"The poor boy was shot dead. Right in his home, in the library."
Nina, the supposed psychic, hadn't seen it coming. She gasped and covered her mouth with a jeweled hand. "How awful."
"Two shots to the head, it was," Eric said, immersed in the drama and savoring Nina's reaction. He held up his forefinger and thumb in the classic pistol pose and said,
"Bang, bang."
Nina gave a theatric squeal, setting off the dogs. All three started barking madly, emitting piercing, shrill yaps. The story of Percy O'Connor's untimely demise was temporarily interrupted while Nina quieted the dogs.
"Doggie cookies," Nina shouted over the yipping, rapidly distributing a round of biscuits. "I have to take them outside for a little walk," Nina said. "Would you like to join me, Eric?"
"My pleasure," he said.
"Wait a minute." Gretchen put up both hands to stop them. "What happened? What's the rest of the story? Did they catch the killer?"
"Alas," Eric said. "The police had very little to go on. Nothing was stolen, so they ruled out robbery. No one seemed to have a personal vendetta against Percy. Nothing that the police could sink their teeth into, so to speak. All very strange."
Nina had already thrown a purse over each shoulder, each containing an energetic ball of fur, and Tutu, the selfabsorbed schnoodle, pulled impatiently on her pink leash.
"Ready," Nina said to Eric.
"The only thing out of place," Eric continued, "I mean when the police arrived, was… well, besides the poor boy slumped over his rosewood desk… was a Kewpie doll shattered on the floor."
"Really?" Gretchen felt queasy. "What kind of Kewpie?"
"If I recall correctly, it was a Blunderboo," Eric said, taking Tutu's leash from Nina and guiding her down the aisle.
"What's with all the Blunderboos?" April said, after Gretchen filled her in. Business was light at the moment, allowing the dealers time to visit with each other.
"I think someone's trying to scare me by sending Kewpies to me." Gretchen nervously rearranged the dolls on the table to fill gaps where some had been selected for purchase. "What if I'm next?"
"Next?" April exclaimed, frowning over the top of her reading glasses. "Next to what? Die? Ridiculous. You aren't next."
"Three deaths, April. Count them." Gretchen held up her hands and ticked off the fingers on her left hand.
"Brett, Ronny, and this Percy O'Connor."
"Yeah, so?"
"I accidentally inherit a box of Kewpie reproductions. Never mind that they are awful copies. Focus on the fact that there's a Blunderboo in the box. Then Ronny's killed, and a Blunderboo is delivered to me with a message inside."
"The Blunderboo could have come before Ronny was murdered."
Gretchen nodded. "Next, we learn that this doll collector in Boston was murdered, and what's found at the scene?" Gretchen clapped her hands together. "A Blunderboo Kewpie doll."
"A coincidence?" April said weakly. Even she was no longer convinced.
"Afraid not."
"But why you?"
"I keep asking myself the same question."
"Maybe you saw something at the auction, but you don't know that you saw it, but the murderer knows you know and has to silence you before you realize that you know what you know and expose the killer." April stopped for breath. Gretchen decided not to ask April to repeat her theory.
"Why grind off the bottom of Chief Wag's feet?" she said.
"You're being tested? To see how smart you are?"
"Whoever sent it knew I wouldn't be fooled," Gretchen said. "I think I'm being watched. It's a spooky feeling."
April opened a large bag of potato chips and crunched on one. Stress seemed to increase the woman's hunger.
"I'll bet it is. Where's Nina?"
"She's walking the dogs with Eric."
Walking the dogs reminded Gretchen of the "Wag, the Dog" note hidden inside the Blunderboo. "Maybe the first message had two meanings."
"You sure do switch topics quickly," April said. "I can hardly keep up. What message?"
"Wag, the Dog."
"Two meanings? Like a double entendre?"
Gretchen thought about it. "Sort of. The sender wanted to alert me to Chief Wag's appearance so I would discover the piece of paper."
"How could the sender know you would crack open the doll head?"
Gretchen shrugged. "If someone sends a doll for repair, I usually check it over very closely. I guess it's possible that I would have opened it regardless and attempted a better repair."
"That's a stretch," April said.
"But 'Wag, the Dog' still could have meaning. Like in the movie. Maybe I have to stay smarter than my tail." A thought occurred to Gretchen. "I had a tail yesterday."
"Very funny," April said. "Ha, ha. Was it long and hairy or short and bushy?"
Gretchen smoothed a Ginny doll's dress. "I mean someone followed me. A woman in a black Jetta. When I stopped, she pulled up next to me and told me that I would pay, then she sped off."
April stopped munching. "That's scary. Maybe you should tell Matt and have him assign a bodyguard. Maybe, if you're lucky, he'll volunteer to personally protect you. That is, if he isn't too busy guarding Steve."
"I wonder how Steve's doing." Gretchen had forgotten all about him.
"Maybe he and Matt are bonding."
"This isn't funny, April."
"Have to laugh," she said. "Or you'd cry."
Gretchen watched her return to her table. A steady stream of people continued to stop and look at Gretchen's Ginny dolls and Barbies, but business had been better the day before. Not many were buying today.
Gretchen's cell phone rang. The caller ID displayed her mother's mobile number.
"Hey," Gretchen said.
"Hey, yourself. How's business?"
"Great," Gretchen said, forcing a light tone that she didn't feel. She wasn't about to alarm her mother with disturbing news. "I'm almost sold out of Ginnys, and the repair basket is full. I can't seem to work through it."
Caroline laughed. "Take them home, and I'll help you when I get back. Things are going well here, too. This was a whirlwind tour. I'm taking the day off from working to visit friends. Is Daisy still staying at the house?"
"She came around but vanished like she always does."
"Daisy's good for Nina. My sister needs to be reminded of social issues occasionally. It keeps her grounded on earth."
"When are you coming back?"
"I'd like to stay a few extra days. I want to drive along the coast and visit bookstores."
"No problem," Gretchen said. "By the way, the Boston Kewpie Doll Club is in town."
"Stuffed shirts, aren't they?"
"Eric Huntington likes Nina."
"Who's he?"
"The president of the club's son. Helen's son. Remember him?"
There was a pause on the other end of the line. "Can't say as I do."
"He says he met you."
"Maybe he did. My mind is going in my old age. Say hi to Nina. She could use some male attention for a change."
Gretchen closed the phone and glanced down the aisle, her eyes scanning the crowd. She had that feeling of being watched again but didn't see anything, or anyone, out of place.
18
It isn't a fair fight from the very first punch, but Albert Thoreau learned long ago that life isn't fair. He has no false illusions, therefore he isn't prone to indulge in emotions such as disappointment or recrimination.
This he firmly believes.
He has no illusions.
What he does have are delusions.
Drinking helps him escape the worst of reality. But, as another blow lands on the side of his face, he wishes he had waited until a little later in the evening before imbibing. Or possibly he should have started earlier and passed out someplace safe.