Dolled Up for Murder - By Deb Baker Page 0,43

the dashboard and began assembling her canine clan.

Gretchen studied April’s dilapidated home. Peeling paint and a green AstroTurf lawn that effectively eliminated the need for watering and weeding. The house sat on a tiny lot without benefit of a swimming pool or exotic tropical landscaping. As she followed Nina along the crumbling sidewalk, Gretchen hoped April had air-conditioning.

“Come on in,” April called out from inside, her voice muffled but audible through the front door. The fact that the door was closed indicated the presence of cool air. “You got here fast.”

Gretchen and Nina found April’s massive form sprawled across a sagging sofa. She wore a muumuu with green and purple stripes and had hiked it up around her thighs, exposing treelike legs snaked with varicose veins.

A window air conditioner droned loudly, the motor struggling to lower the temperature of the small room, with limited success.

“You look awful,” Nina said. “I wish you had called me when you were diagnosed with valley fever. I would have helped you out.”

“I didn’t want to bother anybody,” April said. “I’m feeling pretty good now. Gretchen, what happened to your arm?”

“I tripped and fell yesterday.” Gretchen caught Nina’s eye, hoping Nina would follow her lead and refrain from sharing the details of the encounter with Nacho.

“That’s too bad,” April said.

Nina sat down in a torn and faded cloth chair with Tutu leashed at her feet. The top of Nimrod’s purse was vacant, indicating a napping puppy inside. Gretchen remained standing and couldn’t resist scrutinizing the room.

Piles of doll magazines littered the floor, and every inch of table space was covered with dolls.

Gretchen stifled an involuntary giggle. Enormous April collected miniature dolls, all types and styles. The table next to Gretchen held several dolls, an eight-inch Lee Middleton, a Strawberry Shortcake riding her trike with Custard Cat in the basket, a five-inch cloth doll with an embroidered face, and an antique German bisque with jointed arms, wearing a blue dress.

“I have almost all of the original boxes and packing,” April said proudly, looking at Gretchen with a schoolgirl’s beam. “You didn’t know I was a miniaturist, did ya?”

“These are marvelous,” Gretchen said. And inexpensive, she thought. None of the dolls in April’s collection were worth much more than twenty dollars. Based on April’s lifestyle, that was all she probably could afford. Her appraisal service might be the backbone of the collecting business, but it didn’t pay well.

“I always wanted to get into collecting doll houses and furniture,” April said. “But the time hasn’t been right. For my thirtieth birthday I’m going to treat myself to my very first doll house.”

Thirty! Gretchen had assumed April was well into her fifties, but she was the same age as Gretchen.

Nina piped up. “Caroline is still missing, April, and it’s turning ugly. We have to ask you a few questions about Martha.”

April stiffened noticeably, and her warm smile froze. “I never liked that woman.”

“You need to tell us why,” Nina said encouragingly. “It might help.”

April shifted on the couch, and her muumuu rode higher. “Eight years ago, Martha’s husband died, and she came into some money through a life insurance policy. She went on a buying spree, buying the most fabulous dolls you could imagine. And the prices she paid.” April slapped her forehead. “But she couldn’t control herself. She bought dolls instead of paying off her mortgage, like she should of. She went wild.

“Then the whole thing collapsed around her. She started drinking because she couldn’t face the financial problems. Three years ago the bank called her loan and repossessed her house.”

“What happened after the bank foreclosed?” Gretchen asked. “What happened to the dolls?”

“I knew she was going to lose the dolls right along with the house, and I could hardly stand to watch it happen, but look around you,” April said, sweeping her arms across the room. “I couldn’t afford to buy them from her either. She wouldn’t have sold anyway. She was in denial and probably drunk most of the time and didn’t believe anything could happen to them. She adored her dolls.”

Nina frowned. “But what made you so mad at her?”

“A lot of the Dollers tried to help her out by offering to buy her dolls. But part of the problem was that she wouldn’t even let us see her collection. Over the years, she’d talk about a doll here and there, or we’d see one of them, but no one knew the actual extent of the collection.”

“She certainly was an odd one,” Nina said.

“She had