Deb Baker - Dolly Departed

"April and I decided to take pictures of the room boxes," Caroline said. "Before and after photographs."

"But neither of us can figure out how to use the camera part of our phones." April chuckled. "You're the only one of us that isn't technology challenged."

Gretchen pulled her cell phone from her purse. "Smile."

She took April's picture, then showed it to her friend. April sighed. "I've lost five pounds, but you'd never know it. I have another hundred to go."

"One day at a time. Smile, Mom."

Caroline turned away from the camera's eye. "Not me!

The room boxes."

Gretchen took pictures of the empty room boxes. After each snapshot, she checked it for clarity on the small phone screen.

"Joseph Reiner stopped by while you were gone," April said, wiping grime and footprints from a little mahogany bed frame. "He was extremely upset by Charlie's death. He broke down and cried twice in the short time he was here."

"I'm sorry I missed him." Gretchen had lost a convenient opportunity to ask the Joseph's Dream Doll shop owner about his presence at the parade. She still wondered why he hadn't been at Charlie's doll shop with the rest of the invitees.

"I have the room box pieces separated as best I could,"

Caroline said. "It wasn't as hard as we originally thought it would be. The different time periods helped. But I still have a small pile of unknowns."

On one corner of the card table, Caroline had placed Victorian pieces. Gretchen studied the grouping, gently touching the fabrics. A miniature mohair sofa, wooden bedstead, mirrored dressing table, a woolen floral rug. And all the articles that would complete a setting from the late 1900s.

Gretchen glanced sharply at her mother.

"I know," Caroline said softly. "I see it."

"What?" April said, hurrying over.

"Flecks of blood on the sofa," Gretchen said. "Not too much. Just a little. And more on this painting. A spot or two."

"It almost looks like an accident," April said. "Like Charlie spilled red paint."

"What about the red paint on the edge of the axe and knife? Those weren't accidents." Gretchen went through all the pieces on the card table, one by one.

"What in the world was Charlie thinking?" Caroline rubbed her eyes. "This one is a Victorian household, That"-

she said, pointing at a different pile-"is a farmland setting with a church in the background. Little crab apple trees, a bale of hay, not much else."

April held up two tiny steps. Decrepit, worn, a touch of blood on the first stepping-stone. "From the backyard pile. Mini windows with small panes, some broken, a wooden door."

Caroline gestured toward another group of items. "This is also a bedroom, but from a later era and much more luxurious. An Oriental rug, mahogany bed and dresser, fanback chair. Look at the precious Martha Washington bedspread."

"And the pile of unknowns." Gretchen looked through the leftover pieces. Tiny sheets of old plywood, bits of paper, things that might not have anything to do with the room boxes.

"It sure would be fun to make my own miniatures sometime." April picked up another item and wiped it with her cloth. "I'd never be as accomplished as Britt, though. Few doll makers are. It's extremely detailed work. You need a lot of patience."

"Was Sara's craftwork as good as Britt's?"

"At least as good, maybe better," her mother answered.

"Where are the dolls Britt made for the room boxes?"

Gretchen asked.

"We haven't gotten that far," Caroline said. "Now that we've cleaned up and organized the room furnishings, we'll place those where we think they go and move on to finding the dolls."

April sucked soda through a straw. "I'd like to give Gretchen an award," she said, presenting Gretchen with a small wrapped box. "I'm so proud of you. I thought you'd like a little memento of your accomplishments since coming to live in Phoenix."

"But why?" Gretchen said. "I haven't accomplished anything."

"You will."

"And that isn't true, Gretchen," Caroline said, watching from the table. "You're very talented."

Gretchen opened the cover and peeked in to find a gold badge. It had a shiny gold finish and was shaped like the sun. The inscription read Best in the West.

"Let me pin it on you." April scooped up the badge.

"Best in the West?" Gretchen asked, laughing. "Best what?"

"Best restoration artist," Caroline called out.

"But that's you."

"There." April finished pinning it on and stood back to admire it. "You look great, real professional. The gold matches your hair. And I have one for Caroline, too."

April handed another package to her mother.

Gretchen turned to check her reflection in the window and was startled to see a man peering in. He wore a dirty sleeveless T-shirt, and a black do-rag covered his hair. A silver ring pierced his lower lip, and a tattoo like barbed wire wound around his right arm.

He stared at Gretchen.

April shrieked.

"That's Charlie's son, Ryan Maize," Caroline said softly. He was young. About twenty. Wiry with dirty, ill-fitting jeans that dragged on the sidewalk. Black running shoes that had seen better days. Ryan's eyes shifted nervously to the badge pinned on Gretchen's chest. His eyes grew wide and frightened. When Gretchen moved closer to the window, he darted out of sight. Gretchen slammed out the door, breaking into a run.

"Wait," she shouted. He disappeared around a busy corner. She raced behind him onto the sidewalk bordering Scottsdale Road. So this was Charlie's son. But why was he running away? Why did he look so frightened? Gretchen was used to jogging and hiking. Camelback Mountain and the desert air were perfect conditioning tools, and though she wanted to lose a few pounds, Gretchen considered herself aerobically fit. She'd been a runner her entire life. Ryan Maize, however, was younger and very quick, weaving among shoppers, never looking back. He shoved someone out of the way. Gretchen heard gasps and squeals from those on the sidewalk as she chased after him. She threaded through the crowd and leaped over a dropped shopping bag, running as fast as she could.

What was she doing? What was she going to do if she actually caught up to him? What if he had a gun or a knife?

She'd karate kick the weapon out of his fist. Sure, right. Brucaleen Lee.

Ryan pulled ahead. Gretchen was fast, but she wasn't fast enough. He was getting away.

Stop , she thought, let him go. No, she wouldn't give up. The loose soles of his shoes were his downfall. Gretchen saw him stumble. She picked up speed, giving it all she had. Did he know about his mother? That she was dead?

Gretchen was using all her energy to catch him. She didn't have the breath to speak. She reached out, and her fingertips almost touched his back.

He pulled away. And tripped again. This time she got a firm hold on the back of his shirt. She heard it rip.

Ryan Maize ducks down and tries to twist out of the woman's grasp. She has him by the back of his shirt, and she's incredibly strong, like the lioness of Babylon. He hears the cloth tear.

If he wasn't bingeing at the moment, she wouldn't be catching him.

Too much alcohol and crack cocaine in his past. Whatever he's on, he can't remember taking it. That worries him.

It isn't his fault that he's in a weakened condition. Everything goes wrong for him. People don't help him enough. Like his mother. If she hadn't refused to help him out, he'd be doing really good. Healthy, happy, and rich. All he needs is a little support from the people around him. He needs just one little break.

Life sucks, and then you die. That's his motto. He twists again, trying to break her grip. She's on him like the evil witch she is.

Shapeshifters masquerading as cops. What's next?