Dolly Departed - By Deb Baker Page 0,8

earlier in the day. From her position, she could even see where Charlie Maize's body had been found. Then she saw movement. A woman came out of the back room and approached the counter. With her back to Gretchen, she straightened a stack of magazines on the countertop.

Gretchen tapped on the window to get her attention. The woman's head snapped around. Gretchen motioned to the door. The woman met her there and unlocked it. As she stuck her head out, Gretchen could see the wariness in her eyes. "The shop is closed."

"I know. I'm Gretchen Birch. I was here this morning when Charlie's body was discovered. I wanted to come by." That sounded foolish. Why had she come to the shop?

"I was her best friend," the woman said without opening the door any wider. "I'm Britt Gleeland. I made most of the miniature dolls on display in the shop."

"I'm surprised I haven't met you before."

"I'm not a member of the Phoenix Dollers."

Gretchen knew that there were two distinct doll groups: doll collectors and miniaturists. They each had their own clubs and shows, so it wasn't unusual that she hadn't met Charlie's friend before. Of course, there were always crossovers like April, who loved all aspects of the doll world.

"I'm sorry for your loss." Gretchen said.

"Thank you." Britt Gleeland had dark hair in a tightly rolled French twist with a fringe of long bangs. She was about forty-five years old and wore a crisp white blouse, dark skirt, and businesslike heels that matched the professional expression on her face.

"Can I come in?" Gretchen asked.

"It's not a good time."

"I won't keep you long." Gretchen couldn't believe how quickly the police had wrapped up their work at the shop. How long had it been? Less than twelve hours?

"Very well," Britt said, reluctantly standing back. Gretchen moved past her and noticed a shopping bag on the floor next to the counter.

"I'm collecting some of my dolls," Britt said. "Charlie had them on consignment, so they belong to me. I don't know what's going to happen to the shop now that she's gone, and I was concerned about retrieving them."

"I hope you left the display pieces."

"Why?"

"My mother will be restoring the display case and would like everything to be just as it was. Please don't remove anything just yet."

"I didn't hear anything about that," Britt said. "But it doesn't matter. I've only gathered up the dolls that Charlie had on consignment." Britt squatted and picked up a room box. "I don't know what I'll do without a best friend. They take years to acquire." She glanced up, her eyes teary. Acquire? What an odd thing to say. It sounded like she was talking about a doll collection rather than a human relationship.

"Charlie sent me an invitation to attend a party after the parade," Gretchen said. "Do you know what we were celebrating exactly?"

Britt rose and shrugged. "She liked to invite people to the shop, hoping they'd make purchases. And she'd been working on a new display she wanted to show. I had a migraine this morning, or I would have been here when it happened. I might have been able to save her."

Gretchen walked over to the display case on the floor. The display case had wooden partitions, each with slightly larger dimensions than the room boxes.

The case was surprisingly light. She righted it, then saw an inscription on a small metal plaque attached to the top. In memory of Sara Bellingmore.

"Who's Sara?" Gretchen asked.

"Charlie's younger sister," Britt said, running her fingers over the letters. Gretchen retrieved one of the room boxes and tucked it into a display panel. It fit perfectly. "The room boxes must have been in the window," Gretchen guessed, noticing a red table covering in a heap near the window. "That's why the area around the window is empty now."

"Yes," Britt said rather stiffly.

Wasn't it unusual that the authorities would open up Charlie's shop so soon after Charlie's death? Wouldn't they want to keep people out? "Did the police give you permission to come in and take the dolls?" Gretchen asked.

"Of course. Officer--now what was his name?"

"Kline?"

"That's it."

"You have your own key?"

"We were best friends." Britt started to bristle. "You have no authority to question me. You're acting like I did something wrong. I'd like to see proof that you have permission to be here."

"I didn't mean to imply--"

"I have to ask you to leave now." Britt escorted Gretchen and her travel companion, Nimrod, out of Mini Maize. Gretchen joined her