Goodbye Dolly

24

"I can't believe you went on a spy mission without me,"

Nina whined from a stool at her kitchen counter while popping liver treats to the dogs. "Someone must have put you up to it." Her eyes narrowed in dawning comprehension.

"Gertie! You've been asking that Gertie Johnson for advice. She's nothing but trouble, and you know it."

"She's also my aunt, and she has her own investigation business. Why wouldn't I consult her?"

"I know all about Gertie's so-called 'business.' Your mother talked me into going with her to Michigan once. Gertie has a ratty old pickup truck with Trouble Busters handwritten on the side of it, and she lives in a town with a total of twelve residents."

"That's an exaggeration." Gretchen said. She helped herself to a cup of coffee and a chocolate croissant. She bit into the pastry. Pure heaven. "Besides, if I remember correctly, you liked the idea a few days ago."

"That was when I thought I was included in the mission." Nina's jealousy settled into a pout.

"I didn't want you along with me this morning. What if I had been caught? I'd need someone on the outside to bail me out of jail."

"I hadn't thought of that."

Tutu, Nimrod, and Sophie skidded by in a whirl of flying playfulness. Toenails clicked across the tiled floor. Nina jumped up and let them out into the gated backyard. When she came back, she eyed the folder on the counter.

"Have you looked inside yet?" she asked.

"Nope. I was waiting for you." Gretchen licked chocolate from her fingers. "Let's get started." She opened the folder and found scraps of paper with scribbled notes tossed in haphazardly. She picked up the top sheet.

"It looks like an early draft for one of his stupid articles,"

Nina observed. "You can't trust anything that goof wrote."

"Shhh, I'm reading." Gretchen skimmed over numerous misspellings and red-lined markings. The article was in the early stages of development and didn't flow in a coherent manner. Not that much about Ronny had been coherent anyway.

She handed the paper to Nina and scanned another.

"Tell me, tell me," Nina said, not bothering to look at it.

"Read it yourself." Gretchen slid the second sheet toward her.

"The pages are all marked up, and parts are crossed out. Just tell me."

"Okay, according to Ronny's notes-and we'll reserve judgment based on the source-Percy O'Connor's father, William, was a profiteer during World War Two."

Nina frowned. "A profiteer, like Rhett Butler?"

"You're thinking of the Civil War, Nina. But I suppose the fictional Rhett Butler was a profiteer, since he was a blockade runner and his motives weren't always honorable. But William O'Connor was a black marketeer during the Second World War. Remember your history? Remember rationing? People couldn't get basic supplies like gasoline and sugar."

"Right." Nina nodded studiously. "My mother, your grandmother, lived through it."

"According to Ronny, William O'Connor dealt in food-steaks and other meats that were impossible to buy in America at the time. He made a fortune in the 1940s, but he had to hide the money from the tax collectors, so he converted the cash to diamonds."

Nina slapped her hands together. "I told you we were onto something big like smuggling, didn't I?"

"You did."

"Imagine making a fortune selling steaks." Nina sipped her coffee with a dreamy look on her face.

"Anyway, local gossip-that's Boston gossip, because that's where this is supposed to have taken place-

believed he had hidden the diamonds in dolls. Kewpie dolls, to be specific."

Nina's eyes grew wider. "Eric said a Blunderboo Kewpie was found smashed on the floor when the body was discovered. Percy O'Connor was killed for his diamonds!"

"And it accounts for his family's rapid rise into a high social economic class."

"But you can't trust anything penned by Ronny Beam."

"Nina, I can't believe I'm saying this," Gretchen said.

"But I think Ronny's allegations might be correct. It explains why Percy was murdered. It even goes a long way in establishing a motive for killing Ronny. He was planning to expose Percy's family history, and someone didn't want that to happen."

"But what about Brett? How would his death tie in to the diamond theory?"

Gretchen thought about the auction and the mixed-up boxes. Again she saw Brett selecting dolls and boxes and handing them to Howie Howard, his longtime business associate and best friend.

"Either the killer didn't find the diamonds in Percy's home, or too many people knew about it." She spoke slowly, thoughts churning in her head. "Somehow, someway, Brett crossed the wrong person's path or got himself mixed up in the diamond theft, and for whatever reason, was eliminated."

"Lots of whatevers and somehows in our theory," Nina said. "Maybe the killer didn't want to share the loot and offed Brett."

"You're starting to sound like a gangsta," Gretchen said.

"It's all coming together in a circle." For dramatic effect, Nina drew a large circle in the air with her arms.

"What did Ronny Beam, Brett Wesley, and Percy O'Connor all have in common?" Nina didn't wait for an answer.

"Dolls, that's what. Maybe Ronny didn't collect dolls-"

"I can vouch for that," Gretchen said, remembering his trailer's collectibles were of the kind most people disposed of.

"But he was murdered at a doll show, and that's significant."

Gretchen went back to the open folder and spread out two more sheets of paper.

One was a copy of an article torn from the Boston Globe.

"He copied most of his material verbatim," Nina said after reading the piece. "What a louse."

"Quit speaking ill of the dead, Nina."

"I spoke ill of him while he was alive. Why do I have to clam up just because he's dead?"

Gretchen tuned Nina out and focused on the file. The Boston Globe had printed the story on August 6 of the previous year. She vaguely remembered seeing it when she lived there. "This article doesn't name names," Gretchen said. "It's a piece on the effects of the black market during the war. William O'Connor's name doesn't appear. It's a very general outline of profiteering activities. Ronny must have discovered additional information."

"Or made it up," Nina said.

Gretchen set the copy of the article aside and picked up the last item in the folder. "A letter," she announced to Nina, holding it up.

" 'Dearest Florence'," Gretchen read aloud. " 'Your willingness to assist me in my quest for my well-deserved and long-awaited fortune tugs at my heartstrings. Family must always stick together. Just don't plan on double-crossing me, or you'll go the way of all other flightless birds. Another meal for a hungry predator. Keep casting molds. Eventually you'll get it right'." Gretchen looked up at Nina.

"No signature."

"Give me that," Nina tugged it out of Gretchen's hands and read it herself. "Jeez," she said.

"Who's Florence?"

"Florence," Nina said with a flourish, "is Chiggy Kent's real name."

Howie Howard's comment the night before at Bonnie's party popped into Gretchen's head: "Brett caught the little weasel inside the house going through some of Chiggy's personal things and escorted him off the property." Ronny must have taken the letter and the Boston Globe article from Chiggy's house on Wednesday.

So far, she could attribute several deaths to the hunt for hidden treasure, starting with Percy O'Connor's in Boston. Then a cross-continental trek to Arizona and two more murders: a doll auctioneer's assistant and a second-rate reporter trying to legitimize his work with a real story instead of his usual trashy tales. Gretchen had wandered into the middle of the mystery because of a mistaken box of Kewpie dolls. But how did that box fit in? She and Nina and April had searched every Kewpie in the box without finding a single clue to the dolls' significance.

Better get rid of Chiggy's broken Kewpies as fast as possible.

"You have enough to go to the police," Nina said.

"No, I don't," Gretchen argued.

"This is too scary."

Gretchen's cell phone rang. She didn't recognize the number showing on caller ID. When she answered, she heard Steve's voice.

"Well, I can kiss that sweet partnership deal goodbye,"

he said curtly. "I'm sure I'll be charged with first-degree murder anytime now."

"Where are you?"

"Tucked away where they can watch every move I make."

"I'll help you find a criminal attorney," she offered.

"You'll beat this."

"What makes you so sure?" he said petulantly. "Everyone else thinks I murdered Ronny."

Gretchen could have told him the truth, since she knew him better than anyone else did. Steve didn't have much capacity for anger in spite of his silly, macho confrontation with Ronny. That was the only time she'd seen him even slightly ruffled. Most of the time, he remained remarkably indifferent to everything and everyone around him.

Steve couldn't have killed Ronny because he didn't have any passion inside him.

Instead she said, "I trust you. If you say you didn't do it, you didn't do it."

"Well, I can't say the same for you. That's why I've made my own arrangements for representation. And Gretchen, I'm going to tell the truth, even if it implicates you."

"I've told you all along to be truthful. Nothing you can say will hurt me."

Steve humpfed.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I was in a cell for one very long day, in the company of the worst degenerates you're ever likely to meet."

Gretchen heard a hairline crack in his asphalt composure.

"The universal opinion in the bullpen," he said, "is that you set me up with your cop boyfriend."

"That's preposterous," Gretchen said when she'd recovered from the outrageousness of his comment. This from the man she had almost married.

She thought about defending herself against his charges, but she'd played defense for the entire length of their relationship. Always apologizing for being herself instead of the woman he thought she should be, always making amends for perceived missteps. The list of faux pas grew steadily over the years. The attorney in Steve couldn't leave the drama in the courtroom and carried his litigation over into their relationship.

Without another word, she hung up.

Turning to Nina she said, "Silly Steve swims surely south seizing sticks. There's a tongue twister for Howie Howard."

"Was I supposed to follow that?" Nina asked.

"Steve's grasping at straws. You're never going to guess what his latest theory is." She summarized the conversation. "We better figure out who really did it very soon. He's cracking."

Gretchen began gathering up her belongings. Traveling with a purse dog entailed almost as much strategic planning as traveling with a baby. "I think I'll find our homeless friends and see if they've heard anything new."

"I have to spend a few hours training Sophie," Nina said, her eyes shifting from side to side. Gretchen recognized the signs. Her aunt was looking for a way out. "Why don't you leave Nimrod here, and I'll put him through a refresher course. How's he been doing?"

"Great. Except when I tell him to hide, he ducks into his purse and falls asleep at the bottom."

"You call that a problem?" Nina scooped the tiny teacup poodle into her arms. "Let's try a new trick today, buddy,"

she said to him.

"I'll see you later." Gretchen headed determinedly for the door.

"Lunch?" Nina called out behind her.

"Not today," she said without turning. "I have to figure out some way to help clear an old boyfriend, and I'm not sure how to accomplish it."

"Clueless?"

Gretchen put on her sunglasses as she stepped into the late-morning sunshine. Clueless was right.