Dolled Up for Murder - By Deb Baker Page 0,91
those in her hand onto the table. “Something familiar. I’ve seen some of them someplace before.”
“Yes,” Nina said, gesturing to the French fashion doll. “Like this one, for example. And the Kewpie at Joseph’s store. And the one the police hauled away. You have seen some of them.”
Gretchen frowned. Of course, Nina was right.
“We’ve managed to do it again,” Nina announced. “We found more evidence against Caroline, digging her grave by the shovelful. This is one more thing we can’t show to the police because it only proves what they already believe.”
“With friends like us . . .” Nina said.
“Who needs enemies,” Daisy added, and they finished in synchronization and high-fived each other.
Gretchen stared out the window at Camelback Mountain. She had tentative answers for many of the problems surrounding the death of the alcoholic doll collector. But she didn’t have an explanation for one important question burning in her mind.
Two witnesses saw her mother on the mountain when Martha died.
What was she doing up there?
Nina drove off for a prospective client appointment with all the dogs in tow, leaving Gretchen to ponder the pictures before her in an attempt to find solid answers to fluid questions. Daisy, appearing worn and pallid, shuffled off to her room.
Gretchen rummaged on the lower shelf of the workshop cabinet, removed the doll trunk, and gently reunited the doll with its trunk. She closed the lid as the doorbell rang.
Gretchen smelled Chrome cologne as soon as she opened the door, wondering what bad news the detective carried with him. She had his number. He lured her in with feigned concern and a dazzling smile, then zapped her with the current turn of affairs, which was never advantageous for her. She cringed to think of what he had to say this time.
Yet she had to know.
She panicked briefly when she thought of the French fashion doll’s trunk and the assorted pictures lying in plain view in the workshop, but then remembered his phobia.
He’d be the last one to suggest they meet in a workshop brimming with dolls and assorted doll parts.
“Since you seem to thrive on exercising in horrific heat,” he said. “I thought you might like to take a walk. As long as we don’t go that way.” He motioned up at Camelback Mountain. “Uphill and hot don’t mix well with me, but there are two kids selling lemonade down the street, and I’d like to buy you one. My treat.”
Gretchen slid through the door and closed it behind her. “Sounds like just the thing.”
They walked up the street, turned the corner, and bought two lemonades from the young entrepreneurs. The sun, slowly descending in the west, filled the sky with streaks of brilliant orange. Gretchen wondered where the day had gone and checked her watch. Six thirty. It would be dark in an hour. They started walking back to the house.
“Any word from your mother?” Matt asked, sipping from a straw.
“No,” Gretchen said. “Sometimes I’m filled with dread thinking she’s dead and will never return. Other times I think she’s okay and expect her to walk in the door any minute. I can’t understand how she could simply disappear without contacting me.”
“Your feelings aren’t unusual,” Matt said. “In my job I see people all the time who are dealing with the same issues you are. Besides, I have irrefutable proof that your mother is alive.”
Blood rushed to Gretchen’s head, and her heart began to beat so loud she thought he would hear it. “Tell me.”
“Caroline Birch requested a credit card transaction for a large sum of money. So large that the credit card service required verbal approval from her. We traced the call to a motel near O’Hare International Airport.”
“She went to Chicago?” Gretchen was incredulous.
“She purchased a doll online for an exorbitant amount of money.”
Anger flashed through Gretchen. After the relief of knowing her mother was safe, Gretchen felt an intense anger toward her. “She’s out buying dolls while I’m worried sick about her?”
“Everything I’m telling you right now is confidential,” Matt said. “I’m giving you a heads-up because of our family friendships, but you can’t interfere with the arrest process.”
“Aren’t you worried that I’ll find a way to warn her?”
“She’s on a plane as we speak,” Matt said, glancing at his watch. “She can’t receive phone calls in the air, and she’ll be landing in less than an hour. Two plainclothes agents are waiting at the gate, and they have orders to arrest her quietly. We don’t want a spectacle in