Dolled Up for Murder - By Deb Baker Page 0,24

morning. Nina sliced a papaya. They made bagel sandwiches and a pot of herbal tea and ate in silence.

When Gretchen let the dogs back in the house, she saw that Nimrod was soaking wet. “Nimrod fell in the pool,” she called to Nina.

“Oh, no. I forget that poodles are water dogs.” Nina thumped her head in exasperation. “I bet he jumped right in. Now I’ll have to have him groomed before he goes home.”

After towel-drying Nimrod and complaining about the stench of chlorine and other pool chemicals, Nina set off with the promise to return in a few hours for the trip to the Phoenix Rescue Mission. Gretchen checked the answering machine after she noticed its red light flashing. “I’m making progress on these repairs.” Larry’s voice boomed through the room. “If Caroline turns up, give me a call. Otherwise, I’ll keep at it.”

Gretchen was grateful for Larry’s help, whatever his underlying motives might be. Meeting deadlines was an important part of restoration. Again she went through the motions of checking for messages at her apartment in Boston, but the effort felt mechanical and wasted. Whatever her mother was up to, it didn’t include confiding in her family members.

She changed into her swimming suit and lowered her body slowly into the blue, sparkling water. Wobbles, a true sun lover, basked contentedly on a lounge chair. He lifted his head to the sun’s rays with dreamy eyes, and Gretchen envied his relaxed, worry-free existence.

She thought about Steve and their future together. She had lost her job permanently and her mother temporarily, and now she had to face Steve’s lack of commitment to her. He didn’t seem particularly interested in the events that sent her to Phoenix or the details associated with her mother’s disappearance.

For the first time in seven years, she realized that he marginalized her, that he thought his concerns and worries and actions were more important than hers.

If she didn’t call him, how long would it take him to call her? Interesting, she thought, to conduct a test.

The doorbell rang, interrupting her calculated decision to outwait Steve. She stepped from the pool, wrapped a beach towel around her waist, and padded through the house, trailing chlorinated water. Matt Albright stood on the porch.

“Come in, Detective,” Gretchen said, swinging the door wide after passing the two Shirley Temple dolls. Nina and her pranks. But he deserved it after his cold, callous handling of the search and his false friendliness.

He seemed surprised at Gretchen’s warm greeting, took a step forward, and smiled. Once again Gretchen admired the way his face lit up. “I caught you in the pool,” he said. “And call me Matt. Our mothers are good friends. No need to be so formal.”

When he saw the dolls on the bench, the smile slid from his face, and he stopped in his tracks.

“What’s wrong?” Gretchen said with mock concern. “Are you ill? You look feverish.” He did look pale and slightly unsteady. Panic flickered in his eyes.

How could a buffed-up cop exhibit such fear over a harmless doll? Nina’s trick didn’t seem so funny after all, and Gretchen felt mean-spirited for going along with it.

“Give me a second,” she said, snatching the dolls and quickly transferring them to a shelf in the closet. “Would you like some iced tea?”

He nodded wordlessly and followed her into the kitchen. Gretchen poured two tall glasses. “Lemon?” He nodded again.

Gretchen handed him a glass and led the way to the patio, choosing a table under a wide umbrella. She fluffed her damp hair and sat down, still wearing the towel around her waist. The sun sizzled overhead, instantly sucking the moisture from her skin. The swim a few minutes ago seemed like a distant memory as her body temperature climbed.

Before sitting down next to Gretchen, the detective stopped to stroke Wobbles, running his hand over the cat’s long body several times. At least he doesn’t have some feline phobia, she thought.

“You probably will regret offering me iced tea when you find out why I’m here,” he said.

“Try me.”

“We’ve issued a warrant for your mother’s arrest,” he said. “We want her for questioning in the death of Martha Williams.”

“Quit beating around the bush,” Gretchen said with exaggerated sarcasm. “Get right to the point. All this small talk is killing me.”

“I’m sorry. I couldn’t think of an easy way to break it to you.”

“You’re making a big mistake.”

“All the signs point to her.”

“Expound on that,” Gretchen said tightly, working to dredge up some of that Birch