Dolled Up for Murder - By Deb Baker Page 0,65

said and scurried off.

Gretchen immersed herself in the boxes, unwrapping each doll and checking it against the photocopied list. The contents of the boxes matched her mother’s personality: wild and randomly packaged. Dolls from all eras scattered among the boxes. A doll from the forties in this box, another from the same period in that one. No labels on any of the boxes. Disorganized but meticulously cared for. A contradiction of life. Order within disorder.

Gretchen glanced at her watch and realized that an hour had passed since Nina left the cabana. She finished packing up the last box and stood. Nothing. Not one doll from the list. No French fashion doll. She felt disappointed. It should be easier than this.

“I’ve been playing secretary,” Nina said, hanging up the phone when Gretchen arrived in the kitchen. “Larry called for an update and to say he’s delivering the doll with the new hand-made wig directly to the customer. He’s giving him a bill but will tell the customer to send payment to Caroline. Larry said he’ll work out the fee with her later.”

“That’s nice of him,” Gretchen said absently, opening the refrigerator and peering inside.

“April called to say she’s decided to work out at Curves every day instead of every other, so we can join her if we want to.”

“That’s nice,” Gretchen muttered.

“And Steve called and left a message.”

Gretchen closed the refrigerator. “What did the message say?”

“That he’s been trying to reach you on your cell phone. That Courtney told him what she did, and he can explain.” Nina snorted. “I’d like to hear him explain that one.”

Gretchen took a chocolate croissant from a bag on the counter and bit into it. “I can have this,” she said, defensively. “I worked out this morning.”

“Are you going to call him back?” Nina wanted to know.

Before Gretchen could answer with her very first firm and resounding no, a snarl erupted from the purse lying on the chair next to Nina.

“Enrico’s up from his nap,” Nina said.

* * *

Gretchen and Nina walked side by side through the Biltmore Fashion Park. Nimrod rode on Gretchen’s shoulder in a white cotton purse embroidered with miniature black poodles. The poodles attached to the purse wore red hair bows, which complemented Gretchen’s burned face. The savage demon, Enrico, poked out from Mexican tapestry, a gravelly hum resounding from his throat that threatened to grow into a growl.

After a disagreement with Nina, which Gretchen won, Tutu had stayed at home with Wobbles. The purse dogs traveling by shoulder bag represented Gretchen’s reluctant compromises.

“Okay,” Nina said. “We made two copies of Martha’s key, one for you and one for me.”

“I know that, Nina. I was with you.”

“It helps to verbalize. Keeps it orderly.”

“Right.” Gretchen could feel Nimrod’s tail thumping against her ribs in perpetual puppy happiness.

“We left the original key right where we found it in that smelly old bag.”

“As bait.”

“That’s the part I don’t get.”

Gretchen pursed her lips and winced. “I have to buy another tube of lip balm.” She brushed her fingers across a blister forming on her lip. “We’ll let everyone know that we found Martha’s belongings. We’ll call all the Phoenix Dollers and—”

“There must be over one hundred members. Most aren’t even active.”

“We’ll call the active members. We’ll make the discovery sound exciting and tell them where it is. Then we’ll wait and see what happens.”

“Maybe nothing will happen.”

Gretchen shrugged. “Maybe you’re right, but do you have a better idea?”

“Yes, we should find the door that it opens. We’ll try it in locks until we find a fit.”

“That’s also part of the plan.”

Nina stopped walking and looked at a storefront. “I’m going into Chico’s. Enrico, hide.” She tossed a liver treat into the purse, and Enrico dove out of sight. Nina grinned and strode into the shop. Gretchen wandered into the Flip Flop Shop and purchased two new pairs of shoes, one gold, the other silver. With the tops of her feet burnt the color of Tutu’s red lace collar, flip-flops were the only shoe she could wear for awhile.

Nina appeared behind Gretchen as she paid at the cash register. Gretchen glanced at her watch. “Let the games begin,” she said.

Caroline tapped into the eBay site and keyed in the words antique dolls. She heard the computer churning and watched the list of auction dolls appear on her screen. Her eyes were red-rimmed from countless hours spent monitoring the site.

She scrolled down. Closed the site. Keyed in the Mc-Masters Harris Auction Company site and scrolled through the