Dolly Departed Part 20

"Jack the Ripper's second victim was killed at that address," Gretchen said, not sure whether to be proud of her sleuthing abilities or saddened by Charlie's obsession.

"Look! The dilapidated backyard."

Without a word of explanation, Caroline hurried from the room. Gretchen was about to go after her to see if she had broken down in tears and needed comforting, but she returned as quickly as she left. And she had Britt's dolls in her hands. "This must be the one." She selected the slashed woman. "And the b.l.o.o.d.y knife must be part of that display."

Gretchen keyed in another address, the one on Elm Street. "a.r.s.enic Anna."

"I'm not familiar with that murder," Caroline said. "Although I've heard the name."

Gretchen read aloud. "In the 1930s, a woman namedAnna Marie Hahn posed as a nurse as a way to care for wealthy, elderly men, who had no living relatives. Each of them died from a.r.s.enic poisoning. Four in all before she was captured and convicted."

"That's horrible," Caroline said. "And explains the facial features on the male doll. Death by poison."

Again Gretchen entered a street name. De Russey's Lane.

"The Hall-Mills murders," Caroline read over Gretchen's shoulder. "An Episcopal priest and a choir girl were found dead under a crab apple tree. Both had been shot in the head. Torn-up letters were found between them."

"The ripped pieces of paper we put in the unknown pile," Gretchen said.

Caroline held up two more dolls while she read the victims' descriptions. "Eleanor Mills wore a blue dress with red polka dots and black stockings."

The doll was dressed exactly as the description of the poor murdered girl.

"A blue velvet hat lay beside her."

"Another unknown piece placed." Gretchen remembered the little hat. Charlie created four room boxes to represent famous murder scenes. Why would she do that? What did she hope to accomplish by inviting guests to view such horror?

"What do these murders have in common?" Caroline asked, puzzled. "How did she pick her settings? Jack the Ripper and Lizzie Borden are very famous murders. a.r.s.enic Anna not quite as well known, and I've never heard of the Hall-Mills murders."

"Let me check each one again." Gretchen did additional searches to read the cases more thoroughly. Caroline worked on a cracked bisque doll at the worktable. Nimrod dozed on the floor, while Wobbles graced them with his presence for a few minutes, licking his coat.

"I've got it!" Gretchen shouted, startling both animals.

"Charlie chose unsolved murders--Lizzie Borden was acquitted, Jack the Ripper was never identified, and the priest and choir girl's murderer was never found."

"And a.r.s.enic Anna?" Caroline asked.

"Was electrocuted for her crimes. But she was the only one who used poison. Maybe Nina's right," Gretchen said.

"She thought the kitchen was very important."

It was time to take a peek at a few kitchens. But Gretchen didn't say it out loud.

Bernard Waites lived on Twelfth Street in a brick ranch with white wood trim.

"That's his truck in the carport," Gretchen said. "He was driving it the day he came to return my checkbook."

She noted that the sun was rapidly setting and checked her watch. A little after five o'clock.

Nina stopped the car across the street. "Why did he steal a check, then cash it and return the checkbook? Wouldn't he have been better off just keeping your checkbook or throwing it away?"

"He claimed he was borrowing the money and was going to return it to my account before I noticed."

"He decided to take out a loan?" Nina shook her head.

"Is the entire world crazy?"

"Looks that way."

"What if he's home from the hospital?"

"He isn't. I called the hospital. He's still there."

Nina swung her head toward the house. "What's the plan?"

"I thought you might have one."

"Search his house and take a look at the kitchen."

"Let's go."

Nina tipped her head toward the backseat. "I'm the puppy sitter. You're the investigator."

"You're making this up as you go."

"You bet."

"Mom will kill me if she finds out what we're doing."

"I'm not going to tell her."

There wasn't any sign of activity at the house. Bernard had taken an ambulance ride after the bug juice blew up, which accounted for the parked truck. All Gretchen had to do was slip around to the back of the house and peek through the kitchen window. How hard could that be?

"Okay," she said. "I'm not breaking and entering, but I'll look in the window. That's all."

Nina nodded in approval. "How hard can it be?" she said, echoing what Gretchen was thinking. Her aunt was starting to scare her. Maybe there really was something to all her quirky psychic beliefs. No. Impossible. No. Impossible. Gretchen opened the car door, eased it closed, and trotted across the street. She had forgotten about Phoenix's pa.s.sion for privacy walls. No one in the enormous desert community wanted snoopy neighbors spying on them, so they built walls to keep them out. Walls also kept snakes and wild animals from appearing on doorsteps. Gretchen opened the car door, eased it closed, and trotted across the street. She had forgotten about Phoenix's pa.s.sion for privacy walls. No one in the enormous desert community wanted snoopy neighbors spying on them, so they built walls to keep them out. Walls also kept snakes and wild animals from appearing on doorsteps.

Bernard's property wasn't any different than that of the rest of the populace. His privacy wall was made of concrete. Gretchen trotted back to the Impala. "I can't get over the wall. You'll have to give me a boost."

Nina rolled her eyes in mock exasperation. "The things I have to do in the name of family and friends.h.i.+p."

"How am I going to get out once I'm in?"

"There must be a gate on the other side," Nina said.

"Every backyard has a gate."

They crept along the outside of the wall. Gretchen stuck afoot in Nina's cupped hands, scaled up the side of the wall, and peered over the top. The coast was clear. She swung a leg up, scooted on her belly, and carefully edged the other leg over. She dropped to the ground on the other side. The backyard looked like a lumber yard, only not as tidy. Piles of wood and cast-off remnants of lumber were scattered along the side of the wall where Gretchen crouched. Near the house, she saw a small wrought-iron table and four chairs. A vase filled with mixed flowers was in the middle of the table.

Gretchen mustered up her courage and strode boldly to a window on the right side of the table. She peered inside, shading her eyes with her hand for a better view. And came nose to nose with an old woman on the other side of the gla.s.s. The woman had a face like a Cabbage Patch Kid.

Gretchen stifled a startled yelp.

The woman, however, let out a bone-chilling scream. It sounded more like a war cry than a fearful reaction. The vase of flowers on the outdoor table should have clued Gretchen in. How careless could she be? Bernard Waites, the cranky thief, had a wife.

Since Gretchen was already in position, she took a moment to look past the woman and get a good look at the kitchen. She strained to make out the kitchen walls. The woman on the other side of the gla.s.s got Gretchen's total attention when she waved something above her head. It looked like a meat cleaver. Looking solidly determined, the woman marched for the back door.

Gretchen quickly revamped her hastily laid plan to present herself at the back door and apologize. She broke for the wall, realizing halfway there that she couldn't get over without Nina's help.

There must be another way out. She turned in a circlelooking for an exit. Where was the gate? There wasn't one. It was either over the wall or through the house.

"I'll just let myself out," Gretchen called, whirling to face her adversary. "I didn't mean to scare you."

Bernard's wife snorted like a bull. "I belong to the neighborhood watch," she said, stalking toward Gretchen with the cleaver clenched in her fist. "The rest of the committee will be here any second, and we'll take care of you. Yes, we'll take care of you but good."

Gretchen saw that she meant it. Bernard's wife might not be Gretchen's physical match, but she had a look in her eyes that put the fear of death into Gretchen. The woman waved the cleaver with menace.

"We're coming as fast as we can." Someone shouted from a nearby house.

Would Gretchen be hacked to death by a gang of blockwatchers? She eyed up one of the tallest woodpiles. If she could get a running start, she might make it. Bernard's wife marched at her, raising the cleaver. Gretchen took off as fast as she could and ran up the pile. A loose board underfoot almost tripped her up, but she maintained her balance and hurtled at the wall, digging her fingers into the top of it. Raising herself up through sheer desperation and fear, she launched over the wall to freedom. Gretchen ran in a crouch to the side of the house, staying behind the straggly Arizona shrubbery. Two women stomped past, headed for Bernard's front door. Each carried a baseball bat. For the first time, Gretchen noticed a warning sign with an enormous watchful eye posted in Bernard's yard.

When the two gang members disappeared through the front door, Gretchen ran to the car. "Get down. Now," she croaked, gasping for breath. Several houses ahead of the Impala, another woman carrying a baseball bat hiked across thestreet. Gretchen could see the lines of determination in her face, and the excitement. This group had been waiting for an opportunity like this to wield their clubs of justice.

"Was it the room box kitchen?" Nina asked, ducking low. Gretchen chanced a glance at the house from her slunkdown position in the seat. "No, it's not the one," she answered. "But please get this car moving."

Nina pulled out more slowly than Gretchen would have liked. She watched Bernard's house, expecting the women to rush out and attack Nina's car at any moment.

"See," her aunt said, not the least bit ruffled. "That wasn't so hard, was it?"

* 24 *

Trolls: Thomas Dam, a poor Danish woodworker, carved the first Troll doll in the 1950s. They were an instant success. As the doll's Troll doll in the 1950s. They were an instant success. As the doll's popularity continued to increase, Thomas began making them popularity continued to increase, Thomas began making them from rubber filled with wood shavings. A family business was from rubber filled with wood shavings. A family business was born. Sales continued to grow through the 1960s, when rubber born. Sales continued to grow through the 1960s, when rubber was replaced with vinyl. Other companies copied Thomas Dam's was replaced with vinyl. Other companies copied Thomas Dam's Trolls, producing cheap imitations that never met the fine crafts- Trolls, producing cheap imitations that never met the fine crafts- mans.h.i.+p of the Dane's dolls. mans.h.i.+p of the Dane's dolls.

Trolls are said to have magical powers. Bug-eyed and grin- ning with long, wild manes of hair in every color of the rainbow, ning with long, wild manes of hair in every color of the rainbow, they bring luck to their owners. But trolls are only lucky if they they bring luck to their owners. But trolls are only lucky if they are the original, cla.s.sic Thomas Dam Trolls. are the original, cla.s.sic Thomas Dam Trolls.

--From World of Dolls World of Dolls by Caroline Birch Early Sat.u.r.day morning, long before the tourists and s...o...b..rds descended on the popular hiking mountain, Gretchen climbed Camelback Mountain. by Caroline Birch Early Sat.u.r.day morning, long before the tourists and s...o...b..rds descended on the popular hiking mountain, Gretchen climbed Camelback Mountain.

It had been over a week since the Scottsdale parade and the death of the miniature doll shop owner. Gretchen had very little to show for all her efforts and misadventures: a bombed-out doll shop and a tiny lead on a kitchen, which might not even be a real connection.

She climbed easily to an enormous boulder overlooking Phoenix to watch the sun rise over the Valley of the Sun Later in the day, tourists would be perched on this same boulder with cameras and binoculars, but for now she had it all to herself. She sat down, tucked her feet against her body, and cradled her legs between her arms, thinking of her growing obsession with the case of the dead doll maker and the seemingly endless lineup of potential suspects. Charlie's drugged-out, missing son was as good a place to start as any. An alleged bomber, suspected of trying to blow up his mother's shop while people were inside where they could have been seriously injured, if not killed. What was his motive? Drug-induced psychosis? Gretchen still couldn't imagine that he would've killed his own mother. Next suspect: Charlie's thieving business a.s.sociate. Bernard's cleaver-crazy wife was as disagreeable as her husband and had probably tampered with his bug juice after a domestic argument. The woman was a militant vigilante with a bad temper. And to think, she'd mistaken Gretchen for . . . um . . . for an intruder. Okay, not really a mistake on her part, but her reaction was definitely excessive. What could have been Bernard Waite's motive for murdering a business a.s.sociate? Did he want Charlie's store desperately enough to kill for it?

Gretchen stood up on the boulder, hopped down, and began the steepest part of the ascent to the mountain's peak. The trail fell away. She gripped red boulders and continued up, keeping a sharp eye out for a new bird to add to her life list.

What was Joseph's story? He was a flamboyant alcoholic who claimed that he couldn't remember anything about the night preceding Charlie's death, or anything about the next morning when Gretchen spotted him at the parade. Was he telling the truth? Or was he hiding a sinister secret?

She grabbed a firm hold in the rocks and continued her climb. Birds chattered around her, and she saw several cactus wrens in a mesquite bush. One of the main reasons Gretchen chose early mornings to hike her favorite mountain was to avoid rattlesnakes and other poisonous creatures. She'd had enough uncomfortable encounters with creatures in the past. The February air at this time of day was cool enough to keep them in their holes.

Arizona's list of creepy crawlers was endless: snakes, scorpions, Gila monsters, black widows, tarantulas, lizards. And the larger varieties: coyotes, mountain lions, and javelinas, the wild pigs with razor-sharp tusks. Gretchen paused to catch her breath and take in the scenery. A chipmunk munched on the buds of a barrel cactus below and to her right. She'd heard that barrel cacti always leaned to the southwest, something to remember if she was ever lost in the desert.

She continued up until she stood at the very summit of Camelback Mountain. The air seemed clearer, affecting her entire view of the world. She sat down and felt her heart pounding from the exertion of the steep climb. She told herself that once she started the trek back down the mountain, she wouldn't think of anything but the wonder of life. Maybe she would spot a hummingbird, her favorite bird. Hummingbirds were the gold medalists of the bird world, able to hover motionless in midair. They could stop faster and perform more acrobatics than any other bird.

Yes, she thought as she sat at the top of Camelback Mountain, on the way back, she'd research life. But for now she'd study death.

What about Britt Gleeland and her daughter, Melany?

Gretchen hadn't spent much time with Britt, but in the short amount of time she had, she didn't really like her. Was her inability to warm up to the doll maker a jealous reaction to Nina's friends.h.i.+p with her?

What a mess. Not to mention her personal life and the s.e.xy but still married married detective she was dodging. She had ignored two calls from him yesterday, listening to his voice messages urging her to return his calls. Gretchen didn't have to have a degree in psychology to suspect that she was running away more from her mixed-up feelings than from him. detective she was dodging. She had ignored two calls from him yesterday, listening to his voice messages urging her to return his calls. Gretchen didn't have to have a degree in psychology to suspect that she was running away more from her mixed-up feelings than from him.

One last look out over the city she called home, and she started her descent. Usually the mountain gave her a positive outlook on life, but this time when she put it all together it didn't seem like such a great morning after all. On the way down, even the birds eluded her.

Her mother hadn't forgotten about her offer to introduce Gretchen to Evie Rosemont. She announced the plans when Gretchen walked in the door.

"Get ready," she said. "We're going calling."

Evie Rosemont's home was painted bright and bold. Splashes of red, green, and yellow popped from the small ranch.

Caroline watched Gretchen's face when they parked in the driveway. "Wait until you see the inside," she said. Evie was short and squat and greeted them wearing a purple dressing robe and a matching beret with sequins and beads. Treating them as though they were long-lost friends, she proceeded to carry on a one-sided conversation that never ceased.

"Come in, come in. I have tea brewing. Girls, you mustsee my remodeled hat room. Come this way. I couldn't fit everything into the room anymore, so I redid this and redid that, decorating skills from my dear departed Nana . . ."

Evie rattled on while Gretchen and Caroline followed her down a narrow orange hallway.

Pictures of Evie at different stages in her life lined the hallway. She wore a hat in every photograph, starting with a black-and-white photo of her as a baby in a bonnet and ending with a current shot of Evie wearing a gold hat with purple and yellow feathers jutting from the top like waterworks.

"This one is from my days in New York, high society you know, and this one is me, and this one . . . Here we are. Wait until you see. Hats make the person, don't you think?" Evie ran on, addressing her hatless guests. "You can tell everything, simply everything, by a woman's collection of hats."

They trailed Evie into a fuchsia room. It was filled with antique hats and shoes: black lace vintage bonnets, Victorian cream leather boots with lace closures, an orange feather hat. The hats were displayed on hooks, the shoes on numerous small platforms mounted on all four walls.

". . . is my latest acquisition, found, if you can believe it, in a dusty old attic when I visited poor Mama when she was on her deathbed. Mama had quite a few lifethreatening health problems throughout her brief time on this earth. First there was her female trouble when she was only twenty-five, then . . ."

When Gretchen had seen Evie Rosemont at Mini Maize she had been wearing a large straw hat with sunflowers. Gretchen had heard Evie address Bernard right before he had opened the door. A bad heart, she'd said at the time, thinking Charlie might've suffered a heart attack. "I was at Charlie's shop the day she died," Gretchen said.

Evie's round, dimpled face turned to Gretchen. "Quite a series of unfortunate events. Where did I hear that expression before? No matter. Anyway, it all happened so fast, you know, Charlie had to watch it because of her heart, that's what I thought it was all along, but then those two detectives started digging deeper. Do you know anything more? The police won't say a thing, but why else would they be holding poor Charlie's body without a funeral? I hope you know why, because we can't let this go away, not if it really was foul play. I remember back about ten years ago when . . ." The woman chattered on.

Evie Rosemont, Gretchen decided, could benefit from medication.

". . . and Sara's death, bless her heart, almost destroyed Charlie. Did I mention that Charlie was like a sister to me . . ."

They were back in the hallway, heading for the last room on the left.