Dolled Up for Murder - By Deb Baker Page 0,18

her eye, she spotted a roadrunner on an old, overgrown trail.

As she ran she felt all her worries and anxiety falling away on the path behind her. After the refreshing and mind-clearing exercise she would be ready to face the uncertainty of a new day.

When she returned to the house, Larry Gerney was waiting in his red convertible in the shade of a blue palo verde tree. He unfolded his long legs from the tiny car and greeted her with a paper bag in his hand. “Thought I’d bring breakfast,” he said, following her into the kitchen. He didn’t remove his sunglasses, which saved her the effort of pretending that she didn’t notice his tic. “Have you heard anything yet?”

Gretchen shook her head and poured a cup of coffee for each of them. Larry sliced bagels and heaped them with cream cheese, smoked salmon, and alfalfa sprouts. Wobbles, smelling the salmon, joined them and was rewarded with a slice of his own.

“I never saw a cat with three legs before,” Larry said. “But he seems to get around fine.”

“He’s amazing,” Gretchen agreed. She nibbled at the bagel. It tasted wonderful.

“I think we should check your mother’s business line and listen to her messages.” Larry wrapped the leftovers and stored them in the refrigerator.

Of course, he would want to check her messages. Was his request a sincere offer of help or a devious way to gain a client list? She studied his features, hoping for a clue to his motives. Reluctantly, she nodded and led the way.

Gretchen experienced a sense of loss when she entered her mother’s workshop, the same sense of emptiness she had felt the day before. It is so easy to forget how much you love someone, she thought, until you realize that you might lose them.

Gretchen and Larry listened to twelve messages, each caller inquiring about the progress on various doll repairs. Several expressed concern about their dolls being ready at a specific time, and all wanted return phone calls. None gave Gretchen the impression they knew that Caroline was unavailable.

“This is hopeless,” Gretchen said. “What am I going to do?”

Gretchen hadn’t worked on a doll since college, when she’d spent summers in her mother’s workshop performing the simpler repairs. She could disassemble, clean, and re-string an antique doll, but her mother was the expert when it came to restoring eyes, refurbishing wigs, and sealing cracks. Not only did Gretchen lack the expertise to satisfy these customers, she didn’t have the time.

“You are going to let me handle it,” Larry said firmly. “I’ll work on the most immediate problems and delay the rest.”

Gretchen wondered what her mother would say if she knew her competition had access to her workshop, but his offer would free her mind and would keep the customers happy. If he ended up stealing customers, it was a small price to pay. “I couldn’t possibly impose . . .”

“This won’t be entirely free,” he said, clinching the deal. “I’ll expect to be paid for my services.”

Larry was returning phone calls before Gretchen left the room. She showered and dressed, and looked around for her mother’s cancer awareness bracelet. She found it on top of the dresser and frowned. Hadn’t she placed it in the bathroom next to her own last night? Well, she had been exhausted and under pressure yesterday. Gretchen slid her mother’s bracelet on her wrist next to her own bracelet, vowing to wear it until she personally handed it back to its owner.

The doorbell rang as she finished, and she opened it to see Matt Albright standing on the porch with two uniformed police officers behind him. “Search warrant,” he said, waving a document and handing it to her.

“That was fast.” Bravado, Gretchen. Face your adversary with confidence.

“I had it earlier, but I decided that I needed backup. You looked scary.”

“Is that what they taught you in detective school? How to be as annoying as possible?”

Gretchen examined the warrant. Her words were light, but she swallowed through an enormous lump in her throat. She felt sure that they wouldn’t find anything incriminating in their search, because her mother hadn’t done anything wrong.

“May I ask what you are looking for?”

Matt slid past her and gestured to the officers to follow him. “You may, but I can’t tell you. Where does your mother repair dolls?”

“Through there.” Gretchen pointed to the back of the house, and her uninvited guests thundered off in that direction. She walked into the kitchen and sat down hard, her