Dolly Departed - By Deb Baker Page 0,10

trying," Gretchen said. After a few days of nothing but submarine sandwiches, April would be so tired of them she'd stop eating altogether and start losing weight.

"At least I have one supporter in this group," April huffed.

"Get ready for a ten-second count," the mechanical voice said. The women stopped exercising and pressed fingers against their necks and wrists.

"Sounds like Charlie and Sara shared a love of miniatures," Gretchen said, turning the conversation back to the miniature shop owner's death.

"Charlie really loved her sister." April left the circle and sat down in a chair. "My heart rate is over the chart. I need a rest." She slung an arm over the back of the chair. "Charlie always thought Sara had been murdered, but she couldn't prove it. Charlie wouldn't stop talking about it. When she wasn't working at the shop, she was investigating Sara's death."

"What did the police say?" Gretchen asked. "Surely they would have looked into her claim."

April dug her reading glasses out of her pocket and perched them on the end of her nose. She looked at Gretchen over the top of the lenses. "Nothing came of it."

"The police are investigating as though Charlie's death could be murder," Gretchen said, remembering last night's interrogations and the technical equipment used at the scene. Bonnie perked up. "Maybe my Matty knows something," she said. "You could call him, Gretchen. Wouldn't that be romantic?"

"Matt's with the Phoenix police," Gretchen reminded her. "Charlie died in Scottsdale, in a completely different jurisdiction."

What a break for me. The last thing she needed was Matt Albright coming around, asking her questions and sending signals her way. More than once, she'd caught him watching her with those intense, dark eyes. She had to stay away.

"Charlie probably had a heart attack," Gretchen said, hoping the doctor at the scene had been overly cautious.

"Love Potion Number Nine" came on the boombox and livened up the group. Bonnie sang along.

"Maybe we'll find out more when we go over to her shop this morning," April said. "Did you call and get permission?"

"I did," Gretchen said, still surprised at how easy it had been. Her mother had supplied the name of Charlie's only surviving brother, now an MS patient in a Florida assistedliving complex, and he had granted them access. In return, Gretchen promised to clean up the shop and send photographs of the room boxes to him.

"Permission for what?" Bonnie asked.

April stood up slowly. "We're going to restore Charlie's room boxes. Hopefully, they will be ready in time to display at her funeral." To Gretchen, she said, "I'll see you at Mini Maize at ten."

She was almost out the door when she turned. "I almost forgot the most important part of my story. Charlie was convinced that Sara had been killed because Sara always had a big supply of epinephrine on hand in case she had an emergency attack. She had prefilled injections that she could give herself. But when she died at home, all alone, there wasn't a single epi dose in the whole house."

"My," Bonnie said, eyes shining with the possibilities.

"And . . . ," April paused for dramatic effect, "the police never discovered where the deadly banana bread came from."

Gretchen parked in front of Charlie's miniature doll shop at nine thirty and sat in the car waiting for Officer Kline who, after conferring with Charlie's brother, had volunteered to meet her with a key to the store. She had asked Nina and April to meet her at Mini Maize at ten o'clock to begin their restoration work. Gretchen wanted to talk to the officer, settle in, and make a few quiet observations before her band of merry women arrived with all their accompanying bells and whistles. While she waited, she gazed at Nimrod, asleep on the seat next to her. She couldn't imagine life without him. Her opinion of dogs had changed for the better over time, thanks to Nina, who had pressured her into taking Nimrod when his former owner abandoned him. And the feline Wobbles tolerated the fur ball, which was uncharacteristic of the sinewy tomcat.

A blue Chevy pulled up behind Gretchen's car, and she groaned when she looked through her rearview mirror and saw who it was.

Just great.

She'd been avoiding Matt Albright lately for several very good reasons. Aside from her own mixed-up feelings for him, Matt's wacko, estranged wife Kayla was capable of just about anything.

And here they were, together, out in the open. Gretchen stuffed a groggy Nimrod in her purse and got