Dolly Departed, page 19
part #3 of Dolls To Die For Series
"Here poochies," Nina called. "Let's go. Should we drop you at home, Gretchen?"
Gretchen sighed, remembering that there was safety in numbers. "I'll come along."
"She's back in," April said, grinning.
* 30 *
Melany Gleeland has a truly horrible secret. It's almost bigger than she can handle by herself, which is why she has to get away from Phoenix--any way she can, by any means available.
Whatever it takes.
Melany fingers the knot of the black do-rag in her hand. Do-rags. Everybody's doing do-rags: cancer patients hiding bald heads during chemo treatments, hip-hop groups, bikers to prevent helmet head. Black is the hot color. You've seen one, you've seen them all. Her biker boyfriend wears one under his helmet. This could be his. She can't get out of this city fast enough. She hates everything about it: the brown smog that hovers over Phoenix, breathing in toxins right along with oxygen, unbelievable pollen counts, new allergies assaulting her sinus passages daily. Then there's the blinding, unrelenting heat from the sun, no shade anywhere, the weather forecasters predicting a significant change in temperature, as if a drop of four degrees is national news.
And her mother. If she doesn't leave right now, she might do something to hurt the witch. Like set her hair on fire while she's bent over her precious kiln. Give her head a blast of flammable hair spray, and whoof. Up she goes. Problem solved in one big incendiary moment.
She really hates her mother's perfectly symmetrical face.
Melany is homely, according to Mommy Dearest, because her features aren't balanced properly. Look at Melany's face from one side, then the other, and you can see the problem. Symmetry is the secret to real beauty. Draw a line down the middle of your face. The sides should match.
How unfortunate for Melany.
Poor girl.
* 31 *
The first step to becoming a doll maker is deciding what type of doll to cast. That determines what mold to use. Modern dolls are created from sculpted molds. Then they are finished off with contemporary clothing and synthetic wigs. Antique reproduc- tions are cast from existing antique dolls. Every effort is made to re-create the look of antique painting. Costumes for antiques are natural fibers such as silk or cotton, and wigs are mohair or human hair. Make your selection, and let the fun begin.
--From World of Dolls by Caroline Birch Britt Gleeland had converted a wing of her home into a dollmaking studio. Gretchen didn't see any dolls on display when she walked through the living area, which she considered unusual for a doll collector. She did manage to get a glance at the kitchen and saw wallpaper in colors that seemed to match the unknown room box, but she was too far away to see the pattern. She had to find an opportunity to get closer.
Nina jabbed her in the ribs and raised her brow. She'd seen, too.
"I'm so excited to be here," April gushed when she saw the doll-making workshop. She headed for a long table in the center of the room, which was filled with tiny projects in various stages of completion.
"My class meets every Thursday," Britt said. "I have seven students at the moment, but they are in the middle of their projects. It would be impossible for you to catch up at this point."
"When does your next class begin?" April plopped down and dreamily fingered the miniature pieces.
"In a few weeks. I like to have a full table of students before I start. Why don't I call you?"
April barely heard her. She was completely mesmerized by her surroundings.
Gretchen had to admit that the miniatures were extremely captivating. She'd devoted her career to restoration of fullsized antiques, but she understood April's fascination. Someday she might take a miniature doll-making class herself.
"Who would like coffee?" Britt asked. Every hair in her twist was right where it should be.
Nina cast a sly eye at Gretchen. "We all would love some," she said. "I'll help you in the kitchen."
"No need; it's right here. Come sit." Sure enough, a carafe filled with coffee and all the trimmings sat on a round table to the side of the worktable.
Gretchen and Nina exchanged warning glances. Now what? Britt would expect them to drink the coffee. Gretchen solved the problem by offering to pour, after which the women watched Britt take small sips. Once she had drunk half of the coffee in her own cup, the others joined in. While they chatted, Gretchen tried to think of anything that might be missing from the coffee supplies so she could follow Britt into the kitchen to retrieve them. But the doll maker had been thorough, even including honey, rich cream, and raw sugar on the service tray.
Gretchen was determined to get a good look at the kitchen. "Excuse me, please," she said. "May I use your bathroom?"
"Of course; it's right over there." Britt waved toward the back of the studio.
Foiled again, Gretchen went through the motions now required of her and entered the bathroom. The room was starkly functional, designed for Britt's students, not for her personal use. None of the cabinets contained potions or poisons.
When Gretchen came out, the coffee klatch had moved to the kiln. "This kiln can reach well over two thousand degrees," Britt said to an impressed audience. "The control is mounted on the wall over near the door to keep it safe from the heat. I lock the kiln for safety when the class isn't using it."
"It looks like a big washtub," Nina said.
"Like an old-fashioned washing machine," April agreed. Nina made a move to lift the cover.
Britt grabbed her wrist, striking out swiftly, as though she'd anticipated Nina's intent. "I have pieces cooling inside. If you open it, they might crack."
"Cool air meeting hot air," April said, picking up a pair of safety goggles with green lenses and trying them on.
"Basic physics."
Britt's daughter Melany appeared in the doorway. "I'm going now," she said, staring at her mother, seemingly unaware that she had company. Britt hurried over and gave her a hug. Melany stiffened. She didn't move to return the embrace.
Britt's fingers fluttered to her French twist, nervously feeling for renegade locks.
Again, Gretchen noticed the contrast in the two women. Melany went for the no-makeup, rumpled look, almost in direct opposition to her mother's organized, proper appearance. Was she acting out? Was it a passive-aggressive stance?
Once Melany was gone, Britt moved her guests to another table. "These are some of my work in progress. I go through six stages of painting and firing. See these? The initial firing makes the porcelain pink, but not a fleshcolored pink like I want. I keep adding colors. They become richer and more natural looking with every firing."
"What if I make a mistake?" April asked.
"Then you use paint thinner to start over." Britt's voice had become tutorial. "Over here I'm cutting out eye sockets, and over here I've just cut out the crown of this doll's head."
"And you made earring holes," April exclaimed, beside herself with joy. So much for a working crime partner. One of Charlie's Angels had gone to heaven.
While Britt preened under the rays of April's worship, Gretchen studied Britt's doll-making tools. Gretchen didn't feel the same warmth for the doll maker as April did. What if Britt and Bernard were accomplices?
Gretchen felt a twinge of conscience for being meanspirited. While Bernard had stolen from her, and she had a good reason to distrust him, Britt hadn't done anything remotely suspicious. She'd try harder to like her, after she got a good look at Britt's kitchen. She'd make more of an effort. That was, if the wallpaper didn't match. Some of Britt's tools were familiar to Gretchen: stringing clamps, body paint to give a doll body's an antique look, hooks, and pliers. The studio was also well-stocked with supplies different from Gretchen's: modeling clays and a variety of molds.
When Gretchen needed to replace a part, she had to find an original from the same time period. Too bad she couldn't just whip up a copy in Britt's kiln. Her serious antique collectors would know instantly that she had cheated.
"That's an incising tool," Britt said, appearing next to her. "It's used to mark the creator's name on the doll. We have to be very careful that a reproduction isn't mistaken for an original."
Gretchen held up a scalpel. Nina, she suddenly noticed, was missing from the room. The bathroom door was open, so she wasn't in there. Her stealthy aunt had vanished into the interior of the house.
"I have all different sizes in the drawer below it," Britt said.
Taking that as permission, Gretchen opened the drawer. It was filled with scalpels and syringes. She reminded herself that Britt was a doll maker and that scalpels and syringes were important tools of her trade. She opened the next drawer. More knives. "Quite a collection." She held up a knife. The handle bore the steel image of a feather.
"That's a Native American feather knife. It belonged to my grandfather."
Gretchen used the contents of the drawers as a distraction to cover for Nina. "What do you use this one for?"
Where was Nina?
Finally she caught a flash of pink behind Britt. Nina's jeweled fingers reached in and closed a drawer.
"We should be going," Nina said.
"Thank you for stopping by." Britt said, showing them out a back door. "April, I'll call you as soon as I have enough students signed up for a class. And Nina, call me."
"Well?" Gretchen said when they were in the car. "Was it the kitchen?"
"Same general colors as the room box wallpaper, but the border isn't teapots, its grapes."
"Good work, partner," Gretchen said. "Another elimination."
"Check that Maize kid's house," April advised. "I'm sure he did it."
"The drug house is next on our list of kitchen stops,"
Nina said.
"Ryan Maize didn't kill his mother," Gretchen insisted.
"He's the most obvious suspect," April said from the front seat. "He was stoned out of his mind on drugs, he's violent--I saw him hit you--he threw a Mali-something cocktail and almost blew us up."
Gretchen scooted to the middle of the backseat and leaned forward. "If you had evidence that your son had killed your sister, would you make a room box and accuse him at an unveiling with a room filled with complete strangers? What kind of mother would expose her child that way?"
April humphed. "What kind of kid would kill his mother or his aunt?"
"Exactly!"
"Let's check him out anyway," Nina said diplomatically.
"We should rule him out together. A unanimous decision, since we are a t-e-a-m."
"Go team," April said. "I could hardly drink the coffee after our discussion of Arsenic Anna and rat poison."
"Britt and I are becoming close friends," Nina said. "I shouldn't even be suspecting her."
"The coffee was fine," Gretchen said. "It came out of one carafe."
"That was smart thinking," April said.
"There's so much to learn about detecting," Nina said.
"Live and learn," April said.
"I think you mean," Gretchen said, "learn and live."
* 32 *
They should have saved the mission to Ryan's house for another day. "Look at the commotion," April said.
"Keep going right past," Gretchen said to Nina from the backseat. From now on, she was going to drive herself. She felt trapped in her aunt's car.
A police officer tried impatiently to wave them past when Nina slowed down. "I said, keep going," Gretchen repeated, raising her voice. Matt Albright's unmarked blue car was parked at the curb. She saw Detective Brandon Kline standing on the broken-down porch talking to a cop. Brandon turned and shouted something to the officer near their car. The cop gave way, and motioned them to pull over.
Nina followed his direction. Gretchen moaned.
"The cops are searching Ryan's pad," April said, breaking into her version of street talk. "Look at all those strungout crackheads." She pointed to a pathetic group of five huddled at the corner of the house. They were in varying degrees of undress. Only one wore a shirt, all were barefoot, and if the others hadn't been bare-chested, Gretchen wouldn't have been able to figure out which were males. The one wearing the shirt was still an unknown as far as sexual persuasion went.
Gretchen slunk down in the backseat and crawled onto her stomach. The dogs, always ready for a ripping good time, used her as a runway. Tiny, sharp claws raked her back as they ran back and forth.
"What are you doing?" Nina said with more than a hint of disbelief in her tone.
"Hiding."
"I can see that. But from whom?"
"I vowed never to have anything to do with that womanizer again. If you had driven by when I asked you to, I wouldn't be flat on the seat with little nails piercing my skin. I'll be able to wear studs in the holes by the time they're done with me."
Okay. Gretchen was pretty sure she was acting immature. That's precisely what the detective did to her and why she was avoiding him. When was the last time she hid out in a car? She remembered exactly when--fourteen years ago--her sophomore year in high school, right before Eddie Bremen caught her with another guy. She'd tried to break it off, but he wouldn't take no for an answer, so she had ducked down to protect her date. It hadn't worked. Eddie Bremen had really clobbered her date. Slinking was justified that time, and it was justified this time. Hopefully, she'd have better luck than last time.
"What brings the pleasure of your company?" she heard Matt say right next to the car door. "And why is Gretchen hiding in the backseat?"
April giggled.
Gretchen shot up. "I wasn't hiding. I was looking for my . . . uh . . . contact. It jumped out of my eye."
She didn't even wear contacts, but he couldn't possibly know that.
"I'll help you." Matt opened the back door and carefully edged in, his eyes on her instead of on the floor. "I lose mine every once in awhile. It's a real pain."
"I found it!" Gretchen exclaimed, pretending to cup the lens between her hands. "Give me some room, and I'll plunk it back in. You have more important things to do."
Brandon Kline came up behind them. "We haven't found a thing. Not so much as a roach clip or dope pipe. The place is squeaky clean."
Matt shook his head. "Impossible."
"They insist this is a rehab house. Junior over there . . ."
He pointed at the ragged group, "claims he's the sponsor."
"Let's make him prove ownership," Matt said.
Brandon's gaze settled on Nina. He smiled.
Nina batted her eyes. "I should do a reading for you as soon as you wrap up this case," she said. Gretchen would have to teach Nina the finer points of conversing with the opposite sex. I should do a reading? What an awful pickup line.
"I'd like that," he said, sounding like he meant it. Nina eyed up his back end as he moved through the police officers, barking orders. Matt winked at Gretchen.
She ignored him, glancing at the so-called homeowner and the pink stucco house. What if it was true? What if the house really was used for drug rehabilitation and not drug deals? "Ryan's bizarre behavior could have been completely due to the epinephrine," she said, thinking out loud.
"He certainly was full of the stuff," Matt said. "Heavy usage for at least a week, maybe longer, according to the physicians. He's lucky to still be alive. He must have a death wish."
"Did they find any other drugs in his system?" Gretchen asked, trying to overlook her personal issues with the detective. Act grown-up. Drop the inner pout and move on.
"That was the surprising thing," Matt said. "Not a trace of any street drugs."
"What does he say to explain his condition?"
"He's disoriented and lethargic. Says a goddess was serving him, according to the medical staff. I don't know when, if ever, he'll be lucid enough to give answers that make sense. His physician hasn't cleared him for questioning yet."
He looked over at the house. "I better get back inside."
"We want to look at the kitchen," Nina said. "We're studying crimes and the effects on kitchens."
April giggled, which was all she seemed to be able to do when she was too close to Matt. Did Gretchen act that dopey around him? She hoped not.
"You can look through the window from the outside of the house," Matt answered, wearing a look of amused confusion. "But stay away from the tenants. By the way, Gretchen, you don't wear contacts."
"Busted," April said. "What tipped you off?"
Gretchen wished April would go back to giggling. So what if he caught her lying? Gretchen leveled Matt with a steely glare just in case he thought his approval mattered to her.
"A true contact wearer," he said, "holds a contact like this." He pressed his fingers together. "We don't cup them in our palms. And the terminology isn't 'plunk' it in. It's
'pop' it in. They don't jump out of our eyes, either." He grinned. "But I still like you, even if you aren't one of us."
"I'm a contact wearer," April giggled.
Gretchen marched behind him toward the house with Nina and April taking up the rear and, oh no, all the dogs.
"Potty stop," Nina said when Gretchen scowled at her. "As good a place as any." Nina glanced at the trash in the weedy yard. "I won't have to clean up any doggie do. It'll blend right in." Nimrod and Tutu trotted with Nina. Enrico ran alongside his new owner, with his lip pulled up on one side to show his back teeth. He had a nasty gleam in his beady little eyes.
Matt shook a thumb over his right shoulder and addressed one of the officers. "They want to look in the window. Let them."
He entered the house with Brandon. A band of police officers maintained a circle around the motley bunch of tenants. The cops remained a respectable distance away, trying to appear casual and unconcerned. But they kept a sharp eye out.
Judging by the group's state of undress, no one was carrying a weapon. The most that could happen would be that one could run away. "Who owns the house?" Gretchen asked them when she was close enough. She kept her voice low.
"We don't have anything to say," said one with a shaved head. "We want an attorney."
"Have you been arrested?"
"No. But we aren't talking to any cops."
