doing?” Gretchen asked Nina. They were waiting by the side of the car for Tutu to take advantage of a wee-wee pad.
“They put on a good front,” Nina said. “But business is dropping off. The developers overbuilt, and as Phoenix expands west, everyone wants to set up shop in the new malls. I don’t think Larry and Julia can afford to pay those kinds of rents.” She balled up the used pad and tossed it on the floor of the backseat. “Watch what you say in front of them. They feed on gossip like buzzards on dead meat.”
Julia Gerney met them at the door. She looked like a bulldog, short and stout, with an oversized lower jaw and a personality like artificial sugar. Not the real thing. “Sweet as snake venom,” Gretchen’s mother once said in the true spirit of gameswomanship.
“Gretchen, how goooood to see you,” Julia gushed, every vowel exaggerated. Abruptly her broad smile faded and her eyes narrowed. “Does Tutu really have to come in?”
“It’s too hot in the car,” Nina said, watching Tutu prance ahead on the tips of her hairy toes. “She’d roast to death.”
Julia’s steely glare seemed to say that roasting Tutu would be a solution, not a problem. “Keep her on the leash, and don’t let her bother my customers. If my allergies kick up, she’ll have to go.”
Two gray-haired women sat at a large studio table painting doll heads. Large display cabinets lined the sales counter and contained doll supplies: paints, brushes, patterns, and books. More cabinets framed the room and held samples of Julia’s reproduction dolls: American Indian dolls, china dolls, and a variety of fashion dolls from the 1950s.
“Our doll-making classes have been a huge success,” Julia said, heading for the back storage room, which doubled as an office. “But it’s been a trying week.” She arranged herself on a folding chair with her feet tucked neatly under it. “The air-conditioning unit isn’t keeping up. Larry needs to call the repair service before our customers start complaining. He’s been out of town attending a few doll auctions, but I expect him back any minute.”
Julia didn’t ask them to sit down, although Gretchen realized, scanning the room, there wasn’t an inch of extra space. Every corner was crammed with boxes; every tabletop was stacked high with doll parts and clothing.
“Caroline is gone,” Nina said from the doorway, shortening Tutu’s leash to keep her close. “She didn’t say a word to me before she left, and we’re hoping you have some idea where she might be.”
“I certainly don’t know,” Julia said. “I haven’t seen her in weeks. Last time I saw Caroline, probably three weeks ago, now that I think about it, we were both bidding at an auction in Apache Junction.”
Yes, Gretchen thought, her mother put a lot of miles on her car chasing deals. Was she simply following another sale? Had Nina overreacted? Nina tended to incite hysteria at will, and this wouldn’t be the first time she had led Gretchen astray.
“Caroline would never have gone off without telling me,” Nina insisted.
Julia laughed lightly. “She’s a grown woman, Nina. She doesn’t have to report in to you.” She glanced at Gretchen. “Your mother is a very spontaneous woman, prone to rash impulses in spite of what Nina says.” Julia looked pointedly at Nina. “She’s chasing a bargain. Don’t worry about it.”
“I don’t know what’s going on,” Gretchen said. “Or why she isn’t here. But she disappeared after Martha was found dead, and I have to find her.”
Julia gasped. “You don’t think there’s a connection between Martha’s death and your mother’s disappearance, do you?”
Too late, Gretchen remembered Nina’s warning about Julia, the turkey vulture.
“Most of the Phoenix Dollers weren’t very fond of Martha, and I’m sure your mother was part of that group,” Julia went on. “Martha had a bad habit of alienating people with disparaging comments. For example, she called me the Tasmanian Devil behind my back.”
“Maybe she meant it in an endearing way,” Gretchen suggested.
“You remember the cartoon character,” Julia said. “It had an enormous mouth and, when it wasn’t whirling out of control, it slobbered and made grunting noises. I can’t find anything endearing about that.”
Before Gretchen could respond, Larry’s booming voice filled the doorway behind Nina. “What am I missing? Is this a club meeting?”
He wore standard Southwestern attire: shorts, polo shirt, and leather sandals. He’d lost the paunch Gretchen remembered from her last visit to Phoenix, and he looked fit and trim. But he still had the