Death by Devil's Breath (23 page)

“The dolls are gone!” I told Nick.

At my side, he, too, peered into the trunk. “Unless they were never there to begin with.”

“Are you saying—”

“Come on, Maxie, you did get hit on the head.” He put a hand on my arm. “Maybe you’re mixing up some memory you have of dolls you had as a kid with what really happened.”

“No!” I swatted his hand away. “No, no, no! First of all, I didn’t have any dolls when I was a kid. Does that surprise you? It shouldn’t. Something tells me you’d be the first to admit I don’t have a warm and fuzzy bone in my body. And second of all . . . I saw the dolls. Of course I saw the dolls. The dolls were what I was looking for when I came in here. And they were there!” I poked a finger toward the trunk. “I saw them. All those big felt eyes and the little mouths and the stuffed arms and legs and—”

“And so somebody conked you on the head and knocked you out. Then they took the dolls out of the trunk so they could put you in it. And the dolls are . . .” Nick scanned the storeroom. “Where?”

Getting my thoughts in line, I bit my lower lip. “The dolls aren’t here. Don’t you get it? The person who conked me on the head took the dolls!”

“This person assaulted you so he could take a bunch of dolls?”

I decided to play it cool, and before Nick noticed that my knees were Silly Putty, I went back over to the chair and plunked down. “Not just a bunch of dolls. Noreen Pennybaker’s dolls. That’s what this whole thing is about.”

I didn’t bother to wait for him to ask me to explain. “It’s like this,” I told Nick. “Noreen Pennybaker was Dickie Dunkin’s mother, right? Well, of course it’s right. That’s what it said in Dickie’s obituary. It said his mother’s name was Noreen Pennybaker. And Noreen, she’s famous in doll-collecting circles for making these really adorable—” I cleared my throat and gathered my wits and remembered what I’d told Nick just a minute earlier: I didn’t have a warm and fuzzy bone in my body. No use making myself sound like a liar.

“Well, some people think they’re adorable,” I said. “Doll collectors and such. These dolls, see, they’re kind of cute, and Noreen hand-made every one and then she embroidered her name and the doll’s name on the inside of the doll’s dress. And George Jarret, he’s selling one of the dolls at the doll show at the hotel across the street.”

Surprise, surprise, Nick hadn’t stopped me with any lame questions. Now, his arms crossed over his chest, he leaned back against the nearest metal shelf. “Go on.”

“So I thought it was kind of fishy, because Jarret’s the one who was hanging around Dickie’s dressing room on the night of the murder, and when I asked him what he wanted, he said he was a fan and was just looking for Dickie so he could get an autographed picture. Yeah, like he hadn’t heard the news that Dickie was dead. But then the other night, he was back here at Creosote Cal’s and that’s when he broke into the dressing room and—”

“And you know this how?”

Since I knew he wouldn’t like the answer, I took a couple moments to reapply the ice pack to the back of my head and hoped Nick would be so busy feeling sorry for me, he wouldn’t have any time to get mad. “I followed him, of course,” I said. “When I saw him in the hotel. Jarret went into Dickie’s dressing room and he was in there about ten minutes. When he came out again, he had some autographed pictures of Dickie. If you don’t believe me, take a stroll across the street. Jarret’s selling the pictures as collector’s items. You know, on account of how Dickie was murdered and now he figures everyone’s going to want Dickie memorabilia.”

“So this Jarret character—”

“Has one of Noreen Pennybaker’s dolls. And he’s selling it for seven hundred and fifty dollars, if you can believe that. And he’s passing it off as the only one of her dolls still in existence, but I know that’s not true.”

“Because you saw this trunk filled with the dolls.”

“Well, yeah, because of that, and because Linda Love has one of the dolls in her office. See, that’s why I noticed the one Jarret’s selling—Honey Bunch, that’s her name—in the first place. Because when I went to the Love Chapel and talked to Reverend Love, I saw a doll just like it in her office. Tout Sweet. That’s the name of Reverend Love’s doll. And that’s what I was thinking, you know, that maybe Jarret, being a doll collector and a doll dealer, he wasn’t really lurking around Dickie’s dressing room because he wanted some autographed pictures. He was in there ten minutes, Nick, and it doesn’t take ten minutes to grab some pictures from Dickie’s dressing table. The pictures were just a bonus and a way for Jarret to make a quick buck. He was really in there looking for something else.”

“The dolls.”

I nodded, then regretted it. A drum line rhythm started up inside my forehead. “Jarret told me that if there were more dolls, they’d be worth a fortune because some collector would buy all of them and he could charge out the wazoo for them.”

“Then the dolls . . .” As if trying to get his bearings, Nick glanced around the storeroom. “But if Jarret was looking for the dolls, why was he looking in here?”

“He wasn’t. I was looking in here. Because I knew the dolls weren’t in the dressing room.”

“Because you’ve already looked around Dickie’s dressing room.”

“Maybe.” How’s that for a great way to dodge? “But then I got to thinking about how long Jarret was in the dressing room and how maybe the pictures weren’t what he was looking for. And I remembered that Hermosa told me that Dickie’s stuff was stored in here. You know, on account of how the lease on his apartment was up last week and he was moving in with Hermosa. His dressing room was too small to hold all his stuff, so that’s why they tucked it in here. You know, until they had time to move it all. And I thought, if Dickie did have some of his mother’s dolls—”

“This is where they would be. With all the other stuff he moved out of his apartment.”

I knew better than to try another nod.

Nick scraped his hands over his face. “So let me get this straight. You think this doll collector guy—”

“George Jarret.”

“You think George Jarret stole the dolls that belonged to Dickie Dunkin and were made by Dickie’s mother.”

“Well, the fact that they’re not here proves that,” I pointed out even though I shouldn’t have had to. “But that’s not all I’m saying, Nick. I think Jarret killed Dickie. You know, to get the dolls.”

Nick considered this. “Did you see him at the Devil’s Breath contest?” he asked.

I had to admit I hadn’t. “But he could have been in the audience,” I told him. “You know, one of the people who was waiting to sample the chili.”

“So how do you think he got the poison into Dickie’s chili?”

I threw my hands in the air. “Don’t ask me! That’s what you cop types are supposed to figure out. But I do know he wanted those dolls and he wanted them bad, and now they’re gone. And I know something else, Nick. I know how we can prove he really has them.”

I guess Nick had learned a thing or two in the time I’d known him. Rather than tell me I was crazy, he actually shut up long enough for me to explain what I had in mind.

*   *   *

I would have liked to think that Sylvia was our likeliest ally, but hey, although I’d been clunked on the head, I wasn’t completely out of my mind. Since I knew Sylvia would give me a song and dance about how she had to work at the Palace and how I should be helping out instead of playing around and how, if I knew better, I wouldn’t get myself mixed up in things that didn’t concern me and blah, blah, blah . . .

Well, I didn’t even bother to ask her.

Instead, I went to the most logical choice, a person George Jarret wouldn’t recognize, and if he did, one he’d never suspect was helping me out.

“You got it?” I asked Bernadette, and not for the first time. “You understand exactly what you’re supposed to do?”

“All except for this silly thing.” When she looked down at my phone, she made a face. “How am I supposed to carry this around and not look obvious?”

For the third time since I explained my plan to her, I took the phone away from where Bernadette was carrying it—screen out and right at her waist—and pressed it into her hand. “It’s not like it’s a flashlight or anything. You don’t have to point it at Jarret. Just keep it in your hand. And when you stop to look at the doll, prop it against one of the other dolls. I’ve got the app loaded and all set to go. I’m going to be watching you from . . .” Since I’d given Bernadette my smartphone to use, I was going to be using Nick’s to keep an eye on her. I showed her the phone. “We’ll be able to see you and hear everything,” I reminded her.

“All right. Good.” She drew in a long breath, then let it out slowly. “It’s not that I’m a relic or anything, but this new technology . . .” Bernadette gave the phone a funny look, but this time when she was done, she kept it in her hand, just like I’d told her to.

“And don’t forget . . .” Leave it to Nick to be in charge of the last-minute instructions. “You’re not trying to talk Jarret into anything. Or get him to admit anything. We’re not trying to trap the guy. We just want to find out about the dolls.”

“The dolls. Right.” Another breath, and Bernadette threw back her shoulders. She glanced at me. “You’re sure about this?” she asked.

“I’m sure we need to find out what Jarret’s up to, and I know he’s not going to talk to me.”

“But . . .” Bernadette laid a hand on my arm. “Me? I don’t understand why—”

Honestly, I didn’t, either, so why bother to try to explain? I only knew that I felt like I owed Bernadette something. I couldn’t give her the time she wanted with Jack, but I could try and be friendly. And if being friendly helped me solve a murder?

I grinned and shooed Bernadette across the hotel lobby toward the room where the doll collectors had set up shop. “Nick and I will be in the bar,” I told her with a look over my shoulder to the corner booth Nick had snagged for us. “We’ll be watching everything.”

I sat down across from Nick and put his phone on the table between us. I have to say, when I thought of the phone app as a way to follow Bernadette and hear what Jarret had to say, I thought it was a stroke of genius. Now I wasn’t so sure.

I bent closer to the phone and pointed. “What’s that—”

“It’s Bernadette’s hand.” Nick nudged me back on my side of the table so he could see the phone, too. “This isn’t going to work.”

“I told her to—” Bernadette shifted the phone in her hand and I saw Jarret’s face flash across the screen. “She’s there. She’s at his booth,” I told Nick.

Who immediately told me to shut up so he could hear.

“It’s a great doll,” Bernadette said, admiring Honey Bunch, just like I’d told her to. “A Noreen Pennybaker, right?”

The way she was holding the phone, I couldn’t see Jarret’s face, but I did see him rub his hands together like he smelled a sale.

“The only one in the world,” he said. “Valuable. Memorable. Distinctive. Honey Bunch here is sure to be the centerpiece of any serious doll lover’s collection. Are you a serious doll lover, miss?”

“Well, I know what I like.”

“That’s good,” I whispered and pointed to the phone. “She’s doing a good job.”

When Bernadette put the phone on the table, the scene jumped. The next thing I knew, we were watching her take a close look at Honey Bunch.

“She’s adorable,” Bernadette said. “I only wish . . .” She put a hand to her heart and sighed.

“Really?” I sat back. “That’s a little over dramatic, don’t you think?”

“Shh.” Nick watched the screen.

“What I’d really like,” Noreen said, “is an entire collection of Noreen Pennybaker dolls. Oh, I know what you’re going to tell me, they’re rare. And valuable. But I’ve come into some money, you see, and I can’t think of a better way to invest it than in dolls that I know will retain their value. If you had more of these . . .”

The way the phone was set down, I couldn’t see Jarret’s face, but I could hear him just fine. “If only!”

I curled my hands into fists. “He’s a lying sack of—”

“Maxie!” I hadn’t even realized I’d gotten out of my seat until Nick’s hand came down over mine, but by that time, it was too late. My head still ringing from the conk I’d taken just a few hours before, and fed up with beating around the bush, I marched out of the bar and across the hall. I was at Jarret’s booth and up in his face before Bernadette realized what was going on, and long before Nick had a chance to catch up to me.

“That’s a lie and you know it,” I said to Jarret.

Looking back on the incident, I could understand his blank stare, but at the time, all it did was send my anger into the stratosphere.

I plucked my phone off the table and waved it in Jarret’s face. “We saw the whole thing. We heard you lie about the dolls. You know there are more of them. Dickie had them.”

Spots of color rose in Jarret’s cheeks. “Not in his—”

“Dressing room? Is that what you were going to say? See!” I turned to where Nick stood behind me, his fists on his hips. “I told you that’s what he was doing in Dickie’s dressing room. He was looking for the dolls.”

“Because Dickie said he’d sell them to me.” I guess Jarret thought I wasn’t going to listen because he addressed this particularly interesting comment to Nick. “I found out Dickie Dunkin was in Vegas and I knew he was Noreen Pennybaker’s son. I contacted him and he said there were more dolls. He said he had them and that he’d sell them to me. He gave me this one . . .” He looked at Honey Bunch. “He gave me this one to prove it. But then he was murdered and—”

“And you decided to steal the rest of the dolls.”

“No!” Jarret stomped one foot. “Who are you anyway?” he asked me. “And why are you harassing me? I’m going to call hotel security, that’s what I’m going to do, and I’m going to tell them to call the police. You people—”

“Are just leaving.” Nick grabbed my arm and dragged me out of the ballroom. We didn’t have to worry about Bernadette. Sometime while I’d been having my mini-smackdown with Jarret, she’d vamoosed.

“What did you do that for?” I jerked out of Nick’s hold. “He was just talking about the dolls. He was just going to say something useful. I know he was.”

Nick pointed across the lobby toward a man I’d never seen before. He gave Nick a nod, then moved toward the elevators.