Someone has to know where she is.”
“The police must already know that she’s gone,” Gretchen said. “Haven’t they been to the house?”
“I don’t know,” Nina said, shrugging. “I’m avoiding getting involved with the police and their barrage of annoying questions. They’re always trying to blame the first person they stumble across.”
“Try the China Doll Shop,” April suggested. “Julia and Larry hear a lot of scuttlebutt at the shop.”
“We’re headed there next,” Nina said.
Steaming bowls of stew arrived filled with green chiles, chunks of tenderloin, potatoes, cheese, and a rich and flavorful sauce. Gretchen ate with renewed appreciation for Southwestern cuisine. She had forgotten how wonderful the exotic flavors could be.
After dinner April left with a promise to make discreet inquiries about the assortment of doll paraphernalia found with Martha, and Nina wandered off to the ladies’ room. Gretchen walked outside into the early evening heat and stood on the curb.
She smelled him before she saw him. The same odor of unwashed clothing that she remembered from working in homeless shelters during summer breaks from school. The memory of that smell of human decay and rancid hopeless-ness never left her.
He must have been lurking on the side of the restaurant. When Gretchen whirled, she stared directly into his blood-shot eyes. Saw his scruffy beard and dark patches of dirt ground into his face. She wasn’t afraid. From her experience, she knew most of the homeless were harmless, tortured souls who shunned the responsibility of their existence, preferring isolation. Their only wish was to be left alone.
Gretchen moved aside to let him pass, but he stood motionless and stared at her. She could smell alcohol on his breath, and she noticed he clutched a filled garbage bag. All his belongings carried in his arms.
He staggered forward a step and spoke, so low Gretchen almost missed what he said. “Get out,” he hissed. “Right now. While you still can.”
Gretchen watched in astonishment as he trotted away with his bundle, casting one last menacing look back at her.
Caroline made her way through O’Hare’s crowded terminal. Herded along toward baggage, she warily studied the travelers around her. No one looked familiar. She clutched her laptop securely against her chest and turned on her cell phone with one hand, hearing its reassuring beep.
She stopped at a vacant gate, sat down in a quiet corner, and dialed a number she had committed to memory. After four rings, a voice answered.
“I’m at the airport,” Caroline said. “May I come right away? It’s important.”
“I’m sorry,” the voice said. “But Mr. Timms was called away on business. I’m afraid he can’t meet with you.”
“That’s impossible.” Caroline clutched the phone, staring out at the vast concrete runways. “I’ve come so far.”
“He asked me to express his regrets. Good day.”
“No! No! Don’t hang up.”
Caroline stared at the cell phone. The connection terminated. Then she seemed to crumple across her laptop like a broken marionette doll, her head touching her knees.
And Caroline Birch began to sob.
4
Doll shops offer an array of services for the doll aficionado: appraisals, repairs, dolls, clothing, wigs, and doll-making classes. Since modern molds are made from actual antique heads, many casual collectors are content to own a well-executed reproduction. Doll shops offer classes in porcelain doll making to those who find it an enjoyable hobby and to doll dealers who hope to establish a profitable business in reproductions.
-From World of Dolls by Caroline Birch
Gretchen leaned against the exterior wall of the restaurant for support. She heard the rush of diners’ voices as the door swung open, and Nina appeared at her side.
“No rest for the wicked,” Nina said lightly, breezing by. “Onward and upward.” She marched toward the Impala. Her steps slowed when she realized Gretchen wasn’t behind her. She swung around. “What? What is it?”
“A man,” Gretchen stammered. “A man just threatened me.”
“Where is he?” Nina said, rushing back.
“Gone.” Gretchen gestured down the sidewalk. “He told me to get out while I still can. Then he ran away down the street.”
“What did he look like?” Nina asked. “Did you recognize him?”
Gretchen shook her head. “He was unkempt, dirty, a street person, I think. Shabby clothes. Hairy cheeks. He had a growth of some sort on the side of his head above his ear.” She cupped her hand over her ear to show Nina what she meant. “Like a knob.”
She didn’t say that he looked like he had lost himself inside his head, that he had the tormented eyes of the mentally ill. The homeless. The renegades of society,