a shrill bark.
“Maltese like this one are so easy to train,” Nina said, leaving the table to give Rosebud a little attention. “Especially little females.” The tone of Nina’s voice curved upward. “Don’t feel jealous, little Tutu. You’re smarter than all of them put together.”
Nina looked at Gretchen. “Everyone thinks they can just buy a little dog and stick it in a purse. They don’t realize it has to be trained to stay there. That’s where I come in. Most of my clients are easy to work with, but Chihuahuas?” Nina shuddered for emphasis. “They’re more like vicious little purse attack dogs. I charge extra for them.”
“Can’t you take time off from dog training?” Gretchen asked. “Considering the circumstances.”
Nina gasped. “I’d lose my clients. I’m in the early, most important stage of my new career. If I started canceling training sessions, word would get around, and no one would come to me anymore. That would be the kiss of death.”
Wobbles, wide-awake after his long nap, was cautiously exploring every corner of the house. He made a brief appearance at the workshop door. Tutu’s ears perked up.
“Watch Tutu,” Gretchen warned Nina, reaching down and hooking a finger through Tutu’s red collar to restrain her. “She’s mesmerized by Wobbles, and she’s licking her lips.”
“Tutu won’t hurt your kitty.”
Gretchen shrugged knowingly. “I’m not worried about Wobbles. He could eat Tutu for lunch. It’s Tutu I’m worried about. I’m not sure that Wobbles has had much experience with dogs.” She smiled. Wobbles wasn’t paying attention to either dog. Arrogant indifference suited him. He cared much more about his own investigation in progress and the new smells around him. After one smug glance at the dog hanging from a doorknob, he turned and stalked off.
“He’s remarkably agile on three legs,” Nina observed.
The doorbell chimed. Gretchen released Tutu and watched her race for the front door, yapping loudly. The purse trainee trembled, full-body tremors created by the sight of the three-legged stalking tiger and the ensuing commotion.
“That must be April.” Nina rose from the table. “I forgot to tell you in all the excitement. I called her right after you called me. We should make sure the shawl is authentic. You remember April?”
Without waiting for an answer, Nina followed Tutu’s lead and headed for the door. Gretchen lifted the Maltese out of the purse, holding her close and stroking her. In spite of her feelings about canines, she couldn’t stand to see any animal in a state of fear or in pain. Rosebud, fitting easily into her palm, licked her little lips nervously, but the tremors began to ease away.
Gretchen remembered meeting April Lehman briefly on one of her visits to Phoenix, but she didn’t need a doll appraiser to examine the shawl. She sensed that it was the real thing. According to her mother, who was a well-respected doll expert and published author, doll heads were much easier to replicate than period clothing. The shawl couldn’t be mistaken for anything other than an intricate, antique doll accessory.
It was the picture of the doll that interested Gretchen the most.
April lumbered into the workshop wearing a muumuu the size of a Volkswagen Beetle. White crew socks and beige sandals completed her ensemble. “Hey, Gretchen,” she called and heaved herself onto a stool.
“April can tell a fake doll from the real thing at twenty paces,” Nina said, following April.
Gretchen knew that swindlers roamed the doll world waiting to dupe unsuspecting beginners. A good appraiser could tell an original by the number of eyelashes or the slant of an eyebrow or a marking in just the right spot. April and her kind were the backbone of the doll collecting community.
“What ya got here?” April adjusted her reading glasses and bent over the table to study the doll shawl. “My, my. Where’d you find this?”
“Hiking on the mountain. I found it in the rocks.”
April peered at her over the top of her glasses. “You don’t say.”
Then she went to work. The silence beat across the room while they waited for a verdict. Gretchen continued to stroke Rosebud, who snuggled closer and closed her eyes. After a few minutes, Nina began drumming her fingers on the table. April gave her a stern look, and Nina crossed her arms to still her impatient fingers.
Gretchen gently returned Rosebud to the purse, where she curled contently into a tiny ball.
Finally, April sat back, moved her reading glasses from the end of her nose to the top of her head, and sighed with pleasure.
“It’s a