Dolled Up for Murder - By Deb Baker Page 0,47

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What a delight, Gretchen thought, reveling in the combination of old and new—a Door of Hope Mission doll from China, several Queen Annes, and a large selection of contemporary artist dolls. She admired a Dy-Dee Baby and two celebrity dolls, Marie Osmond and Annette Funicello. The collection of dolls was endless, and for a time, as she wandered through the shop, she escaped into a make-believe world of color and glamour and beauty.

Joseph cleared his throat and brought her back from her welcome escape from reality. “I didn’t mean to startle you,” he said, pulling at the diamond stud in his left ear.

“I’m okay.” Gretchen laughed lightly. “We came by for several reasons, to see your shop, of course, but I wanted to show you this picture again when all the club members weren’t present.”

“I thought that detective took this picture as evidence,” Joseph said when she handed it to him.

“This is a copy.” Gretchen wasn’t about to tell him of the second picture or about her mother’s message on the back of it. She had stashed that one safely away after making a copy of the picture of the doll. “I know you saw the picture yesterday at Bonnie’s, but take another look. Have you ever seen this French fashion doll before?”

“No,” he said. “But I want to. It’s amazing.” He handed the copy back to Gretchen and rubbed his goatee with two fingers. “Why do you ask?”

“You know my mother is missing. And you have to know that the police suspect her in Martha’s death.” Gretchen watched Joseph carefully. He seemed unnaturally nervous, as he had at the meeting at Nina’s house.

Joseph nodded. “I’m not passing judgment on Caroline. She’s innocent until proven guilty as far as I’m concerned.”

“Thank you. I appreciate that. This doll might have something to do with her disappearance, or it might not. I think the picture is worth showing around in case someone recognizes it.”

“Sorry I can’t help you.”

“Maybe you still can,” Gretchen said. “It’s my understanding that Martha was your aunt. Am I correct?”

“Who told you that?” Joseph spoke a little too loudly, a little too defensively.

“Was she your aunt?”

Joseph rubbed his face with his hands as though he were rubbing away a bad dream. “Embarrassing to admit, but yes, she was my aunt. I’m related to that pathetic, homeless drunk. Or was. We weren’t close, and I didn’t mention it to the club members because I had no desire to share my ancestry with them.”

“She apparently didn’t go out of her way to cultivate alliances,” Gretchen said.

Joseph nodded. “She led a self-absorbed life, at least after the alcohol took control. The ability to look beyond her personal self-interests drowned in a pool of stale booze, a common symptom of alcoholism.”

Gretchen remembered what Nina had said about Joseph’s own problems with alcohol and his resolve to beat the disease.

“Did she have any family other than you?”

“A sister in Florida, but they hadn’t spoken for years. She’s in a nursing home in the final stages of Alzheimer’s. She wouldn’t understand that Martha is dead or that she even had a sister.”

“How about friends?”

Joseph laughed bitterly. “Aunt Martha didn’t have any real friends left. I suppose you could count those down-and-out characters she roamed the streets with as friends.”

Gretchen heard Nina’s cell phone from somewhere in the shop playing the Star Wars theme. “Hello,” she heard Nina say.

“Martha had an expensive collection of dolls at one time,” Gretchen said to Joseph. “Can you tell me what happened to it?”

“I’ve had this shop for seventeen years,” Joseph said. “She bought her first doll from me, at a discount, of course. After that, she became very secretive about what she purchased and where she bought it. She hid the dolls around her house, worrying constantly that someone would steal them. She became distrustful of everyone. What’s the point of having a collection if you can’t have fun with it?”

“Then?” Gretchen said, encouraging him to continue. She heard Nina’s voice drifting from across the room.

“I offered to take the collection on consignment when I found out she faced bankruptcy, but she refused. She had a pernicious personality. Her fingers were caustic, destroying everything she touched. And she never let go. I don’t know what happened to her collection. I have to assume that she acted with her typical irrational behavior, and the collection is lost forever.”

“You hesitated before answering. You don’t believe it, do you?”

Joseph shrugged. “She cared about those dolls in a way she never cared