Deb Baker - Goodbye Dolly

"Lowers the appraisal value, that's for sure," April said.

"Any modification to the original doll devalues it. Must have been owned by a beginner."

Gretchen slowly and gently removed the red shoes from the doll, exposing two chubby Kewpie feet. She laid the shoes on the table.

April picked them up, rolled them around in her plump fingers, and said, "Don't put these back on. The doll's worth a lot more without the shoes and goofy platform. I wonder why they were added in the first place."

"Because," Gretchen said, turning Chief Wag upside down, "the bottoms of his feet have been ground off."

Nina, drinking diet soda through a straw at that exact moment, coughed up some of it. "Down the wrong pipe," she sputtered.

April, the consummate doll appraiser, couldn't help saying, "It's not worth a nickel now."

"Please don't tell me something's hidden inside," Nina said. "This is too weird."

Gretchen, silently agreeing with her aunt, peered into the Kewpie's hollow legs. "I do see something." She drew tweezers from the toolbox and poked inside the doll. April saw a customer approaching her table and called out, "You'll have to come back in five minutes. I'm working on something else at the moment." She leaned forward.

"This is so exciting."

Gretchen extracted a small square of paper, neatly folded in quarters.

"Keep going," April said. "Don't stop now."

Gretchen unfolded the paper. "It's a name," she said.

"Percy O'Connor."

"Let me see that." Nina plucked it from her fingers.

"You're right. That's all it says."

"Maybe this Chief Wag belonged to Percy O'Connor,"

April suggested.

"It's possible." Gretchen was hesitant. "If that's so, he went to a lot of trouble to put his name inside of it."

"I've never heard of collectors defacing their own dolls to put their names inside," April said. "It isn't done."

"Like cattle branding," Nina said.

"But he destroyed the doll's value," April insisted.

"Has anyone heard of Percy O'Connor?" Gretchen asked.

Nina and April shook their heads.

"What's going on over there?" Susie Hocker called from across the aisle.

"We're wondering if you know anyone by the name of Percy O'Connor?" April called back.

"Never heard of him. Is he giving a presentation or something?"

"Something like that," April said to her, heading back to her table. "I better get back to work. If you find out who he is, holler over."

"Find out who who is?" Eric Huntington said, leaning over the table and startling Gretchen and Nina.

"Percy O'Connor," Nina said.

Gretchen shoved the red shoes back onto the Kewpie's chunky legs, hoping Eric hadn't noticed the missing feet at the very bottom of the doll.

"He was a Boston doll collector," Eric said.

"Was?" Gretchen asked.

"He's dead."

"This must have been his doll." Nina held up the Kewpie. "His name was inside."

It was too late to give her aunt a warning signal. Nina's cosmic antenna had malfunctioned. Again.

Eric frowned. "It's possible that the doll belonged to him. He collected Kewpie dolls. But what do you mean, his name was inside?"

Gretchen watched Eric's face. If he had packaged the doll and sent it to her, he was an impressive actor. No sign of recognition flickered in his eyes.

Nina held up the piece of paper with Percy's name scrawled across it.

Eric stared at it. "A Kewpie doll belonging to Percy O'Connor was inside the package I handed to you?" He was either genuinely surprised or an accomplished fraud.

"What makes you think this doll was in the package you delivered?" Gretchen asked. "We didn't tell you that."

Eric pointed to the floor. "Brown bag, newspaper, and the same packaging. I simply surmised that you had recently opened it. The Kewpie would have fit conveniently inside the box. Quite a sleuth, I must admit."

"Very astute of you, Sherlock," Nina said, a silly smile on her face. "Do tell us about Mr. O'Connor."

"Percy O'Connor pretended he was of the Old Guard from the wealthiest end of Boston. Old, old blood, he said, but of course, the actual blue bloods of Boston knew he wasn't, and he never quite fit in. His father came into some money during the war, I believe, an inheritance or something."

"Nouveau riche," Nina said.

"Exactly." Eric nodded solemnly. "Aside from quite an impressive collection of dolls, he was also an avid historian. Fascinated with World War Two. Talked about it ad nauseam."

"I assume," Gretchen said, "he was a member of the Kewpie Club?"

"Yes, but not an active member. He rarely attended meetings."

"When did he pass away?" Gretchen took the piece of paper from Nina and glanced at the name.

"Just three weeks ago. But he didn't exactly pass on. Percy was well into his seventies, yet he had boundless energy, worked out at the men's club, swam, jogged. Incredible form really, for his age. Remarkably healthy, we all said down at the club."

Eric's weak chin and flabby jowls contradicted his own claim to physical fitness.

"So what happened to him?" Nina asked, a starry look on her face.

Gretchen knew what Eric was about to say. Nina would attribute this knowledge to Gretchen's alleged psychic abilities. But it was deduction, really. No one from the doll community seemed to be dying of natural causes lately. Why start now?

"The poor boy was shot dead. Right in his home, in the library."

Nina, the supposed psychic, hadn't seen it coming. She gasped and covered her mouth with a jeweled hand. "How awful."

"Two shots to the head, it was," Eric said, immersed in the drama and savoring Nina's reaction. He held up his forefinger and thumb in the classic pistol pose and said,

"Bang, bang."

Nina gave a theatric squeal, setting off the dogs. All three started barking madly, emitting piercing, shrill yaps. The story of Percy O'Connor's untimely demise was temporarily interrupted while Nina quieted the dogs.

"Doggie cookies," Nina shouted over the yipping, rapidly distributing a round of biscuits. "I have to take them outside for a little walk," Nina said. "Would you like to join me, Eric?"

"My pleasure," he said.

"Wait a minute." Gretchen put up both hands to stop them. "What happened? What's the rest of the story? Did they catch the killer?"

"Alas," Eric said. "The police had very little to go on. Nothing was stolen, so they ruled out robbery. No one seemed to have a personal vendetta against Percy. Nothing that the police could sink their teeth into, so to speak. All very strange."

Nina had already thrown a purse over each shoulder, each containing an energetic ball of fur, and Tutu, the selfabsorbed schnoodle, pulled impatiently on her pink leash.

"Ready," Nina said to Eric.

"The only thing out of place," Eric continued, "I mean when the police arrived, was… well, besides the poor boy slumped over his rosewood desk… was a Kewpie doll shattered on the floor."

"Really?" Gretchen felt queasy. "What kind of Kewpie?"

"If I recall correctly, it was a Blunderboo," Eric said, taking Tutu's leash from Nina and guiding her down the aisle.

"What's with all the Blunderboos?" April said, after Gretchen filled her in. Business was light at the moment, allowing the dealers time to visit with each other.

"I think someone's trying to scare me by sending Kewpies to me." Gretchen nervously rearranged the dolls on the table to fill gaps where some had been selected for purchase. "What if I'm next?"

"Next?" April exclaimed, frowning over the top of her reading glasses. "Next to what? Die? Ridiculous. You aren't next."

"Three deaths, April. Count them." Gretchen held up her hands and ticked off the fingers on her left hand.

"Brett, Ronny, and this Percy O'Connor."