Deb Baker - Dolly Departed

"Fat chance," Gretchen replied.

"I completely understand his phobia." April placed a few tiny articles of doll clothing into one of the bins. "I have my own fears, you know."

"We know," Nina said with a hint of distaste. "Clowns."

"Half the world's population is afraid of clowns," April said, defending herself. "And you know it."

"Yes," Nina agreed. "The half that's under four years old."

Gretchen couldn't believe what she was hearing. It wasn't like Nina to be so spiteful. "Isn't it potty time for the dogs?" Gretchen said to break up the next round of pointed barbs before one of them was fatally stabbed. Nina checked her watch, then stuffed the pups in carrying totes. She slung Enrico over one shoulder and Nimrod over the other, ignoring Enrico's throaty growl. She clipped the pink leash to Tutu's collar and disappeared down the street.

"What's with her?" Caroline said. "I've never seen her behave like that before."

"I'm not sure what her problem is. April, just ignore it, if you can." Gretchen sat down, removed her flip-flops, and wiggled her feet.

"I'm going for a walk," Caroline said. "Maybe it will perk me up."

Gretchen watched her classy mom walk down the street in the same direction her aunt had chosen and wished she had inherited more of her features. Beautiful shoulderlength silver hair, delicate nose, green thoughtful eyes, and a slim body, even at twenty-six years older than Gretchen.

"I found something interesting," April said, digging in her pocket. "I thought I'd wait until we were alone to show you."

She held up a miniature dagger. The tip had been dipped in red paint.

"Terrific. Another piece for the backyard scene."

"And. .," April paused. "There's a smudge of red on the floor of the Victorian bedroom, but I'll try to clean it off if you think it will upset Caroline."

"Let's leave everything as it is for the moment,"

Gretchen answered. "You don't seem upset by all these flashes of blood."

"Blood doesn't scare me."

"But clowns do?"

April nodded. "If I even see a clown in the distance, I get all sweaty and dizzy, and I worry that I'll pass out. It's a horrible feeling. I know it's irrational, but I can't control how I feel."

"I think you have to work through it," Gretchen said, sorting through some of the tiny pieces of furniture.

"Maybe it would help if you exposed yourself to your fears more often, like Matt's trying to do." She didn't mention what a bad job the detective was doing.

"I've tried that, but clowns are not nice people. They scare kids, and they're ugly and evil. Have you ever seen a clown helping a little old lady across the street?"

Gretchen thought it over. Actually, she hadn't.

"See?" April said, reading the expression on her face.

"I ran into a clown yesterday at Parada del Sol,"

Gretchen said, remembering the green-haired clown and her fall to the sidewalk. He hadn't bothered to help Gretchen up.

April grimaced. "That's exactly why I didn't go to the Scottsdale parade. Clowns are my absolute worst nightmare."

April looked around as though they might be overheard.

"That's not all I'm afraid of, but don't tell Nina. Promise?"

"Promise." Gretchen felt childish.

"Ventriloquists scare me to death, too. And sometimes in the dark, I'm afraid that something is lurking under my bed."

"I used to think something scary was under my bed,"

Gretchen said, remembering how afraid she was, almost paralyzed with fear. But that was when she was a kid. She headed for the back room to search for boxes to separate and temporarily store the pieces, once they determined where each of them went. Gretchen rummaged through several small boxes, removing their contents and stacking the items neatly on a shelving unit. When she came back into the shop, she spotted something behind the storage room door.

She bent down and picked up a tiny pistol.

Britt Gleeland stands across the street and watches the women through the shop window. She remains motionless, arms crossed.

Almost five o'clock, and the sun slowly edges over the desert horizon, casting long shadows on the sidewalk. By six it will be dark.

Her daughter, Melany, comes out of a trading post, carrying a shopping bag, a gift for a friend. Twenty years old and talking about abandoning the family business and finding a new life someplace else. Out of the blue with no warning signs at all. Hasn't Britt groomed her daughter to take over for her in a few years? Perhaps it isn't the most profitable business, creating exquisite miniature dolls, but it has its own rewards. Britt works her own hours, in her nightgown if she wants to. She's her own boss, answering to nobody. And, most importantly, she has the respect of the local miniature community.

Apparently these perks aren't enough for her daughter. Let her go out in the world and slop burgers for minimum wage. That will cure her of her wanderlust. But what about this "person" she's moving out east with?

Britt knows exactly who the man is, and she doesn't like him one bit. Melany is going to "live in sin," as Britt's mother would have said in shock if she were still alive. Whatever you call the arrangement, it's still shacking up. Young people and their relationships. Who can figure them out? "Going out" they call it. Going out used to mean going on a date. Not anymore. Now it means something much more serious. What does she know?

More importantly, what will Britt tell her acquaintances?

"My daughter's attending an Ivy League school out east"?

Yale, maybe? Yes, that could work. Britt could make it sound like a wonderful opportunity. And who is she to hold her daughter back? After all, there is the scholarship. Ooh. That's good.

"One more stop." Melany scowls as though she's angry and disappears into a bookstore.

Another twenty minutes of waiting, for sure. The girl loves books.

Britt fidgets with her French twist and fluffs her bangs. Who will do the miniature faux flower arrangements if her daughter moves away? Britt feels the crevice widening between them, the enormous, cavernous divide. And the fear that she won't cope well with aloneness.

If only Charlie were here. What will she do without Charlie and Melany?

She sees someone come out of the doll shop and approach a car parked at the curb. It's the same woman who barged into the shop when she was collecting her dolls. Gretchen something. She had been spying on Britt, she was sure of it, questioning her loyalty and her right to be in Charlie's shop. The nerve!

What's she up to now?

The nosy woman has a wire hanger in her hand that she is bending to change its shape. After a furtive look back at Mini Maize, she tries to stick it in the top of the car's closed passenger window.

Breaking into someone's car? Not likely in the middle of the day right outside the shop.

No. That must be dear Gretchen's own car, and she is locked out of it. Britt smiles smugly to herself while she watches Gretchen move to the driver's window and twist and pry with the wire hanger.

No luck. The snoop tries again, both sides, determined. After the second try, she goes back inside. Harder than it looks, isn't it?

Britt cringes at the thought of strangers in the shop, rifling through Charlie's things, her things. The work she has put into her miniature dolls! She's a professional artisan, not some hack. Twenty years in this business, and she is the best there is. Sculpting all her tiny creations, no kits or premade molds for her. Firing them in her very own kiln. Then wigging and dressing the darlings to be exact replicas of anything your little heart desires. Charlie, for example, wanting those tiny dolls, each with specific requirements regarding sex, size, and age. And for what? That was the question Britt kept asking her friend. And Charlie just smiling. "You'll see."