Do I have that right?”
“You got it,” Daisy said, her voice like a dove feather, soft and lilting. “Only I love to drive around. Haven’t had a car since the late eighties. Whee, it was fun.”
“That’s why you had Daisy’s shopping cart?” Gretchen said to Nacho. “Because she wanted to drive around?”
“She was supposed to park it over by McDowell,” Nacho said. “That was the plan. Instead, Daisy was gone overnight.”
The unemployed actress put on an appropriately chastised expression, as if to say that the bandages wrapped around her head proved that her punishment outweighed her crime.
Gretchen studied Daisy, and it struck her that the homeless woman would have viewed the car as more than a simple pleasure ride. She would have thought of it as shelter. “Instead of abandoning the car you were sleeping in it, weren’t you?” Gretchen said.
“I know I shouldn’t have,” Daisy said. “I wanted to take one last ride, then I planned to park it right where Nacho said.”
Nacho scowled at her, eyebrows meeting in one bushy line, tufts of stubble sprouting from unlikely pores in his face. Concern, rather than anger, apparent in his eyes. An obvious bond existed between them.
“And I would have, too, if someone hadn’t rammed into the back of the car. I lost control and flew right off the road.”
Detective Albright waited in the lobby. Gretchen could feel his anger saturating the climate-controlled hospital air, his face tight, the space around him crackling with static tension.
“Who are you?” he said to Nacho, his voice as controlled as the air-conditioning. He made a point of ignoring her.
“My brother?” Nina managed to croak.
“You need to say that with more conviction. If I didn’t know you so well, I might think you made it up,” Matt said to Nina. He grabbed Gretchen by the arm and steered her away from the others. “I need to speak with you.
“I could charge you with obstruction of justice,” he hissed when they were out of earshot.
“I could charge you with police brutality.” Gretchen wrenched away from his grasp.
“I can’t believe you called the cops on me.”
“It was a case of mistaken identity. I didn’t know it was you.”
“We seem to have a lot of mistaken identities as well as disappearing acts going on.” Matt ran his fingers through his hair. “Who’s the colorful character?”
“A friend of Daisy’s.”
“We had an agreement to share information, remember?”
“That was your idea, not mine. As far as I’m concerned, we’re on opposing sides.”
Matt leaned in. “We both want the same thing. We want to see this case closed.”
“We differ in the end results. I care about the outcome.” Gretchen glanced over at Nina and Nacho. What could she tell him that would help her mother? Nothing. What could she say? Excuse me, but the latest facts are a little puzzling. You see, my mother conspired with these nice homeless people to conceal her movements in an effort to throw off pursuers and evade capture.
She glanced at Nacho. What other bits of useful information could she share?
Then there’s the note I found scribbled on a photocopy of a doll. My mother hid a French fashion doll and asked her coconspirators to hide a valuable doll trunk, which they did. Oh, and by the way, I stole the trunk from them.
The situation kept getting better and better and her involvement deeper and deeper.
Gretchen thought of one thing she could tell him that might help. She wondered how much information Daisy would willingly offer the authorities. Based on her lifestyle, probably not much.
“Daisy had the car accident because someone rammed into the back of my mother’s car,” Gretchen said. “Since the Birch women don’t believe in coincidence, let’s assume it was intentional. This means that someone was trying to kill Daisy or someone was trying to kill my mother.”
With one last scathing look, Matt headed for the elevator.
Caroline stood inside a Western Union on the south side of Chicago and counted out the money in her hands. Thanks to her sister-in-law’s generosity and her amazing ability to stifle her ususal runaway curiosity, Caroline would buy a change of clothes, splurge on a hot meal, and check into a modest hotel room for a much-needed shower.
She had had no choice but to appeal to someone for help, and her late husband’s somewhat cantankerous sister, Gertie, had been the right choice after all. No questions asked. Beyond the limited information Gertie was offered, she had a certain innate understanding of the complex circumstances that controlled Caroline’s