She wondered if Nina would tell her that no one could see auras emanating from pictures. She also wondered if Nina made up the rules as she went along.
Gretchen removed the glasses and thought about another of Nina's comments. She needed to use her third eye. She sighed heavily before going back to the picture. Then she saw it. The bushy eyebrows. In the picture his hair was a glossy black, not white, as it had been during the auction.
At the time, Gretchen had thought him odd with white hair and black eyebrows, but suddenly it made sense. It's much harder to disguise eyebrows than hair. He wasn't nearly as old as he'd pretended while bidding so fervently on the Kewpie dolls.
The cop in Peter's photograph was Duanne Wilson. Was Duanne Wilson impersonating a police officer? Or was he actually a cop? Gretchen didn't really care whether he was or not.
She really didn't care if her third eye had helped her or not.
Because she knew what had happened, and that's all that mattered.
She felt surprisingly calm as she stared at the man she knew had to be the killer. But why so many deaths? And why hadn't he been seen?
Dressed in a cop's uniform, that's how he'd done it. He could kill Ronny Beam in broad daylight without witnesses. He could bide his time using the Phoenix Police Department as camouflage. And Peter must have let him into his apartment because of the uniform.
Brett was the biggest puzzle. Why push him in front of a car? Unless he was part of the scheme. What if Brett had told Duanne to bid on the Kewpies, knowing all along that one was concealed in the Ginny box? Maybe he had tried to steal the Kewpie for himself. It was a possibility. Then there was Ronny Beam. He planned to write a story about the diamonds. That would give the police a motive in the investigation of Percy's murder. If the reporter hadn't dug through Chiggy's personal boxes, he'd probably be alive today, although his big mouth may have doomed him anyway.
Peter Finch had taken a picture of Duanne in his uniform. When she looked again at the photograph, Gretchen could see more clearly that Duanne was attempting to hide from the camera. Peter had been attacked and left for dead because of the pictures. That expained why Duanne had removed Peter's computer and camera equipment after shooting him. She still thought it was more than a coincidence that most of the men who had been at Chiggy's house before the auction were now dead. Had Duanne been there? How else would he have known who his targets were?
Peter had told her who had been present before the auction started: Peter, of course, Howie, Brett, Ronny, and Steve. That was it. No one else…
Gretchen saw the light for the first time.
Of course! There must have been one more person at the house. The killer would've blended into the background, but he was there all the time. The mover.
None of the others would have known who he was. Only Chiggy. But she hadn't recognized him because her eyesight was as bad as a rhino's.
He must also have been the person who wrote Chiggy the letter with the veiled threats. What had it said? So nice of you to help me find my treasure, just don't double-cross me. Everything made perfect sense now. Except the final question, the one she didn't have an answer for: Why was she next on his list?
38
"Nina, I need to find Daisy," Gretchen said into the phone.
"Have you heard from her?"
"You sound rushed. What's going on?"
"I'll explain later."
"Have you tried her cell?"
"Daisy has a cell phone?" Technology was changing even the street people. "She's homeless. How did she get a phone?"
"Beats me. Here's the number."
"Daisy, this is Gretchen."
"Oh, it's you." Gretchen could hear the disappointment in her voice. "I thought it might be my agent with good news."
"Sorry. I need to know who told you to find a safe place to stay."
"Why?" Wary. "You haven't told anyone that I'm not at your house, have you? If he knew, he'd be angry."
"Who would be angry?"
"I promised not to tell."
"Come on," Gretchen said. "I won't tell anyone." She felt like she was back in seventh grade. Back then, she remembered, no one really kept a promise.
"It was Detective Albright," Daisy said.
"What does Detective Albright have to do with this?"
"He came downtown the other night and warned me."
"What did he say?"
"He said bad things were happening in downtown Phoenix, and I should get away for a while."
"I thought Detective Albright was the one who beat up Albert."
"Why would you think that?"
"Because I'm the one who told him about Albert."
"Well, Albert was attacked by someone else."
It hadn't been Matt.
Gretchen hung up the phone, leaned her elbows on the doll worktable, and stared out the window at Camelback Mountain.
She'd been wrong about Matt, and she was relieved. He hadn't beat up Albert. Instead, he'd warned Daisy. If Gretchen had shared more information with him, maybe the real killer would be behind bars right now. If only she'd trusted him more…
April appeared at the door.
"Why's the front door locked?" she asked when Gretchen let her in.
"I've been a little nervous lately. I can't see who's at the door. I need to install a peephole."
"Let's go," April said, missing the significance of Gretchen's comment about locks and bolts.
"Go where?"
April had stuffed herself into a black, clingy number, and Gretchen could see every ripple and ridge. "To the Phoenician. We're having a goodbye reception for the Boston Kewpie Club. They're going home tomorrow. Well, all except Steve, who has to stay in Phoenix."
"I have to go to Brett's memorial service," Gretchen said wistfully, wishing she could celebrate life, renewal, and friendships with April and the doll group rather than mourn a tragic death.
"I don't know who else will be at this service," April said. "No one I know has been invited."
"I think the gathering is for the people who were at Chiggy's auction when Brett died. Howie must have arranged it."
"Where is it?"
"Someplace on McDowell Road."
"Do you need directions?"
Gretchen shook her head. "I'll find it. We have to talk later about the murders."
"I'll call you after the party," April said. "Right now, I'm running late."
"Lilly Beth, I know you're in there," Gretchen said, after knocking until her hand hurt. "I can see you through the window."
She backed up and peeked in, her eyes adjusting to the darkening night. Lilly Beth stepped farther back into the shadows.
Gretchen pointed at her and their eyes met. "See, there you are. Let me in."
Finally the door opened a crack.
"What do you want?" Lilly Beth asked.
Gretchen thrust a printout of a photograph through the crack. "This police officer came to my house," she said.
"And you talked to him."
"That's the back of a head. Even if I did, so?"
"So, what did he want?"
"That's private information under the federal homeland security law."
"I demand to know under the freedom of information act, and that supersedes homeland security."
The ridiculousness of the conversation wasn't lost on Gretchen. Lilly Beth had more screws loose than Daisy ever would.
"He didn't tell me," Lilly Beth said. "It's on a need-toknow basis, and I didn't need to know."
Translation: Lilly Beth never stopped talking long enough to find out.
Lilly Beth, once started, took off like a buzzard smelling carrion.
"I don't know what's going on over there," Lilly Beth said. "But whatever it is, the police are on notice. That nice police officer has a job to do and I'm going to see that he accomplishes it. I'll help him in any way I can." Lilly Beth looked Gretchen up and down. "I'm on the side of the law."