who openly disliked Martha, had abruptly left town after appraising articles found on the dead woman’s body. Gretchen wondered what that was all about.
She drove around the block and headed back down Central Avenue without a plan. Morning traffic clogged the street, giving her time to continue with her mental exercise and attempt to understand what was happening.
Her mother had hidden a parian doll in her workshop that had once belonged to Martha and she had also hidden a French fashion doll that, according to the inventory list, had never belonged to Martha. Martha had a picture with her when she died of the same French fashion doll.
The note found with Martha implied that Caroline had killed her. But would Martha have had enough time to write out a message to the police?
The message scrawled by Caroline on the back of the photocopy of the picture of the French fashion doll and trunk upset Gretchen the most. She could think of multiple reasons for her mother’s disappearance and for the note found in Martha’s hand. But the picture she found last night in Nacho’s notebook wasn’t ambiguous. It stated the facts boldly.
Caroline was hiding a doll, and not just any doll, but a doll worth a lot of money, and it didn’t belong to her.
The parian found in the police search hadn’t belonged to Caroline.
The French fashion doll—whereabouts unknown—didn’t belong to Caroline, either.
If she didn’t know her mother as well as she did, she might agree with the authority’s decision to issue an arrest warrant.
Gretchen glanced at the two pink bracelets on her right wrist. She would never lose faith in her mother. There had to be another explanation, and she would find it.
As soon as Gretchen turned onto First Avenue she spotted Nacho pushing a shopping cart. He saw the car at the same time and looked desperately around for an escape route.
Gretchen slid the Impala along the curb and slammed on the brakes. She jumped out, sure that she had Nacho trapped this time. If he took off, he’d have to abandon the cart, which he gripped possessively.
“That’s Daisy’s cart,” Gretchen said to him as she approached, noting a few familiar items under Nacho’s black garbage bag, which sat on the top of the heap. She lifted a corner of the bag, and Nacho slapped her hand away.
“Hey,” she said. “Keep your hands off me.”
She smelled unwashed body odor and sour alcohol.
“Yo no entiendo inglés,” he said. “Tú debes irte.”
“I know you can understand me,” Gretchen said. “You spoke perfect English when you threatened me at the restaurant.”
Nacho glared at her and kept his hands firmly locked on the cart. He tried to move past her, but Gretchen ran to the front of the cart and pushed back.
A crowd of people walked by, and several turned to look.
“Leave the poor guy alone,” someone shouted.
Gretchen scanned them with a weak smile but stood firm.
“You are going to answer a few questions first,” she demanded. “Where is my mother?”
“Yo te dije antes que te fueras. Tú solo eres un problema.”
Gretchen stared at him. Somehow she had to force him to speak English. “Police,” she said, bluffing. “I will call the police.”
That did the trick. Nacho’s eyes widened in fear. “No police,” he said. “That would be foolish.”
“I need some answers from you.”
“You stole something from me. I want it back first.”
“Wait here.” Gretchen went to the car, keeping a watchful eye on Nacho, and returned with the notebook. She handed it to him, and he wedged it into the plastic bag.
“You should be more afraid,” he said. “Aren’t you scared?”
Heavy traffic streamed by them, music blared from open windows, and the ground shook from amplified bass settings. Sunday strollers ambled by. At the moment, Gretchen felt reasonably protected from a violent assault.
“What would you do to me? Would you kill me like you killed Martha?”
Nacho’s response was quick but wary. “Martha was my friend. You’re talking nonsense.”
“Tell me about the French fashion doll and the trunk.”
“You’re snooping where you aren’t welcome.”
Gretchen was angry. “My mother is missing, and she is accused of killing your supposed friend. I plan on snooping into your life until you give me answers. Now tell me what I want to know.”
Nacho’s eyes flicked briefly to the shopping cart before answering. “I know nothing about any doll.”
Gretchen leaned her body into the cart, one hand resting on top of the plastic bag. Nacho’s eyes shifted nervously from the cart to Gretchen.
“Where is Daisy?” Gretchen said evenly.