Goodbye Dolly

12

When they headed for the Palm Tree Trailer Park, the sun burned orange as it moved over the horizon and twilight began to descend on the city. Gretchen checked her watch. Six o'clock.

"Okay, we're lost," Gretchen said from the driver's seat. She leaned forward to catch the next street sign.

"No, we're not," Nina said. "We're on Thirtieth. Keep going straight and slow down a little."

Gretchen eased off the accelerator.

"Okay, speed up and change lanes." Nina swung her head and looked back over her shoulder. "Quick."

Gretchen followed her aunt's direction. "What's going on?"

"We have a tail," Nina announced, her voice edging up an octave.

Gretchen glanced in her rearview mirror and studied the traffic behind them. "I don't see how that's possible," she said.

"I agree," Nina said. "You drive like you're trying to win the Grand Prix. Who could keep up?"

Look who's talking. Gretchen slowed for a changing light and eased to a stop. She checked her rearview mirror again.

"I noticed it a few miles back," Nina said. "I've been keeping my eye on the side mirror. Do a few more lane switches to make sure."

"Is it a Beemer?" Gretchen's first thought was that Steve hadn't been around the entire afternoon. He was bound to show up soon.

"No, it's kind of nondescript. Maybe a VW Jetta. It's black."

The traffic light changed, and Gretchen edged her bumper up to the next car. Nina reached over and blew the horn.

"Take it easy," Gretchen said, pushing her aunt's hand away.

Traffic cleared, and Gretchen cut into another lane without signaling. A car behind moved over, too.

"Let's try to find out who it is," Gretchen said. "It could be Steve."

"Now that you mention it, where has he been all day?"

"With any luck, he gave up and went back to Boston."

Another lane opened, and Gretchen swerved into it.

"The car's right behind us now," she said.

Gretchen peered into the rearview mirror, trying to see the driver of the car behind them. But the approaching dusk made the view murky. All she could see was a dark form.

The car sidled closer, its bumper threateningly near to Gretchen's car.

"If I was driving," Nina said, "I'd slam on the brakes. That would fix his wagon."

"Maybe we should pull over, Nina."

"Good idea. Then they can spill out of that car and gun us down without a fight. How many people are in there?"

Nina answered her own question. "We don't know."

Gretchen pointed to a busy strip mall on the right.

"Let's turn in and drive up to that Chinese restaurant. See what happens."

"I don't like this."

"We can't try to outrun them," Gretchen said. "We'll have an accident."

She turned right and slowly came to a stop in front of Yung Fu's China Buffet. The entrance to the restaurant was well lit.

The black car followed and pulled up along the driver's side of the Impala. Nina squealed and ducked down, leaving Gretchen alone to face their pursuer. She lowered her window and watched the black car's passenger window slide down halfway.

Gretchen strained to see the driver, but all she could see was part of a woman's face from the bridge of the nose and up. Large black sunglasses concealed her features.

"You'll pay dearly for this," the woman snarled, hatred in her voice.

Tires squealed as the driver gunned the motor and disappeared.

"That was close," Nina said, practically lying across Gretchen's lap.

"Thanks for the support," Gretchen said. "If I ever need backup again, I'll be sure to call you.

"What did she mean, 'You'll pay dearly for this'?"

"I don't have a clue."

"What did she look like?"

Gretchen tapped Nina lightly on the top of her cowering head. "Get off me, O Brave One. I couldn't see her. She didn't roll the window all the way down. Dark glasses, dark hair. Could have been April or Bonnie, and I wouldn't have known it."

"I need a drink." Nina rose to a sitting position. "A mai tai sounds good."

"We might as well eat," Gretchen said. "The police are probably at Ronny's trailer anyway."

"True, that's a point I hadn't considered," Nina admitted. "I don't know about you, but I have the creeps over this whole thing, and I'd rather not be in Ronnie's trailer in the dark. We can run over there another time."

They entered the Chinese restaurant, and after ordering mai tais, they sat in silence for a few minutes while sipping their drinks.

"I'm having Chinese broccoli in oyster sauce," Nina said, after perusing the menu.

Gretchen shook her head. "No oyster sauce for you. You're a vegan, remember?"

"What's wrong with oyster sauce? Is it really oysters?"

Gretchen sighed. "Why don't you give up? You'll never be a vegan. Do something realistic, like giving up red meat. Or refuse to eat mammals."

Nina clapped her hands. "That's a wonderful idea."

"Two Chinese broccolis in oyster sauce," Gretchen said to the waiter, relieved that Nina's vegan days were behind her.

"Maybe our tail was that floozy of a summer intern,"

Nina said. "You know, the one that-"

Gretchen cut her off. "I know which one you mean. There's only one intern in my life. One too many. Steve said he broke it off with Courtney after I found out about them."

"Then she has a good motive to chase you down."

Steve's duplicity had been the reason Gretchen left Boston permanently, and a good enough reason to end their going-nowhere relationship. Had Courtney followed him to Phoenix?

"Breaking it off before you found out would have been better for him," Nina said. "He might have had a chance."

"No," Gretchen said. "Resisting completely would have been better. A college kid, can you believe it?"

Dinners came, and Gretchen poured tea for both of them.

After they had eaten, they broke open their fortune cookies.

Nina read hers first: " 'A person of words and not deeds is like a garden full of weeds.' Humph," she said. "I don't get it. Who makes up this stuff? What's yours?"

" 'Advice, when most needed, is least heeded.' "

Gretchen stuffed the bit of paper into her purse and said,

"Tomorrow has to be a better day."

Gretchen sat at the worktable and tried to forget the disturbing events of the last few days. Steve's reappearance in her life, the loss of her Ginnys and her money, Brett's accident, Ronny Beam's violent murder, her missing knife found in his back, the mysterious package containing the Kewpie, and a confrontation with the enraged woman. Gretchen hated confrontation.

Steve had called while they were at the Chinese restaurant, and she had turned off her cell phone when she saw his number on the caller ID. She planned on leaving it off until sometime tomorrow.

She intentionally didn't check the kitchen answering machine either before retreating to the workshop, since she suspected he had called the house as well.

The house was so quiet. Daisy's bedroom door was closed, and she decided not to disturb her. Gretchen couldn't imagine having to find a place to sleep outdoors every night. Park benches couldn't be comfortable. No wonder Daisy always slept right through her visits to Gretchen. Gretchen embraced the silence of the cozy room, welcomed it after the brouhaha that always surrounded largerthan-life Nina. Nimrod dozed on his bed, and the nocturnal Wobbles sat on the table next to her, his eyes closed and a deep, throaty purr rumbling from inside of him.

She ran her hand through his silky black fur from head to tip of tail and thought about the hobby knife found protruding from Ronny's back. Her knife. Ronny was as abrasive as a Brillo pad, but who would have killed him? Even if Steve had taken her knife, he hadn't even met Ronny when it disappeared.

Steve was a tenacious trial attorney, used to stressful situations and able to remain calm in the face of just about any challenge. He handled the ugliest divorces and had been threatened often by vengeful spouses. He'd always prided himself on his ability to turn any situation to his advantage.

Steve couldn't have killed Ronny for one simple, telling fact: his ongoing bid for partnership in the law firm meant more to him than anything in the world. He would never act in a way that might harm his position.

But if Steve didn't kill Ronny, who did? Who had a motive?

Just about anyone in Phoenix who had crossed paths with the blundering, insensitive reporter.

The business phone rang beside her, and she waited impatiently for the answering machine's greeting to finish. Steve's voice, filled with barely concealed frustration, filled the room. "Gretchen, where are you? I've tried your cell and your main number. Pick up. I know you're there." A pause. "We need to discuss us. Stop hiding. I'll try back in an hour." He disconnected.

Spreading a towel on the worktable, she chose a doll from the repair bag and finished taking it apart-legs, arms, and head. She laid out the pieces, chose the right size elastic cording, and went to work on the doll's leg. She attached the cording through a hook in the leg, making sure it was snug, and ran it through the neck opening. Wobbles yawned, stretched leisurely, and jumped down from the table. She heard Nimrod snoring softly and glanced down at him. His puppy tongue protruded from the side of his mouth.

As Gretchen worked, she kept stealing glances at the mysterious Kewpie doll. Her name hadn't been on the package. It had simply been addressed to the doll repairer and sent to the hall where the doll show was taking place. Strange, although the entire thing was weird.

Someone wanted the doll repairer to receive the doll. But it was already repaired, so what was the point?

As much as she disliked admitting it, coincidence had to have played a part in the puzzle of the two Kewpies. Who knew about the other Blunderboo?

Only the entire group of doll collectors milling around the Boston Kewpie Club's table. Were they connected in some way?

It didn't make sense.

Gretchen carefully lifted the Blunderboo Kewpie doll from the stand and again felt along its neck. The repair work on the mystery doll was as good as her own work. Whoever had glued the pieces together knew how to do it. No unevenness in the joining.

She thought about the fortune cookie she had broken open at dinner. "Advice, when most needed, is least heeded."

What had Aunt Gertie said? When it comes to murder, everything is important.

I must be crazy, she told herself. Don't do it. But I restore dolls, she argued back. It can easily be fixed.

Before she could change her mind, Gretchen took the doll to the kitchen, placed it in a pan of cold water, and brought the water to a boil. Ten minutes later, she returned to the workshop with the pan, lifted the Kewpie with serving tongs, and placed it on the towel. Satisfied that the glue had sufficiently softened, Gretchen carefully pulled the head away from the body.

"You're crazy," she said again, this time out loud. Certifiably insane, off your rocker.

She peered into the Blunderboo's body cavity. Nothing.

She turned the head upside down and looked inside. Her heart thumped several irregular beats.

Something white. A piece of paper.

Gretchen extracted it with tweezers and studied the paper that had been folded multiple times into a tiny perfect square.

"What's up?" said a man's voice behind her.

Gretchen screamed.

The piece of paper fluttered to the floor as she reached for a repair hook and whirled. Nimrod, startled awake, stood and barked bravely at the intruder.

"A little testy," Detective Matt Albright said from the doorway, eyeing the weapon in her hand, a small smile playing nervously on his lips.

"Doesn't anyone knock anymore?" Gretchen said.

"I did knock. And rang the bell. You didn't answer."

"So you just walk in?"

"I tried the door, and it was unlocked." He flashed his dazzling smile. "I didn't know if you were home. I wanted to make sure the house was secure and you were safe."

Gretchen threw the repair hook on the table and stooped to retrieve the paper she had found inside the Kewpie doll. She tucked it into her pocket, hoping Matt hadn't noticed. She shouldn't have worried about that.

Matt's eyes followed the repair hook, and Gretchen suddenly realized her mistake. It had pink nail polish on the end of it.

"We need to talk," he said.

"Sure. Come on in."

"I'd rather wait outside," he said, still eyeing the pink hook. "Two months ago, I couldn't even think about looking into this room." His eyes left the hook and met hers.

"The doll thing, you know. Therapy's helping, but not that much. I'll be by the pool."

Gretchen picked up the hook, returned it to the toolbox, and slammed it shut. "I'll get us a beverage. Are you on duty or off? Wine or coffee?"

"It looks like it's going to be a long night. Coffee for me," he said.

"I can explain," Gretchen said, taking a sip of old-vine Zinfandel.

"Oh, please do. I can hardly wait."

"I discovered my knife missing the night before the doll show. The polish was hardly dry, and poof, it was gone."

Matt snapped his fingers. "Just like that? Into thin air?"

Gretchen nodded warily. "Don't you believe me?"

"You've never lied to me before."

Gretchen searched his face for signs of sarcasm, because she had lied to him in the past. At the time, she felt it was absolutely necessary. Had he known?

His face remained unreadable. He hadn't touched his coffee.

He leaned back in the lounge chair and laced his fingers behind his head. The pool glistened in the mild October night air. Spotlights placed strategically around cacti and shrubs highlighted the desert plants. Camelback Mountain rose against the skyscape, and the moon hung low beside it. Gretchen ran a bare foot over the cool Mexican tile surrounding the swimming pool and took another sip of wine. It could have been a perfect moment.

Matt had a compact, athletic body and a scrappy attitude. Completely the opposite of Steve, who had a good five inches on Gretchen's five eight. She could look directly into Matt's eyes without tilting her head. Steve was blond, fair-skinned, and slim. Matt had dark hair and a perpetual Valley of the Sun tan. Gretchen took a larger gulp of wine and wondered why she was comparing the two men, since one was a cheat and the other was… well… married. Sure, he was in the middle of a divorce, but maybe they'd still work it out. And in any case, divorced men came with a lot of baggage, and Gretchen liked to travel light.

"And you have no idea who might have stolen your knife?"

Gretchen almost drained the glass and shook her head. Was it a lie if she didn't actually say no out loud?

Matt flipped through a notebook and jotted something into it. Gretchen tried to read upside down but failed.

"We're running prints right now. I know it's your knife, but someone else's prints would help your testimony. I really hope yours aren't the only ones that show up."

Gretchen couldn't agree more.

"Since you're here, I'd like to report a theft," she said, relating the suspicious mix-up at the auction and the false address Duanne had given when registering.

When she finished, Matt said, "It sounds harmless to me, a simple mistake."

"I'm out three hundred dollars."

"I'll ask around. If I hear anything, I'll let you know."

Matt leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. He was so close. Gretchen took another big gulp of wine and wondered why she was so nervous.

"What's the story with Steve?" he asked.

"We broke it off before I moved to Phoenix."

"He doesn't seem to know that."

"Yes, well…" Gretchen finished the last sip of wine. Where was the bottle? Why was she feeling like a schoolgirl? "He's persistent."

"Men can be that way."

Why was he looking at her like that?

"What about you and your wife?" Gretchen asked.

"My mother must have told you we're divorcing. She wouldn't have passed up a chance to share that news."

"We never discussed it," Gretchen lied. "So, technically, you're a married man."

"Technically, yes."

Too bad, she almost said out loud.

They were both quiet for a minute. His body radiated major magnetism. She had to work to resist the pull. Gretchen stood up.

Matt rose beside her.

"I'll let myself out," he said. "Stay out of trouble."

She watched him swing open the patio gate and disappear into the night. What luck! He hadn't arrested her for withholding information. It certainly paid off to personally know the lead detective.

Gretchen thrust her hands into her pockets and suddenly remembered the paper. She pulled it out and unfolded it near a candle glowing on the patio table.

"Wag the Dog" was scribbled across the paper in large, loopy handwriting.

Gretchen slumped. What kind of message was that? She felt cheated.

There are all kinds of nuts in this world, she thought, blowing out the candle and closing up the house for the night.

After knocking and listening at the door, Gretchen entered the spare bedroom. Daisy must have checked out of the guest room while she and Nina were playing hide-andseek with a black Jetta. An occasional meal, a shower, and a real bed for a short nap was all Daisy would partake of before quickly heading back to her life on the street. Gretchen couldn't see the attraction.

She turned off all the phones' ringers before turning on the alarm clock.