Goodbye Dolly - By Deb Baker Page 0,58

an object wrapped in a brown paper bag.

"You've received three packages, so this is the last one, and there have been three deaths, Ronny, Brett, and this Percy fellow. Three murders, so we're all done with those."

"That's reassuring."

"Unless another set of threes begins." April didn't attempt to open the paper bag. "And you could be the first in the new trio."

"April, you're a breath of fresh air," Gretchen said with only a mild hint of sarcasm. "Now, open it before I explode."

"That's why my parents named me April. I was born in April on a fine spring day." She tried to hand the wrapped object to Gretchen. "You finish opening it. I've done my fair share." When Gretchen refused to take it, she set it on the table between them.

April said, "You're approaching this from a very negative angle, like you think something evil is lurking inside. I think the exact opposite; someone is trying to help you find the truth."

"Then that person could just speak up. Ring me on my cell phone and lay it all out. That would be the way I'd handle it."

April put her hands on her hips. "Well, everybody isn't like you. Maybe this person is scared of retribution or retaliation."

"Retribution is the same as retaliation."

"Are you going to open it or not?"

Gretchen gingerly picked at the bag, lowered her head to the edge of the table, and looked inside.

"It's Doodle Dog, isn't it," April said knowingly, impressed with her own analytical skills. Gretchen pulled out a Kewpie dog, a replica of the one that Rosie O'Neill had sketched for the first time almost one hundred years ago. Doodling rough drawings of her beloved Boston terrier the Kewpie dog had materialized under her guiding hand.

White with large black spots, one big spot on the top of his head. Happiness radiated from his glowing little face. A happiness Gretchen was finding it hard to share.

"Well," she said, shoving the dog at April. "Is it worth anything?"

April grabbed the reading glasses that hung from a chain around her neck, placed them on the tip of her nose, and tilted her head. "Interesting." She took the dog and turned it over. "It's not bisque, so it isn't one of the original pieces. This one's made of porcelain, rather than hard plastic. Hmm . . ."

She removed her glasses. "Wasn't worth much even before someone snapped off the back leg. See right there?"

She ran her hand along the dog's haunches. "Glued back on."

Gretchen groaned and covered her eyes, elbows spread wide on the table.

"Are those green chile burgers I smell?" April said, sniffing the air, returning Doodle Dog to the table, and zeroing in on the bag lying on the kitchen counter.

"Help yourself," Gretchen said, splaying her fingers helplessly and studying the Kewpie dog.

"You want one?" April asked, cramming the burger in as if she hadn't eaten for a week.

Gretchen waved her over, and they sat and ate and stared at the Kewpie dog.

"Kind of cold," April observed, taking another big bite.

"I forgot I had them once I found the package."

"It's okay. Kewpies are fascinating," April said, one cheek bulging. "In the early 1900s, women would pluck their eyebrows to imitate Kewpie brows. Kind of like surprised dots. That's how popular the dolls were."

Gretchen chewed but couldn't taste the burger. All she could think about was what they would find inside the doll.

"You look white as a ghost," April said.

"I don't want to open the dog. I don't want anything to do with this series of murders and packages. It gives me the creeps to think that someone is watching me."

"You have to face your fears."

"Easy for you to say. You aren't the target."

"I still have that hammer in the car," April said. "Want me to get it?"

"No, we can use my tools in the workshop."

"Are you going to eat that other one?" April seized the last green chile burger in one hand and the Doodle Dog in the other and followed Gretchen into the workshop. Wobbles appeared from nowhere, as usual, stretched himself long and lean, then rubbed against Gretchen's legs. She stopped to give him just enough love and attention to hear his satisfied, deep-throated purr.

She missed Nimrod and wondered when Nina would return with him. A few months ago she would never have believed that she could adapt to a dog in the house. She wasn't exactly canine friendly, preferring the solitary company of Wobbles to any yappy, attention-seeking dog. But there was something about the