Ding Dong Dead

54

The proper tools and supplies are an important part of a doll restoration artist’s trade. You never know when and where they will come in handy, so my advice is to have equipment for simple repairs readily accessible. When traveling, a small kit or toolbox fits compactly in the trunk of a car. Portable repair items should include the basics: restringing elastic, a variety of hooks, cleaning products and cloths, needles, threads, glue, and cotton swabs. Most restoration artists find themselves adding other useful items to their traveling inventory as they expand their services.

– From World of Dolls by Caroline Birch

Julie’s eyes narrowed as she came into the room. Gretchen thought everything about the woman had become more sinister, darker and more suspicious, as if she could read Gretchen’s thoughts and found them unacceptable. But Gretchen had to play along for now. “I’m going back down to wait,” she said.

“There’s nothing to wait for, but you suspected that already. No one is coming to rescue you.”

“What do you mean?” Gretchen backed up, squeezing through the tightly stacked boxes, trying to put distance between them.

“Richard is going to kill you the same way he killed his mother.”

Richard was inside the museum! And Julie was helping him!

“Where is he?” Gretchen asked, straining to hear the sound of another set of footsteps.

“All the clues will point to him. I even have his pipe and tobacco.” Julie produced a small pouch from a pocket. Gretchen recognized it as the same kind that Mr. B. used. She’d watched him stoke his pipe, knew his preference. “That nice cherry aroma should cling in the air long enough. That’ll be the end of him.”

“Who are you?” Gretchen said. This wasn’t the same doll collector that she’d known through the club. This woman’s face was flushed with rage, almost unrecognizable as Julie’s.

“I went out of my way to set up that woman’s husband,” Julie continued. “That bumbling fool I hired stole his license and was supposed to drop it near the body. He botched the job, but there’s still hope.”

“And now you intend to kill me and blame Richard?”

Blame Richard. The elderly neighborhood women had talked about how they’d learned of Richard’s violent nature through stories told by Rachel. Isn’t that what they’d said? Had the sister been lying to everyone about her brother?

Several things clicked into place at once. What proof did Gretchen have that verified Rachel’s death? None at all. All it had taken to convince her of the woman’s demise was an obituary in the local paper.

Julie came closer, weaving through the storage boxes, carrying something that Gretchen hadn’t noticed at first, some kind of hammer with a sharp, pointed end. “You had no business coming into my home,” Julie said. “It belongs to me. You and your mother deserve whatever you get. You had your warning, just like that woman from California had hers.”

“The note on my windshield?”

“You still wouldn’t stop, even when you knew what would happen if you didn’t.”

“How could I know?” Humor her. Gretchen had to try to get through to the Julie she had known.

“The first time that woman visited the attorney, I knew that Rachel had to die. The California snoop wouldn’t go away, wouldn’t stop asking questions about my mother. I’d been toying with the idea of permanently assuming Julie’s identity. You can’t imagine how tiring it was to keep up two roles. It turned out to be easy to kill off Rachel as well as my past. Just like that…” She snapped her fingers. “Everything erased.”

Julie’s eyes looked wild, like those of a rabid predator. She was a large woman with a lot of bulk. If she struck Gretchen with the hammer, that would be the end for her. But Julie seemed content to tell her story. At least for a few minutes longer. “Allison wasn’t next in line to inherit the house, so she wasn’t a threat in that respect. But she was trying to get inside the house. For what? She must have suspected something. Then she started talking about Rachel, wanting to get a copy of the death certificate. She wouldn’t quit. When she wanted to see the graves, I offered to meet her in the old part of the cemetery and introduce her to the end of a family line.”

“You struck her with that?” Gretchen pointed at the hammer. Julie had such a tight grip on it, her knuckles were white.

“I didn’t want to dishonor my family’s resting place, but I had to act fast.”

“That’s why you tried to kill her at a different grave site? You didn’t want to desecrate their graves? She was crazier than Gretchen had first thought!

“The little fool crawled in spite of her injuries.”

Stay calm. Play for time. “Why did you write the words on the tombstone? Why Die, Dolly, Die?”

“My dear little relative had several phone conversations with the new me. We were very chummy. She told me that Dolly was her husband’s pet name for her. The police were so inept. It should have been their first indication that the husband was involved.”

“I had no idea what was going on.” If only the woman would stop staring at her with madness in her eyes. “I’m sorry we caused you so much anguish. Of course, we will return the house to you immediately.”

“Turn and face the wall,” Julie said. “It will be over quickly. You won’t feel a thing. One minute you’ll be alive, the next you’ll be gone, no conscious thought left. Won’t that be a relief, to be out of this cruel world forever, just like Mommy?”

Gretchen needed to find a weapon of her own. Her mother had left a few doll supplies on top of one of the boxes, but they weren’t a match for the heavy hammer.

She looked into Julie’s eyes, refusing to show fear. “No,” she said. “I’m not going to turn my back. That’s how you killed Allison, by sneaking up behind her. You killed your mother the same way. What a coward you are, Rachel.

“I can understand why you killed your mother.” Yeah, right. “But why try to harm my mother? Why write Die, Dolly, Die and put it under my windshield wiper?”

“You couldn’t understand how I felt when Mommy started talking as though I was the one with problems. I was always the good one, not Richard. How could she want to put me away? If only she hadn’t forced me to hurt her.”

“But why my mother? Why try to kill her?”

“She didn’t belong in my house. Neither did you. I thought Julie was the next in line to inherit the house. I never heard of anyone named Trudy Fernwich. As it turned out, Mommy had secrets of her own, relatives she never told me about. That woman shouldn’t have given my house to the club to turn into a museum. You and your mother should have stayed away but you wouldn’t. It’s your fault that I had to disturb Mommy, why I had to try to move her to another resting place.”

Gretchen didn’t want to consider the extent of this mad woman’s rage at learning that the home had slipped through her fingers. She didn’t want to think about Flora’s head, either. All this death and destruction because of one woman’s uncontrolled madness.

Rachel’s mother was dead because of what she knew. Allison was dead because of what Rachel thought she knew. Gretchen and her mother were next in line for termination because of a simple act of generosity from the new owner. And what about Trudy Fernwich? Would she be next?

If Gretchen didn’t survive, who would warn Caroline?

Julie wasn’t moving, but her eyes were wary. “I need to know where Trudy Fernwich is. Tell me, and I’ll consider letting you live.”

“I don’t know where she is.” She had to find a weapon.

“The house has to stay in the family. It belongs to me, not to her.”

Without any warning, Julie lunged forward, bringing the hammer up over her shoulder. For a heavy woman she was quick. Gretchen saw the flat side of the hammer descending toward her and moved sideways, trying to dodge the blow. The weapon slammed into her left shoulder. Gretchen went down, feeling pain and hearing the bone crack.

Her mother’s repair supplies had fallen with her. A can of enamel spray paint rolled toward her. What would a shot of enamel do to Rachel? Anything? Gretchen knew some of the standard warnings about the chemicals in the compound. Flammable; if exposed wash skin; flush eyes; get medical attention. But would it be enough to incapacitate the mad woman?

Gretchen grabbed the can with her good arm, fought against the pain, used her left hand to remove the cap. She felt as though she might pass out.

She’d never wake up if that happened.

Rachel was above, turning the hammer. She was going to strike her with the sharp end. “You’re making this difficult,” she said. “If you’d listened to me, you wouldn’t be in pain. Mommy didn’t feel a thing. I don’t want to hurt you, really I don’t.”

“Wait!” The spray can felt full. Rachel hadn’t even noticed. She was focused on her mission. “Let me get up,” Gretchen said. “I want to do it your way.”

“Yes, that would be best. I can’t stand to see you hurting.”

What a crazy woman!

Holding her damaged arm against her body, Gretchen struggled slowly to her feet. As soon as she was upright, Gretchen abruptly turned, raised her good arm, and sprayed Rachel’s face without letting up. Rachel screamed and swung the hammer, striking empty air and throwing her off balance. She staggered. Gretchen got in one last blast before running for the stairs.

She felt nauseated by the pain in her shoulder and from the fumes that had filled the air.

Gretchen heard the downstairs door open, saw men with badges below her, felt her knees buckling. “Upstairs,” she said.

They pounded past her. One of the officers stayed behind. He bent down to her. “You’re going to be okay,” he said. “I’m right here.”

Shouts came from above. Then a shrill scream.

A cop at the top of the stairs called down. “She jumped from the balcony.”

Gretchen leaned against the rail, cradling her arm.

From below she heard other officers talking, shouting orders. She caught enough of what they said to know that her attacker hadn’t survived the fall.

This time, Rachel really was dead.

The officer who was protecting Gretchen moved aside. Strong, capable arms lifted her.

“Are you all right?”

“What took you so long?” she said to Matt.

“Oh, so now you want me,” he said. “It’s about time.”

He gave her a dazzling smile, but his face was pale and he had that trapped look he got when his doll phobia kicked in.

“Get me out of here,” she said.

“Great idea.”