Dolly Departed, page 12
part #3 of Dolls To Die For Series
She was putting away the repair supplies when she heard her mother call out a greeting.
"Hey," Gretchen raised her voice. "I'm in the workshop."
"You're up early." Caroline plopped down on a stool.
"It's good to be home. I'm staying put, no more book tours for a while." She picked up the doll that Gretchen had just finished. "Nice job on the kid body."
"Thanks."
"Evie Rosemont called yesterday. She wanted to know how the room boxes were coming along."
"Do I know Evie Rosemont?" Gretchen asked, trying to place her.
Caroline laughed. "You'd remember if you did. She's a hoot. Never stops talking. Wears enormous hats. She must have hundreds of them, all displayed on her walls. And antique shoes everywhere. Rooms of hats and shoes, a massive collection. Want me to take you over? It's worth seeing."
"Yes, I'd like to meet her." Gretchen remembered a woman outside of Charlie's shop the day of the parade, the day Charlie died. The woman had worn a big straw hat and had been the first one to speak to Bernard about unlocking the door. He had called her Evie.
Gretchen retrieved the street signs from her purse, which was on the floor with Nimrod cuddled inside. "Joseph knew the location of the Second Street sign," she said, relating the details.
"Charlie was really acting out her frustration with her sister's death," Caroline said. "Lizzie Borden was acquitted of the most brutal double murder of all time. The crime was never solved. Did you know that?"
"No. I thought she killed them."
"We'll never know."
"That's exactly what Joseph said when I wondered why Charlie would put together such an awful scene."
"Let's find the dolls that go with the room boxes today and finish up. I'm taking a camera along for the after pictures. Your camera phone takes okay pictures, but the colors aren't as vivid as they could be."
Right, Gretchen thought. Make sure you can see all the blood splatters.
She watched her mother head for the kitchen, trailed by the pint-sized puppy and Wobbles, who was trying to remain aloof but failing. Gretchen was sure her mother fed table scraps to the pets when she wasn't looking. Why else the intense devotion?
Gretchen took a quick shower and was drying her hair when her cell phone rang. The caller introduced himself as the manager from Gretchen's bank. "A courtesy call really,"
he said. "We aren't required to do this, but your mother is a good customer, and we realize you are new to our banking services."
"Is something wrong?"
"You're account is overdrawn."
"Impossible!"
"By quite a lot."
"That can't be right."
"I'm afraid it's correct."
"Well, how much?"
When he gave her the amount, she almost dropped the phone.
"Would you like to transfer funds from your savings account?"
"Yes, please," she said weakly. She'd have nothing left to her name after that transaction.
"Maybe you'd like to stop in and go over your account. You were fine until you wrote a substantial check recently."
"Who did I make it out to?"
The bank manager gave her a name. A name she knew. She'd get her money back if she had to beat it out of him dollar by dollar.
And she knew exactly where to find him.
Gretchen stomped across the street, dodging traffic, intent on the building ahead. She heard a wolf whistle behind her but refused to turn and look. Men! Sex-starved animals, chasing anyone in a halter top. She wasn't in the mood.
"Gretchen," she heard coming from the same general vicinity as the whistle. She flung around. Matt Albright bounded toward her with a big flashy white smile. Even in her anger, she appreciated his devilish good looks and replaced her scowl with a small smile. He was just the man to help her.
"I need you," Gretchen said. "Right now."
"Really?" he sounded surprised and hopeful. "I thought you were an Amazon woman, treading fearlessly through this wild jungle called life. But you need me?" He puffed his chest like a he-man.
"Not like that, Tarzan."
"We hardly know each other," he feigned shock. "But if you insist, we can go to my place."
"This is a criminal problem. You have to arrest someone."
"Oh," he pretended to deflate with disappointment.
"Who are we arresting?"
"Follow me."
She spun through the revolving doors of Saint Joseph's Hospital, inquired about a room number at the front desk, found the elevator, and punched the Up button.
"Are you going to clue me in?" Matt said when she finally came to a stop while waiting for the elevator.
"I dropped my checkbook at Mini Maize the day Charlie died. A horrible old . . ." Gretchen could hardly speak she was so upset.
"Take a deep breath. Relax."
"A horrible old man found it and returned it to me."
"Horrible? He sounds like a Good Samaritan."
"He returned it after he wrote himself a big, fat check. My bank actually paid it, even though the transaction overdrew my account. I had to use my savings to cover the overdraft. Why didn't they let it bounce? Now I've lost everything." Gretchen should have told the manager that the check had been forged. Wasn't that the right thing to do? Yet, she hesitated. Forgery was a serious offense, and he was so old. All she wanted was her money back. Turning him in would be a last resort. Matt scowled. "I still don't quite understand. The guy's in the hospital?"
The elevator arrived. Gretchen, still in the lead, pushed the floor number. "He deserved everything he got," she said, hands on hips.
"He deserved what? Please don't tell me that you put him in here?"
Gretchen gave the detective a narrow-eyed look. "Of course not. He was concocting something called bug juice, and it blew up in his face."
"I see."
She could tell he didn't see at all. "Follow me," she said.
"Don't I always?"
That gave Gretchen pause. Maybe he was always following her. When they found the hospital room, Bernard looked like an extra from the movie The Mummy. His face was completely swathed in bandages. Gretchen knew it was him by the visible mop of white hair, though his mustache was hidden by the bandages. His name on the chart at the foot of the bed helped, too.
"He's sleeping," Matt said, still sounding puzzled. "I'm really lacking enough background information to handle this properly."
"Not for long." Gretchen thumped the patient's shoulder. Bernard's eyes flew open.
"You stole my money, you old buzzard." It took all her control to keep her hands off his neck. "I want it back."
"You said you never use your account."
That's not exactly what she had said to him when he dropped off her checkbook. She had meant that she hadn't missed the checkbook because there was so little money in the bank. "So you thought you'd keep it active for me?" she screeched.
"Hold on." Matt said, trying to step into the middle of the scene and direct traffic.
"She called the cops?" Bernard's eyes grew wide when he saw Matt. "I only borrowed the money. Honest. I was going to return it long before she even knew it was gone."
"Surprise, I checked." Gretchen said. "And I want it back. Right now."
"Sir," Matt said, managing to squeeze between them.
"Is that correct? Did you forge her name and remove funds from her account?"
"He sure did."
"I'm asking him, Gretchen."
Gretchen watched the old man's eyes. He wanted to deny it, she could tell, but he'd already admitted it. "I thought I deserved a reward," he said. "You know, for finding the checkbook and returning it to its rightful owner."
"Read him his rights," Gretchen demanded. "Arrest him."
"Where is the money?" Matt asked Bernard with a cold, hard stare. Gretchen never wanted to be on the receiving end of that look.
Bernard's eyes slid to a metal cabinet next to the bed.
"In there. In my wallet. You can have it back."
Gretchen lunged for the cabinet, found the wallet, and counted out a large wad of bills. "All here," she said with a huge sigh of relief. It was all the money she had in the world, and she had almost lost it.
Bernard watched through slits in the bandages.
"What exactly happened to you?" Matt asked him.
"Explosion. Someone's trying to kill me." He nodded in Gretchen's direction. "Might be her, for all I know. Did you ever see anybody that mad before? I think she has an anger management problem."
Gretchen wanted to shake the scrawny weasel.
Matt glanced at Gretchen. Now that the confrontation was over, he had a hint of sparkle back in his eyes.
"You screwed the cover on too tight," Gretchen told him. She looked at the quizzical expression on Matt's face.
"Britt Gleeland told me about it."
"I can't stand that woman," Bernard said. "She doesn't know anything."
"At least she came and visited you." Gretchen thought Britt must be the only one in Phoenix who liked the man well enough to care. What a disagreeable personality.
"That woman better not show up here."
"But I thought--"
"I know better than to close the lid tight," Bernard said, interrupting. "I left it loose. I've been making juice for years, and I know I didn't do it wrong. Someone added in another chemical to give it more power."
"Why would anyone try to kill you?" Matt asked.
"Because. That's why. Just because." Through the white wrapping, Gretchen could see his lips tighten down. Bernard wasn't talking to them anymore.
"What's going on in here?" a nurse said from the doorway.
"This police officer and young lady are bullying me around. I want them to leave."
Nimrod chose that moment to peek out of Gretchen's purse. The nurse glared. "I'm calling security if you aren't gone in thirty seconds."
Matt didn't even challenge the nurse. He apologized for the intrusion and escorted Gretchen out of the room.
"Don't you outrank a nurse?" Gretchen wanted to know on the way down in the elevator.
Matt chuckled. "No one on the police force would think of tangling with a head nurse. And I lost my advantage when the mutt made his appearance."
"Bernard Waites should be on your list of suspects."
"He seems to think someone's trying to kill him."
"Yeah, right."
"He took quite a hit. I checked his medical records earlier. He's lucky to be alive."
Gretchen stared at Matt. "You knew he was here all along."
"I knew about his condition, not about the theft."
"Were you following me?"
"I was leaving the hospital when you came up. I thought you were following me." Matt grinned at her.
"Did you interrogate him?"
"I questioned him right after Charlie died."
"That's how he knew you were a cop."
"He lied in the original report he gave Brandon Kline. He said he hadn't seen Charlie since the day before, but he had. Several witnesses saw him at the shop very early that morning."
"Ahah!"
"Another witness saw Charlie alive and well afterward."
"Oh."
"Bernard's in worse shape than you seem to think."
Was that true? Had she really bullied a severely injured old man? But look what he had done. "Why didn't you stop me if he's so sick?"
"And spoil the fun?"
Gretchen cracked a weak smile. "I was awful, wasn't I?"
"Out of control."
"I'm pressing charges."
"You should."
"Does that mean he's on the top of your list of suspects?"
"Everyone's on my list."
"Even me?"
Matt grinned. "Especially you."
* 19 *
When Gretchen and Caroline arrived at Mini Maize with Nimrod, April was waiting in her car. She wore a loose, white sundress covered with yellow sunflowers and really did look thinner.
Nina and Britt swooped in right behind them with Tutu and Enrico. All the dogs ran off playing. Gretchen picked up the crude, unfinished room box that they had originally rejected and added it to the others in the display.
"It doesn't exactly fit," Britt remarked. "I'd throw it away."
"Nina thinks it's an important component. We'll see what we can do with it."
"I'm off," Britt announced, hugging Nina. "Any word yet on Charlie's funeral?"
Caroline answered her. "The police are still holding her body. They haven't said when they will release it."
After Britt left, Nina clapped and called out. The three dogs appeared in the room. Nina pulled a pink hatbox from one of her many totes. "I'm so excited," she said. "I could hardly wait to come in today. Wait till you see."
Gretchen exchanged glances with her mother. Something silly was up. They could tell. Nina danced in anticipation. "Bonnie Albright has been working on a new venture."
"She's been very secretive about it," April said, dusting dolls on a shelf. "We've been trying to get the details out of her at Curves, but for the first time in her life, she's not talking."
Nina jiggled the box. "She's been creating wigs."
Gretchen grimaced when she thought of the stiff, red wig Bonnie wore to cover a bald spot on the top of her head. She was the last person on earth Gretchen would consider qualified to create realistic wigs. Gretchen's eyes slid to the pink box. "You bought a wig from her?"
Nina bobbed her head in glee. "I've always thought about this concept, and she went out and did it."
"Let's see," Gretchen leaned in as Nina pulled off the little round cover.
"Tutu, come here," Nina called. The schnoodle bounded down one of the aisles in full anticipation of another treat. Nina had her hand over the box, concealing the contents.
"At first, I couldn't decide between the two styles. Should I get the CleoPetra with bangs, or the Barky Braids?"
"CleoPetra?" April shouted. "For heaven's sake, will you show us what you have?"
"Eventually I decided on the Barky Braids." Nina extracted a wig and reached out for Tutu, adjusting it on the dog's head so that two braids hung down in front of Tutu's ears.
"The wig is for your dog?" April said, failing to hold back a full-blown roar. "I thought it was for you. It's for Tutu?"
Gretchen laughed along with April and her mother. It felt good after all the tension surrounding Charlie's murder and her own financial problems. Leave it to Nina to lighten the moment.
Nina grinned. "It's a perfect fit, isn't it?"
"How does it stay on?" Caroline asked.
"Elastic."
"I absolutely love it," Gretchen agreed. "Tutu looks ravishing."
"The wig is exactly the same color as Tutu's hair," April pointed out.
Nina preened at the compliments. "That's right. Bonnie's a miracle worker. I could have picked any color I wanted. She makes them to order. Nimrod and Enrico should have doggie wigs, too."
Gretchen glanced at the tiny teacup poodle and the aggressive Chihuahua, who were playing tug of war with a knotted rope. "Enrico's just beginning to fit in," she said.
"Let's not traumatize him unnecessarily."
"Enough play," Caroline said. "Help me find the dolls that go inside the room boxes. I should have asked Britt more about them before she left."
They rummaged around on the storage room shelves without finding anything useful. Gretchen pulled open each of Charlie's desk drawers until she found a box filled with dolls.
"You're not going to like this," she said to the others after she opened the cover and peered in. "This is so sad."
The women gathered around. Miniature room box dolls were arranged in a row. Six of them. Three women and three men. Two of the dolls' skulls were bashed in, one had slash marks crisscrossing her tiny body, and two had gaping holes in their heads. The only one that appeared undamaged was a distinguished-looking male doll. Instead of holes and slashes, his face was contorted in the semblance of excruciating pain.
No one said anything for several minutes.
"Well," Caroline finally said. "I don't think we will be displaying the room boxes at the funeral after all."
"Wise decision," April said.
"We're done then," Gretchen said with relief. Charlie's obsession with death, culminating with her own, was disturbing. Gretchen closed the cover. "The police must have seen these when they investigated."
"What would a few mutilated dolls mean to them?" Caroline said.
"It would be interesting to discuss them with the police," Gretchen said, deciding to take the dolls along with her.
"I'll get photos of the room boxes for Charlie's brother,"
Caroline said. "Without the dolls."
After her mother had taken the promised photographs, Gretchen helped Nina pack up dog supplies.
A window shopper stopped in front of the shop. Enrico the Enforcer lunged at the window, snarling and showing his teeth. The pedestrian took one look at the foaming, frothing creature and moved on.
"Poor Enrico," Nina said.
"Poor Enrico?" April said, incredulous. "He seems to have the upper hand."
"The poor little orphan."
Gretchen groaned silently. She saw it coming before April did. "Enrico is looking for a new home," Nina said as if on cue.
Her aunt couldn't resist taking in abandoned canines. That's how Gretchen had ended up with Nimrod. Not that she was complaining. The tiny pup was a perfect match for her. But Enrico and April?
Nina looked sadly at April, then peeked at Enrico, who still guarded the window. "His owner can't get used to--"
An explosion drowned out Nina's next words. Gretchen saw the shop window blow apart. One second, it was there. The next second, it was gone. Shards of glass flew everywhere. The noise was deafening. Gretchen moved as fast as she could, but it still felt like slow motion. She lunged for the space where the tiny Chihuahua had stood a moment before and saw only emptiness. She frantically turned left and right. Nothing. Enrico was gone.
