Dolly Departed - By Deb Baker Page 0,43

can see all the blood splatters.

She watched her mother head for the kitchen, trailed by the pint-sized puppy and Wobbles, who was trying to remain aloof but failing. Gretchen was sure her mother fed table scraps to the pets when she wasn't looking. Why else the intense devotion?

Gretchen took a quick shower and was drying her hair when her cell phone rang. The caller introduced himself as the manager from Gretchen's bank. "A courtesy call really,"

he said. "We aren't required to do this, but your mother is a good customer, and we realize you are new to our banking services."

"Is something wrong?"

"You're account is overdrawn."

"Impossible!"

"By quite a lot."

"That can't be right."

"I'm afraid it's correct."

"Well, how much?"

When he gave her the amount, she almost dropped the phone.

"Would you like to transfer funds from your savings account?"

"Yes, please," she said weakly. She'd have nothing left to her name after that transaction.

"Maybe you'd like to stop in and go over your account. You were fine until you wrote a substantial check recently."

"Who did I make it out to?"

The bank manager gave her a name. A name she knew. She'd get her money back if she had to beat it out of him dollar by dollar.

And she knew exactly where to find him.

Gretchen stomped across the street, dodging traffic, intent on the building ahead. She heard a wolf whistle behind her but refused to turn and look. Men! Sex-starved animals, chasing anyone in a halter top. She wasn't in the mood.

"Gretchen," she heard coming from the same general vicinity as the whistle. She flung around. Matt Albright bounded toward her with a big flashy white smile. Even in her anger, she appreciated his devilish good looks and replaced her scowl with a small smile. He was just the man to help her.

"I need you," Gretchen said. "Right now."

"Really?" he sounded surprised and hopeful. "I thought you were an Amazon woman, treading fearlessly through this wild jungle called life. But you need me?" He puffed his chest like a he-man.

"Not like that, Tarzan."

"We hardly know each other," he feigned shock. "But if you insist, we can go to my place."

"This is a criminal problem. You have to arrest someone."

"Oh," he pretended to deflate with disappointment.

"Who are we arresting?"

"Follow me."

She spun through the revolving doors of Saint Joseph's Hospital, inquired about a room number at the front desk, found the elevator, and punched the Up button.

"Are you going to clue me in?" Matt said when she finally came to a stop while waiting for the elevator.

"I dropped my checkbook at Mini Maize the day Charlie died. A horrible old . . ." Gretchen could hardly speak she was so upset.

"Take a deep breath. Relax."

"A horrible old man found it and returned it to me."

"Horrible? He sounds like a Good Samaritan."

"He returned it after he wrote himself a big, fat check. My bank actually paid it, even though the transaction overdrew my account. I had to use my savings to cover the overdraft. Why didn't they let it bounce? Now I've lost everything." Gretchen should have told the manager that the check had been forged. Wasn't that the right thing to do? Yet, she hesitated. Forgery was a serious offense, and he was so old. All she wanted was her money back. Turning him in would be a last resort. Matt scowled. "I still don't quite understand. The guy's in the hospital?"

The elevator arrived. Gretchen, still in the lead, pushed the floor number. "He deserved everything he got," she said, hands on hips.

"He deserved what? Please don't tell me that you put him in here?"

Gretchen gave the detective a narrow-eyed look. "Of course not. He was concocting something called bug juice, and it blew up in his face."

"I see."

She could tell he didn't see at all. "Follow me," she said.

"Don't I always?"

That gave Gretchen pause. Maybe he was always following her. When they found the hospital room, Bernard looked like an extra from the movie The Mummy. His face was completely swathed in bandages. Gretchen knew it was him by the visible mop of white hair, though his mustache was hidden by the bandages. His name on the chart at the foot of the bed helped, too.

"He's sleeping," Matt said, still sounding puzzled. "I'm really lacking enough background information to handle this properly."

"Not for long." Gretchen thumped the patient's shoulder. Bernard's eyes flew open.

"You stole my money, you old buzzard." It took all her control to keep her hands off his neck. "I want it back."

"You said