"Don't hang up," Gretchen said quickly into the phone. They were the first three words out of her mouth. She said them again from the stool she perched on inside the workshop. "Please don't hang up."
"I'm paying my attorney a lot of money to advise me,"
Steve said. "And he insisted that I stay away from you."
"You're far away from me. Lots of airwaves between us. Your attorney can't complain. Anyway, I'm glad they released you."
He sighed heavily into the phone. "What do you want?"
"Just wondering how you are," Gretchen said. Partly true. She did wonder.
"Considering that I have to stay in Phoenix until this is resolved and consequently had to find other attorneys to handle my clients and caseload-and considering that I've been charged with murdering Ronny Beam in spite of the lack of evidence and glaring proof that the knife in his back belonged to you-and considering that your new boyfriend happens to be the one gathering evidence against me, I couldn't be better."
No bitterness there.
"At least you're free for the time being," she said.
"Things could be worse."
"Things could always be worse. A boulder from the mountain could fall and crush me. I'm not sure, though, that crushed bones would be worse. Death might, but even that's starting to sound more appealing."
An awkward silence fell between them, their onceupon-a-time comfortable familiarity a distant memory. Gretchen cleared her throat. "Steve, I'm really sorry about what's happened."
"About my legal situation or about us?"
"Both. And I'm trying to help you. I discovered some things that might clear you."
"Like what?"
"I don't want to tell you right now because I have some loose ends." An understatement, if I ever heard one. "Letme work on it a little longer. But I need to know if you were at Chiggy Kent's house the day before the auction."
"Why?"
"Were you?"
"Why do you want to know?"
"It could be important."
"I haven't told the police that I was there. The only one who knows is my attorney. I don't know how you found out. But I suppose you shared that information with your detective?"
"I haven't. Why don't you want him to know?"
"Because Ronny Beam was at the house that day, too. I wasn't introduced to him, and we didn't exchange words. I didn't even recognize him on the day of the doll show until afterward, but the police will try to use that against me if they can."
"I'll keep your secret, if you tell me what I need to know."
"What?"
"I need to know why you were at Chiggy Kent's house."
Gretchen fiddled idly with her repair tools.
"Why do you want to know?" he asked again reluctantly.
"Please, tell me."
"Okay. It isn't a big deal. I was delivering a doll to her."
"A doll?"
"Yes, some kind of Kewpie doll from her brother."
She almost dropped her tools on top of Nimrod, who slept curled nearby. Stay calm, Gretchen thought, her heart beating to the band.
"From Percy O'Connor?" she asked.
"Yes, how did you-?"
Gretchen interrupted him. She had to know the rest.
"What kind of Kewpie was it?"
"Gretchen, you should know better than anyone that I don't know the slightest thing about dolls. I wouldn't recognize a Kewpie doll if it wore a name tag, let alone figure out what kind of specific Kewpie it was. I didn't even know there were different kinds. Besides, it was inside a sealed box."
"Then how did you know it was a Kewpie?
"I met Percy through one of the attorneys at the firm. The three of us had lunch one day, and the subject of the Boston Kewpie Club's expedition to Phoenix came up. When I told him I was planning a trip to Arizona, he asked me to deliver the doll to his sister. She lived in Phoenix, and he said he couldn't go to the show himself-health reasons-and he didn't trust the postal service. He said I should tell her it was his favorite Kewpie collectible."
Favorite, like a million dollars favorite? Gretchen was sure that Steve had delivered a doll filled with diamonds, or at least one that the killer thought was filled with diamonds. After killing Percy and failing to find the gems, he must have suspected that Chiggy had them.
But if she did have them at one time, they must be missing now. Why else would she be so skittish?
"You know that Percy was murdered?" she asked Steve.
"Yes. No one knows why; nothing was missing, and he didn't seem to have any enemies. Quite a likable fellow, really." Steve continued. "The police thought Percy must have surprised a burglar in the act, the burglar killed him, then panicked and ran away without stealing anything. What a tragedy." He paused for a respectable moment of silence. "Chiggy was beside herself with joy when I presented the doll to her."
"I bet," Gretchen muttered.
"A final parting gift from her brother. She seemed to recognize it."
"What makes you say that?"
"She said something like 'at last, I thought it was lost.'
Then she cried."
"Do you remember what she did with the doll?"
"I'm not sure."
"Think, Steve. It might be important."
"I think she may have added it to another box of dolls. Yes, she did. One she planned on keeping, because she made a big deal out of it, pointing out to everyone that they shouldn't take that box."
Gretchen stared at the Kewpies on the worktable. Chiggy wanted to throw out the badly reproduced Kewpies. They really were worthless. Chiggy had hidden Percy's Kewpie doll inside the box of Ginnys.
36
Bert's Liquor Store was located in a run-down neighborhood in central Phoenix. Its less-than-distinguished features included a cheap rectangular facade, an enormous yellow sign with exposed gray metal where the paint had peeled away, and questionable clientele at the store's drivethrough service window. Gretchen arrived in the late afternoon when she hoped the store's most loyal customers would be thinking about that first jolt of the evening. She sat in her car with the doors locked and thought about her next move. An hour passed while she considered her options and watched a steady stream of people arrive at the store empty-handed, and leave clutching brown paper bags. The three liquor store bags that the Kewpies had arrived in were lying on the seat next to her. Not that they would do her any good. She couldn't march into the store and demand to know what they had contained and who the alcohol had been sold to. Although, if she acted slightly off, she would fit right in with the current clientele. She was wasting her time. She'd give it another half hour and then leave.
What had Aunt Gertie said to her on the phone?
Something like she'd know him when she saw him. Well, she didn't know anyone coming or going. No one even remotely familiar.
You'll know the culprit the minute you spot him, that's what Aunt Gertie had said.
Or her.
The only familiar character Gretchen had seen so far was approaching the liquor store this minute and was about to pass right by the Echo.
She sat up straighter.
With her shopping cart, Daisy would have blended right in with the rest of the street people. But Daisy's colorful attire stood out from the crowd, and Gretchen was able to spot her at a distance. She wore her red hat and purple sundress, and she sashayed along the sidewalk as if she was the queen of her very own Red Hat parade.
What was she doing near the liquor store? She didn't drink, as far as Gretchen knew. Daisy didn't have to drink to escape reality. She had her own source of hallucinations. Daisy curtsied to a passing pedestrian, a wide smile on her face.