't know."
"Want me to do it?"
"No, I need some fresh air first. Can you watch my table?"
"Sure. Without Nina's dog act, business is light. I'll sit at your table. But don't stay out there too long. This heat will suck every bit of moisture out of your body."