Dolly Departed - By Deb Baker Page 0,70

things. No more sharing."

"You mean I need two purses now?" This wasn't good. Soon she would have as much to tote as Nina. Gretchen preferred being as unencumbered as possible.

"Of course," April piped up, feeding a doggie cookie to Enrico. "That's the whole point."

The white cotton purse with the embroidered black poodles had also been a gift from Nina. For the last few months she had carried all her belongings in it as well as Nimrod, so it was looking a little worn. "I think I'll buy a purse to match Nimrod's," she said. "Something small and black."

"After that," Nina announced, handing Gretchen her new puppy carrier, "I have a surprise. We're going over to Britt's house for coffee. She invited me, but I thought it would be fun to take you both along. She won't mind."

April clapped her hands in glee. "Oh, goody. I want to start making my own dolls. Britt's going to help me get started. This is exciting."

"Shouldn't you call her and ask if you can bring guests?" Gretchen asked. "We can't just barge in."

"Sure we can," Nina said. "Besides, we're investigating kitchens, and we haven't seen hers yet."

"That Maize kid did it," April said with conviction. "End of story."

"I'm not so sure," Gretchen said. "But I'm really through traipsing around. We didn't sign on to get blown to bits. Our job was over when the window exploded and the display disintegrated."

April laughed. "She's just as dramatic as you," she said to Nina.

Nina laughed along, considering that a compliment. Gretchen glared at her friends. "And I was almost macheted to death by Bernard's wife."

"Macheted isn't a proper verb," Nina said. "But I get your drift. Some people aren't cut out for extreme adventure."

"You weren't the one facing that wacko, with no place to run."

"Trust me," Nina cooed. "We're only going to peek at Britt's kitchen while we visit. What's the harm in that?"

"If I recall correctly, you said the same thing right before Bernard's wife tried to butcher me."

"The cards were clear; the quest must continue," Nina said. "If you aren't up to it, I'll carry on without you."

"I'll help because we're friends." April said. "But the kid did it."

"I heard," Nina said, "that killers who use poison usually get away with their crimes unless they continue to poison victims. Then they start leaving trails."

"Like Arsenic Anna," Gretchen agreed. "I've been reading about her, and the psychology behind killers like her. Arsenic Anna was a psychopath, and according to what I'm reading, psychopaths aren't insane. They kill because they lack a conscience."

"That qualifies as crazy in my book," April said.

"Arsenic Anna maintained her innocence right up until the very end when they threw the switch. But she wrote letters that weren't opened until after the execution. In them, she explained how she killed those old men. Rat poison in oysters, in orange juice. She even tried to kill a woman who lived near one of her victims by poisoning an ice cream cone."

"Do you think a psychopath murdered Charlie?" Nina asked.

"I don't know," Gretchen admitted. "That's why we should stay out of it."

"Better yet," April said. "Don't accept any food or drink from anyone."

"Here poochies," Nina called. "Let's go. Should we drop you at home, Gretchen?"

Gretchen sighed, remembering that there was safety in numbers. "I'll come along."

"She's back in," April said, grinning.

* 30 *

Melany Gleeland has a truly horrible secret. It's almost bigger than she can handle by herself, which is why she has to get away from Phoenix--any way she can, by any means available.

Whatever it takes.

Melany fingers the knot of the black do-rag in her hand. Do-rags. Everybody's doing do-rags: cancer patients hiding bald heads during chemo treatments, hip-hop groups, bikers to prevent helmet head. Black is the hot color. You've seen one, you've seen them all. Her biker boyfriend wears one under his helmet. This could be his. She can't get out of this city fast enough. She hates everything about it: the brown smog that hovers over Phoenix, breathing in toxins right along with oxygen, unbelievable pollen counts, new allergies assaulting her sinus passages daily. Then there's the blinding, unrelenting heat from the sun, no shade anywhere, the weather forecasters predicting a significant change in temperature, as if a drop of four degrees is national news.

And her mother. If she doesn't leave right now, she might do something to hurt the witch. Like set her hair on fire while she's bent over her precious kiln. Give her head a blast of flammable