Dolled Up for Murder - By Deb Baker Page 0,9
wonderful example of a mid-eighteenth-century French fashion doll accessory,” she said. “No question about it.”
“I’m assuming it fell from the ridge with Martha,” Gretchen said. “Is that a safe assumption?”
April nodded.
“My exact thought,” Nina agreed.
“Bonnie’s son, that police officer,” April said. “What’s his name? Matt? He asked me to appraise the parasol they found in Martha’s pocket. Same historical period, same size. From the same doll, I’d be willing to bet.”
Gretchen held out the photograph she saved for last. “I found this at the same time.”
April whistled when she saw the picture.
“The tray is removable, and her trousseau is stored under it,” April said, running her finger over the image of the trunk with something approaching reverence. “See how the tray is lined with striped fabric? Wow.”
“I’m pretty sure the doll is a Bru,” Gretchen said.
April nodded. “A classic smiley Bru. She’s worth a ton of money.”
“How much?” Nina asked.
April thought for a moment. “I wouldn’t want to venture a guess without examining the doll,” she said. “What I can say with surety is that the doll is about seventeen inches high. I can base that estimate on the size of the shawl. The trunk would be about twenty inches long and fifteen inches high.”
“That’s a large trunk,” Nina said, reminding Gretchen how little Nina knew about dolls.
“Most fashion dolls were designed to fit right inside the trunks like this one does.”
“Why would Martha have an antique doll shawl and a photograph of a priceless Bru with her?” Gretchen wondered aloud. “Did she steal the shawl and the parasol?”
“Logical conclusion.” April’s voice was cold. “Personally, I never cared for the woman. Shifty, I thought, and unscrupulous. She certainly could have stolen it. But I’m not aware that any of the club members around here own an original Bru with accompanying trunk.”
“She had only a picture and a few accessories,” Nina said. “That doesn’t mean she’s a thief. Let’s not snap to any rash conclusions.”
Gretchen picked up the photo of the fashion doll and turned it over. On the back, she read the date that the film had been processed. Four years ago.
“Gretchen, is it possible Martha was at your mother’s house the night she died?” April asked, ignoring Nina’s defense of the dead woman.
Gretchen was surprised. “Why would you think that?”
“Camelback Mountain is right in Caroline’s backyard. I’m simply exploring the possibility.” She arched a brow. “The police won’t overlook that, you know.”
Gretchen shrugged. “I have no way of knowing for sure. But my mother never mentioned Martha to me.” She turned to Nina. “Did Martha ever come here for repair work?”
“Caroline never mentioned it to me,” Nina said. “But everyone knew Martha. She used to be a member of the Phoenix Dollers.”
April shifted on the stool, her large form completely hiding the seat. “The next obvious question is . . . Where is the doll? And why did Martha have a picture of it?”
“That,” Gretchen replied, “is the prizewinning question.”
A find like this would be of great interest to her mother, and some of that curiosity had rubbed off on Gretchen. She’d love to see an antique doll of such quality with its own personal trunk of original clothes.
“We don’t have to notify the police, do we?” Nina said, scrunching her nose in distaste at the idea.
April swung around to look at Nina. “Martha’s death was an accident or a suicide, regardless of a few doll accessories and an old picture,” she said. “The investigation is routine. Bonnie’s son is the only one working it, and I’ll mention the shawl next time I see him, but it won’t change anything. In the meantime we should keep this our little secret. What will we accomplish by exposing Martha as a thief after her death?”
“The note found with Martha was rather mysterious.” Nina said.
Gretchen, standing slightly behind April, shook her head at Nina. Nina wrinkled her brow in confusion. The last thing Gretchen wanted was the contents of the message found in Martha’s hand known by the entire doll community.
“Yes, the note,” April agreed. “It does beg an explanation.”
“Does everyone know about the note?” Gretchen demanded.
“News travels fast when it’s riding Bonnie’s lips,” Nina said.
“That’s the truth,” April said.
Gretchen checked her watch and left the two women chatting in the workshop. Six o’clock in Boston. Steve would probably still be at the office, even though it was Friday and most Bostonians would be on their way to happy hour.
From her mother’s bedroom, she dialed his business number. While the phone rang,