Dolly Departed (18 page)

You almost stuck your hand in his crotch. Geez
. Gretchen blushed, grateful that the darkness concealed her discomfort. He laughed and took the towel from her hand. "I won't need a cold shower now," he said.

"I'm really, really sorry."

"Come here," he said, taking her arm and pulling her down. "Make it up to me."

"How?" But she knew the answer. Wasn't she a member of a well-established psychic family?

She pressed against him. Her lips found his.

Daisy, future Hollywood star and current member of the Red Hat Society, trudges along the edges of crumbling adobe walls, pushing her shopping cart filled with all her worldly possessions: sleeping bag, bits of food, knickknacks picked out of trash bins, clothes.

Graffiti and iron grates scar what's left of this onceflourishing side of the city. The streetlights flick on. From the shadows, she looks both ways before turning sharply and slipping down an alleyway. The smell of rotting garbage doesn't bother her a bit. Why should it? She's seen and smelled far worse things than decaying waste. Like that transient last month, new to the streets, beaten until every rib was shattered, blood seeping everywhere. She smelled fear while she watched him die. That smell is worse than a few whiffs of garbage. . Well, she doesn't allow herself to think of things like that for too very long. It can drive you insane, thinking too much.

Once the talent scouts find her, she's out of Phoenix but fast.

Daisy misses Nacho, her lover and friend. Has he abandoned her for the San Francisco streets, or will he return to the desert? Her life is like a soap opera. He'll come back; he always does. At least he found her a safe place to stay while he's away. An old storage shed behind an abandoned building. Nacho even installed a lock inside the shed so she'd be protected from the elements. The human elements, that is.

The young druggies are the worst. They are far more dangerous than anything Mother Nature can throw her way. Ready to beat you and stick you in the heart with knives just to steal the smallest bit of spare change. Anything for their next fix. So many threats on the streets: gangs, crazies, cops, druggies.

She has flyers in her shopping cart, pictures of the most deadly ones, circulated by the homeless, for the homeless. Stay away from that one, the posters say: like wanted posters, only these people
aren't
wanted by Daisy and the others. Daisy is at the hub of the action, as always. She knows everything that happens on the street, and she's extremely wary. That's why she's still alive while most of her old friends are dead.

Maybe it's time to pay her good friend Gretchen a visit, clean up, sleep in a real bed, get the jitters under control. The doll repairer was a real find, her and her aunt, and all those little doggies.

But what about her career as a Hollywood star? The street is where it's happening.

Glad it isn't July. How many of her kind died last summer from exposure to extreme heat? No water, the pavement steaming at one hundred and thirty degrees, burning her feet right through her shoes. She swam in the irrigation canals to survive.

Daisy jerks her head around at a sound behind her. A moan. Coming from the Dumpster, or behind the Dumpster.

Get inside the shed and bolt the door.
She hears this in her head and knows it for what it is: good advice. But. . what if? What if it's someone in distress?

But. . what if it's Nacho?

Daisy pulls an aerosol can from her pocket. Pepper spray. She refuses to carry a concealed gun or knife. Wouldn't the cops love that? They're more interested in finding an excuse to arrest the victims than in solving all the homeless murders.

Another moan.

Leaving her shopping cart by the side of the shed, she edges along, flattened to the walls, always in the darkness, hiding from the streetlights and the rising moon. She hears another sound, but it's only a coyote in the distance.

A dark shape on the ground behind the Dumpster shifts slightly, and Daisy catches the movement. She has night eyes, cat eyes, she likes to think. Another reason she beats the odds.

The pepper spray acts as a buffer between Daisy and whoever is crumpled on the ground. She already knows it isn't Nacho.

"Help me." The whisper is so low and weak she almost misses the words.

A hand reaches out for her, and she sees who it is. The man writhing in pain is Ryan Maize.

Gretchen overslept and almost missed her workout group at Curves. She rushed through the house, throwing on exercise garb as she went. "I fed Wobbles and Nimrod," her mother said, ready to go and holding out Gretchen's purse and a cup of coffee. "You needed the extra sleep."

When Gretchen and her mother arrived at Curves, most of the doll club members were in full throttle on the machines. "He's missing," Bonnie said in a stage whisper when Gretchen jumped onto the abductor. "Born to Be Wild"

boomed from an overhead speaker.

"Who's missing?" Gretchen asked.

"Ryan Maize, that's who." Bonnie's feet did a tiny tap dance on the platform. Her red wig had extra starch today, every hair shellacked into place. "Matty knows Charlie's son tried to blow up you girls. Witnesses identified Ryan from pictures, but the police can't find him. He's not at that drug house."

"The do-rag did him in," April said, stomping up and down on the stepper. "He should have disguised himself better if he was going to pull a stunt like that. He could have killed us. Then it would have been murder one instead of attempted murder."

"Matty will get him; don't you worry."

"That poor drugged-out kid," Gretchen said, shaking her head.

April grunted. "First he knocks you out," she gasped, sweating profusely. "Then he tries to blow us up. And you feel sorry for him? I don't. If I get my hands on that little punk, I'll squeeze his scrawny neck until his eyes pop. He made me ruin my best dress."

"Change stations now," a preprogrammed voice announced. The circle of flab fighters moved to the left.

"You're lucky that's all he ruined," Caroline said. "It could have been so much worse."

"He demolished Charlie's shop," April said. "It's a mess."

Gretchen decided to pursue the idea she had explored with Matt.
That's not all we explored,
she thought with a hidden grin before saying, "The walls of one of the room boxes were covered with wallpaper. If I describe the design to you, maybe one of you will know who it belongs to."

"Is this a clue to the killer?" Rita, the Barbie collector, asked.

"Maybe." Gretchen ran in place while she considered how much to share with the group.

"Tell us, tell us," Bonnie said, licking her lips in anticipation.

"The wallpaper was tan, and it had an apple and teapot border."

Bonnie looked thoughtful. Her penciled brows edged closer together, and her red lips puckered.

As she often did when spending time with Bonnie, Gretchen tried hard to find any family resemblance between the woman next to her and the hunky police detective, but she couldn't find a trace of physical evidence that established their genome connection.

"I don't know anyone with wallpaper like that," Rita said.

"We'll keep an eye out," Bonnie said with a crafty expression. The doll club president was a woman on a new mission.

Gretchen would take any help she could get. She was determined to find that kitchen. Someone had tried to hurt her and her friends. What was that person planning next?

Gretchen's life, or someone's close to her, might depend on moving quickly.

"Where's Nina?" Gretchen asked after watching the door for her aunt's arrival.

"She came in early and left already," Ora, the manager, called out. "Something about breakfast with a new friend."

"Britt," Gretchen and April said simultaneously.

"She thinks you are crowding her out," Rita said to Gretchen.

"Out of what?" April asked.

"Change stations now." Everyone moved in unison.

"The threesome," Bonnie said. "Threes don't work. Everybody knows that."

Gretchen didn't have to pretend to be confused.

"What?"

"I get it," April said, looking at Gretchen. "She thought of you as her best friend. Then I came along. She feels displaced."

"That's ridiculous," Gretchen said. "She's my aunt, and I love her."

"Maybe you should tell her that," Susie of the Madame Alexander collection said.

"I will. But I thought everything was back to normal."

"Apparently not in Nina's eyes," Caroline said. "I haven't been around much to give her attention. She counts on you."

"Change stations now."

"How's your submarine sandwich diet going?" Rita asked April from the abductor.

April beamed. "I was measured this morning, and I lost three inches."

Ora piped up, "That diet will kill you."

April twisted from side to side on a platform, swinging her arms like clubs. "To tell you the truth, I can't stand the thought of eating another sub."

"See," Ora scolded. "Next you'll starve to death. What kind of a diet is that! You should get into my diet class. Curves teaches you to eat small portions of a lot of different things."

"We'll see," April said, but Gretchen thought her resolve was slipping. Ora might win.

"Tell us about that one room box," Bonnie said. "April said it was the Lizzie Borden murders."

"I researched the murders on the Internet this morning,"

Caroline said. "It's called parricide when parents are murdered by a child. Except Lizzie was tried and acquitted. Her father was sleeping on a sofa, and her mother was found on the floor in the guest bedroom. Each had sustained multiple blows to the head with a hatchetlike instrument. After viewing photographs on multiple Web sites, I can tell you that Charlie replicated the scene right down to the color of the mohair sofa."

"And we found dolls," April said, "that looked like murder victims."

"Gretchen brought the dolls home," Caroline added.

"One of the male dolls wore a morning coat like the man in the online photographs. One of the female dolls wore a white dress, exactly like the dead Borden woman."

"And," Gretchen added, recalling the smashed-up dolls,

"both dolls had bashed-in heads."

After Gretchen showered, she found Nina and Caroline in the doll repair workshop showing Britt Gleeland some of the work in progress.

Britt greeted her more warmly than she had in the past. Gretchen still had her own reservations about the miniature doll maker. First impressions really were hard to change if they started out wrong.

Nina motioned toward the kitchen, and while Caroline and Britt talked shop, Gretchen followed her aunt.

"I think you saw Matt last night," Nina said slyly, pouring a coffee refill for herself.

"Mom told you."

"She did not."

Gretchen thought of their intimate scene on the patio. She remembered every last detail. "He's a great kisser,"

she said, unable to contain herself any longer. Nina squealed impulsively, then quickly lowered her voice so the others wouldn't hear. "I knew it. Today my antennas are receiving at peak performance. I have to confess, my aura abilities have been misfiring lately, but I'm back on track." She squealed again. "I just knew it."

"Don't get too excited. It was only one little kiss."

Gretchen smiled at Nina. "Or maybe two."

"I won't tell a soul," Nina promised. "My advice is to lay claim to that man as soon as possible. Other women look at him like hungry she-cats. Look what he does to April!"

"Is it a mistake to get involved with him?" Gretchen chewed the inside of her cheek. "He's still married."

"You have the color of love surrounding you. You're positively pink. See what love does?"

"Whoa. Back off. You're moving way too fast. Are you listening to anything I just said?"

"No, I'm not. I'm tickled as pink as you are."

Gretchen appraised Tickled Pink, who actually was wearing pink silk pants and a matching pink top. Nina sat down next to Gretchen at the kitchen table.

"Thanks for telling me about Matt." She gave Gretchen a shy look.

Her aunt had given her the perfect opening. "You know, Nina, I really like April. She offered her friendship to me when I moved to Phoenix, when I didn't know anybody other than you. She made me feel welcome."

"That's right. She did. But then she took over, and all of a sudden, there she was, all the time. I think you prefer her company over mine."

"That isn't true at all. I love you."

"As a relative." Nina managed to make her voice sound dejected.

"No! I love you as a friend. You are absolutely my very best friend."

"Really?"

"Really," Gretchen assured her. "What about Britt? You seem to have found a new friend in her."

"She's really nice. Don't be mad, but I started out being friendly with her to make you jealous."

Gretchen knew exactly what to say next. "Well, it worked. I thought you'd abandoned me."

"Never, dear. We're adults, and I like Britt. You and I should be able to handle other people in other lives without letting it affect our friendship."

Gretchen nodded.
Finally! Great words of wisdom.

"There you are." Caroline led Britt into the kitchen and offered her a seat and a cup of coffee. Britt held the box of dolls in her hands. "We were talking about the dolls," Caroline said, pouring coffee, "and thought you'd like to be part of the conversation."

Britt's face was flushed when she said, "I don't understand who would do this to my dolls. Surely not Charlie."

"She created the room boxes," Gretchen replied. "And at least two of them are murder scenes, the one we've identified as Lizzie Borden's home and another one of a backyard where there's blood on the ground and on the steps leading into the building."