Dolled Up For Murder

27

Gretchen stared in horror as Larry Gerney stepped from his protected position against the mountain rocks, a gun hanging loosely at his side. Strands of hair from the silver wig he wore blew in the gentle breeze, reminding her of her mother.

Or a caricature of her mother.

The picture should have warned her.

She remembered picking up the Schoehut wooden doll and admiring it in the back room of the China Doll Shop. At the time, she had noted the slight crack around its nose, and she remembered that Larry had watched her intently.

The wooden doll’s picture was among those she had found hidden behind the false cabinet wall.

One of Martha’s.

Larry’s financial problems and the threat of losing his doll business could be strong motives for stealing valuable dolls and murdering Martha.

His talent for making human-hair wigs was exhibited in the intricately fashioned replica of her mother’s own hair that he wore on his head. The hikers who had witnessed Caroline’s descent from the mountain must have pointed accusatory fingers based solely on the color of her hair.

As Larry walked toward her with a gleam of triumph in his madly blinking eyes, everything fell into place.

He was the Inspector.

Another epiphany realized too late.

Inspector Dreyfus, Clouseau’s boss in The Pink Panther, had been driven crazy by Clouseau’s bumbling antics, resulting in wildly twitching eyes just like Larry’s. Martha had made a mockery of Larry’s involuntary facial spasms by comparing him to a slapstick comedy character.

“You had to interfere,” Larry said without emotion. Quietly. “You couldn’t leave well enough alone.”

“All I want is to find my mother. I don’t care about the dolls.” Gretchen stole a glance at the ledge she stood on. Too close to the vertical drop. She edged away from the precipice toward Larry.

“The dolls. Yes, thank you for finding the French fashion doll. I searched Caroline’s house several times and couldn’t find it.”

Gretchen thought of the times Larry had offered to check on the animals as she sat at the hospital waiting for news. Of the unlocked door and her personal items slightly out of place. Of how easily he could have planted the parian doll while feigning concern. “You tipped off the police,” she said. “You told them about Martha’s doll and the list.”

Larry grinned, pleased with himself, while Gretchen tried not to stare at the gun in his hand. “Martha entrusted all her dolls to me while she slowly drank herself to death. Always talking about how she’d get a place of her own again and take them back. My business dying with well over a million dollars’ worth of dolls wasting away in the storage room.”

Larry’s mouth contorted in contempt, and he shook his head. “I sold one of her dolls to pay the rent and keep afloat a little longer. I didn’t expect her to notice, but she did. She started stealing them back, if you can believe that, and I had to stop her.”

“What does any of this have to do with my mother?” Gretchen asked.

“Caroline helped her. I got that much out of that drunken sad excuse for a human being.” Larry’s eyes flickered; his hand that held the gun seemed unsteady. “The pathetic woman begged me to let her go, thinking she could buy her life in exchange for information. She told me she had hidden the Jumeau Triste doll at Bonnie’s house one day when she was away. I don’t fault Bonnie for that. But Caroline…”

Larry looked off over the city lights. “Caroline willingly aided Martha in destroying me, and now it’s my turn to destroy her. I followed them one night when they drove out to Joseph’s, and I saw them give him the Kewpie. Caroline should have minded her own business, just as you should have.”

“So you made the silver wig and wore it when you killed Martha.” Gretchen felt cold fingers of fear. Pale, chilly fear.

“I thought I could get to Martha before she gave the doll to Caroline, but I was too late. Caroline had already hidden the most valuable doll in the collection. I don’t care about the rest of the dolls. I’ll wait until this all dies down, and I’ll sell them in the future, one by one. I can wait. But I need some cash to get by, and the French fashion doll is my ticket.”

That’s why he needed to alter the list, Gretchen realized. He needed to sell off some of the dolls, and he didn’t want them traced back to Martha’s collection.

He came closer. “I thought I killed Caroline when her car left the road. I thought, What a break to see her on the highway. What an opportunity. Eliminate the prime suspect in the murder investigation. Closed case with all the pieces in place.”

“It must have been quite a surprise to find out you almost killed Daisy.” Gretchen glanced around for an escape route or something to use as a weapon. She was trapped between the ledge hanging over a sheer drop and a determined killer with a gun.

“It doesn’t matter anymore. Caroline strikes again, as you can see.” Larry patted the wig with his hand. “A double murderess. Or make that triple, because I hate to inform you, but your dear aunt is next. I assume she knows about the French fashion doll as well, and I consider that deadly information.”

“My mother’s been arrested,” Gretchen said desperately. “You won’t get away with this.”

“It’s time for you to take a little dive.” Larry smirked, gesturing with the gun. “I dislike noise, and would prefer not using this little toy, but I found it in Caroline’s closet. Wasn’t that convenient for me? One more piece of incriminating evidence against her.”

Gretchen thought she saw movement in the gloom, a flash of motion behind Larry. Coyotes would be on the prowl as darkness swept over the desert. And mountain lions.

A dark shadow loomed up behind them, and Gretchen hoped it wasn’t a mountain lion. The cougars were known for occasional attacks on humans, usually young children and dogs, but occasionally an adult.

A fist-sized rock flew through the air and hit Larry on the side of his head. His head snapped forward, surprise registering on his face as he raised his left hand to his face.

He spun away from Gretchen and fired.

Another rock flew out of the gloom, soaring straight and true, striking Larry in the face.

Gretchen, aware that this might be her only chance, hit the ground and rolled away from the ledge toward a pile of rocks. Larry fired wildly into the dark, unable to see his attacker.

Another rock. Another direct hit to his face.

Larry had temporarily forgotten about Gretchen, intent on stopping the assault.

He fired several more times.

Gretchen’s hand found a jagged rock the size of her palm, and she rose and hurled it, striking him in the back.

Another large rock sailed from the shadows.

The onslaught drove Larry backward toward the ledge, and Gretchen continued to edge away.

His head jerked in her direction, and he aimed the gun at her. She flinched as he pulled the trigger.

Gretchen heard a click.

He tried to fire again.

Another click.

Realizing he had used the last bullet, he flung the gun at Gretchen, then took a step in her direction, stumbling to find a solid foothold.

Another rock flew, and Gretchen saw movement. Silver hair shone in the rising moonlight, and she expected to hear the moaning howl of a werewolf rising from the apparition. The vision approached with the wrath of a mother bear protecting her cub. Then Gretchen saw a goddess running forward, Gretchen’s oasis in the desert sands.

Gretchen’s hand found another rock, and she put everything she had into launching it.

“I’ll kill you both,” Larry shouted, his face puffed with rage.

He took a step back, then another, lifting his arm to protect his face, teetering on the brink of the abyss. Another rock hit him, and he flung his arms overhead, struggling to maintain his balance. His foot slipped from underneath him, and Gretchen watched as he fell backwards over the edge.

His screams reverberated through the aptly named Echo Canyon as her mother’s arms encircled her.

Gretchen cried for the first time since arriving in Phoenix, all the anguish of the last week rising inside her and exploding outward. She clung to the warmth of their shared embrace even after they began their descent from Camelback Mountain.