Dolly Departed - By Deb Baker Page 0,22

door locked and won't let anyone in."

"Great." Gretchen bent over the German doll, and a few minutes later she heard the door slam.

Quiet at last. Sometimes she wondered why she became so claustrophobic when she was around other people for any length of time. No one else seemed to have that problem. Nina, for example, thrived on hordes of humanity; the thicker the brew, the better.

Gretchen looked longingly out the window at Camelback Mountain. She was too busy for a hike up the mountain, but she needed fresh air and Arizona wildlife to maintain her equilibrium. She felt the stress building. Repairing dolls was another perfect escape from the crowded planet. Dolls didn't talk back. No complaining, no arguing, no whining. She placed the basket case doll on the worktable and picked up Charlie's penny doll again. She had used small stringing elastic and her tiniest stringing hook to attach a new arm. It looked good as new.

Gretchen tackled the German dolly face doll, which needed an eye repair. This one had glass sleep eyes with hair eyelashes. When Gretchen laid the doll on its back, the eyes remained open instead of closing as they should. She removed the head from the body, lifted the wig, then washed the doll's head and cleaned the eye-rocker unit. Time seemed to stand still while she immersed herself in her work. The doorbell rang, bringing Gretchen back to the present. She glanced at the clock and was surprised to see that more than an hour had gone by since Nina had left for Charlie's shop.

Nimrod flew out of his bed and shot for the door, barking a shrill warning.

"I heard it, too," Gretchen called out to him. "You're supposed to warn me before the fact, not after."

As she walked down the hall, Wobbles slid around the corner, intently watching the commotion.

"Bernard Waites," said an old man when Gretchen opened the door. He looked vaguely familiar. He held out a small paper bag. "You left this at Mini Maize on Saturday."

She took the offered bag and used her foot to gently keep Nimrod from bolting through the opening in the door. She edged out, closing the door behind her, and looked inside the bag. "My checkbook," she said. "Where did you find it?"

"Right by the entrance. You must have dropped it when you left."

She remembered digging through her purse before she left the Scottsdale shop. It must have fallen out, and she hadn't noticed. "Please come in." Gretchen moved to open the door.

"No, I don't want to come in," he said, gruffly. "I need to get going."

"You can tell how much money I have in my account by the fact that I haven't even missed my checkbook in the last four days," Gretchen said, realizing he must have seen her balance. She would have peeked if she had found a lost checkbook. Her bank balance wasn't much to look at, slightly embarrassing.

Bernard gave her a hint of a smile, like he wasn't listening. "I found your address on the checks," he said. The old man wasn't any too steady on his feet. Brown suspenders, a full head of white hair, and a long white mustache. He looked kindly but crotchety. "Shame about Charlie," he said.

"I saw you at the shop on Saturday. You were the one who opened the door and let everyone in."

"The police didn't like that one bit."

"Yes, I know."

"I made all the dollhouses in that shop," he said. "Last year I won Phoenix's Best Dollhouse Design award for the Victorian dollhouse on the shelf above the counter. It's not for sale, only for show. I'm keeping it."

"That's wonderful, a very prestigious award. I'll have to take a look at it when I go back to the shop."

His car was parked in the driveway, a white Ford pickup truck. Worn out, like the man before her. Bent and dented, the outer layer of paint peeling away, lumber in the back of the bed, poking over the top of the tailgate.

"What will happen to Mini Maize now?" Gretchen asked. "With Charlie and her sister dead, will the shop close up for good?"

"It could continue on," Bernard said. "Sara used to make most of the miniature dolls in the shop. When she passed, Britt Gleeland picked up the slack. Life goes on no matter what. Everybody thinks they're indispensable, but no one really is." He turned his head and looked out at the street. "I've been thinking about taking it over myself. Half of