Goodbye Dolly - By Deb Baker Page 0,16

few days in Phoenix, then we're headed to Palm Beach on Wednesday," He released her hand. "Margaret's planning a party to announce the season of parties. Isn't that right?"

Margaret Turner looked like a classic grandmother. Reading glasses hanging from her neck, yellow polo shirt tucked neatly into crisp shorts, and sensible walking shoes.

"You have to be careful these days," the granny lookalike said, leaning forward, speaking in a stage whisper.

"The nouveau riche are invading all the old neighborhoods. The announcements have to be given discreetly, or there's no telling who will show up."

Gretchen's smile slid sideways and froze. Looks weren't everything. Perceptions had fooled her before, and Margaret Turner had just reminded her that pretentiousness came in all physical forms, even with support shoes. These were Steve's kind of people.

"I know your mother," Eric said. "I bought a doll from her years ago, when she still resided in Massachusetts. Lovely woman."

"She's in San Diego," Gretchen said. "I'm sure she will be disappointed to have missed you."

After a few more pleasantries and Gretchen's promise to stop by the visiting club's Kewpie table, the group moved on to watch the next act in Nina's theatrical debut.

"You don't have that Eastern accent," Bonnie whispered to Gretchen as they were leaving.

"We moved quite a bit when I was young," Gretchen explained. "That's probably why."

April sidled over. "I thought having Nina at my table would improve business," she said with a scowl. Gretchen glanced at the crowd. "Business looks good."

"Her business, you mean. No one can get through the traffic jam for an appraisal. Even if they manage to fight their way through, they forget why they came over once she starts up."

April adjusted her reading glasses with one finger and looked beyond Gretchen. "Uh-oh," she said. "He looks exactly like his picture."

Gretchen followed April's gaze.

Steve was weaving through the hall.

"Uh-oh is right," Gretchen said.

Steve wasn't alone. As unlikely as it seemed, Matt Albright strolled along next to him, scanning the crowd. Matt had dark, wavy hair and a great build. He wore a white T-shirt that accentuated his tan arms.

Gretchen and Matt's eyes met from a distance. Matt nudged Steve and pointed in Gretchen's direction. She could see beads of sweat glistening on the detective's forehead even from here.

"What's Matt doing at the show?" Gretchen muttered.

"I thought he had pediophobia."

April shot an angry look at Gretchen. "That's how rumors get started. Detective Albright would never assault little kids."

"Not pedophilia," Gretchen said. "Pediophobia. It means he's afraid of dolls."

"Well, that's silly."

"You're afraid of clowns," Gretchen pointed out.

"That's different," April said. "Clowns really are scary. I'm going back to my table. If you need me, holler."

Matt gave Gretchen a wave and turned away. She had noticed a nervous tightness along his jaw.

Steve steamed toward her like a runaway train.

"There you are," Steve said, huffing a little. "This place is enormous. I had to ask that guy to help me."

"Where did you run into him?"

"He was helping little old ladies carry bags of dolls in."

Steve laughed. "Must have been a Boy Scout at one time. Got all nervous when we came inside, though. Funny thing."

Gretchen couldn't believe that Matt was even near the doll show.

Steve noticed the shoppers at her table. "You're doing well."

"I'm amazed at how many people like Ginny dolls. I'll have to pull more stock from storage for tomorrow's show."

She edged toward the center of the table, hoping someone would interrupt. A question, please. Or buy something, she pleaded silently to the customers.

A uniformed police officer sauntered past, and Gretchen wanted to call him over to referee.

"We need to talk," Steve said to her. "I know this isn't the best place, but it has to be right now."

"I can't discuss anything now. I'm working."

"You're killing me, Gretchen. I came all this way from Boston to convince you that I need you. You have to listen."

Steve grabbed her arm.

"I'm busy." She wrenched away. "Nothing you can say will change my mind."

"I can change your mind." Steve, the great litigator, thinking I'm a jury he can sway.

"I'm not interested in changing my mind. I've started a new life." And you aren't part of it.

"We'll talk tonight." It wasn't a request. "I'm going to insist, Gretchen."

"This guy bothering you, princess?" came a voice from behind her.

Ronny Beam's narrow Wile E. Coyote face glared at Steve.

Steve looked him up and down, then jabbed a thumb toward Ronny. "You know this character?"

"You're looking at Cupcake's sugar daddy," Ronny said.

"Keep your mitts off if you don't want trouble. I could