Deb Baker - Goodbye Dolly

"Yeah, so?"

"I accidentally inherit a box of Kewpie reproductions. Never mind that they are awful copies. Focus on the fact that there's a Blunderboo in the box. Then Ronny's killed, and a Blunderboo is delivered to me with a message inside."

"The Blunderboo could have come before Ronny was murdered."

Gretchen nodded. "Next, we learn that this doll collector in Boston was murdered, and what's found at the scene?" Gretchen clapped her hands together. "A Blunderboo Kewpie doll."

"A coincidence?" April said weakly. Even she was no longer convinced.

"Afraid not."

"But why you?"

"I keep asking myself the same question."

"Maybe you saw something at the auction, but you don't know that you saw it, but the murderer knows you know and has to silence you before you realize that you know what you know and expose the killer." April stopped for breath. Gretchen decided not to ask April to repeat her theory.

"Why grind off the bottom of Chief Wag's feet?" she said.

"You're being tested? To see how smart you are?"

"Whoever sent it knew I wouldn't be fooled," Gretchen said. "I think I'm being watched. It's a spooky feeling."

April opened a large bag of potato chips and crunched on one. Stress seemed to increase the woman's hunger.

"I'll bet it is. Where's Nina?"

"She's walking the dogs with Eric."

Walking the dogs reminded Gretchen of the "Wag, the Dog" note hidden inside the Blunderboo. "Maybe the first message had two meanings."

"You sure do switch topics quickly," April said. "I can hardly keep up. What message?"

"Wag, the Dog."

"Two meanings? Like a double entendre?"

Gretchen thought about it. "Sort of. The sender wanted to alert me to Chief Wag's appearance so I would discover the piece of paper."

"How could the sender know you would crack open the doll head?"

Gretchen shrugged. "If someone sends a doll for repair, I usually check it over very closely. I guess it's possible that I would have opened it regardless and attempted a better repair."

"That's a stretch," April said.

"But 'Wag, the Dog' still could have meaning. Like in the movie. Maybe I have to stay smarter than my tail." A thought occurred to Gretchen. "I had a tail yesterday."

"Very funny," April said. "Ha, ha. Was it long and hairy or short and bushy?"

Gretchen smoothed a Ginny doll's dress. "I mean someone followed me. A woman in a black Jetta. When I stopped, she pulled up next to me and told me that I would pay, then she sped off."

April stopped munching. "That's scary. Maybe you should tell Matt and have him assign a bodyguard. Maybe, if you're lucky, he'll volunteer to personally protect you. That is, if he isn't too busy guarding Steve."

"I wonder how Steve's doing." Gretchen had forgotten all about him.

"Maybe he and Matt are bonding."

"This isn't funny, April."

"Have to laugh," she said. "Or you'd cry."

Gretchen watched her return to her table. A steady stream of people continued to stop and look at Gretchen's Ginny dolls and Barbies, but business had been better the day before. Not many were buying today.

Gretchen's cell phone rang. The caller ID displayed her mother's mobile number.

"Hey," Gretchen said.

"Hey, yourself. How's business?"

"Great," Gretchen said, forcing a light tone that she didn't feel. She wasn't about to alarm her mother with disturbing news. "I'm almost sold out of Ginnys, and the repair basket is full. I can't seem to work through it."

Caroline laughed. "Take them home, and I'll help you when I get back. Things are going well here, too. This was a whirlwind tour. I'm taking the day off from working to visit friends. Is Daisy still staying at the house?"

"She came around but vanished like she always does."

"Daisy's good for Nina. My sister needs to be reminded of social issues occasionally. It keeps her grounded on earth."

"When are you coming back?"

"I'd like to stay a few extra days. I want to drive along the coast and visit bookstores."

"No problem," Gretchen said. "By the way, the Boston Kewpie Doll Club is in town."

"Stuffed shirts, aren't they?"

"Eric Huntington likes Nina."

"Who's he?"

"The president of the club's son. Helen's son. Remember him?"

There was a pause on the other end of the line. "Can't say as I do."

"He says he met you."

"Maybe he did. My mind is going in my old age. Say hi to Nina. She could use some male attention for a change."

Gretchen closed the phone and glanced down the aisle, her eyes scanning the crowd. She had that feeling of being watched again but didn't see anything, or anyone, out of place.

It isn't a fair fight from the very first punch, but Albert Thoreau learned long ago that life isn't fair. He has no false illusions, therefore he isn't prone to indulge in emotions such as disappointment or recrimination.

This he firmly believes.

He has no illusions.

What he does have are delusions.

Drinking helps him escape the worst of reality. But, as another blow lands on the side of his face, he wishes he had waited until a little later in the evening before imbibing. Or possibly he should have started earlier and passed out someplace safe.

As he goes down, knees all rubbery and head spinning, he notices specks of blood on his shirt.

The blood is the same color as the sky, he notes, staring upward, flat on his back. The entire world has lost its vivid colors.

Monochromatic. Just like life.

"Tell me where it is, and I'll stop." His attacker's breath is warm and smells like sour milk.

Once, long ago, Albert had done a little boxing, the old two-step in the ring.

Lightweight.

"Tell me."

Albert thinks about taking a swing. No point. His assailant has an arsenal of lethal weapons.

He'll take his chances surviving a pair of fists rather than a heavy metal flashlight or police baton. Maybe Nacho will happen along and rescue him. Then he remembers he is supposed to join Nacho at their usual meeting place.

No help coming from that quarter.

"All any of you miserable derelicts understand is pain. Have a little more."

The man leans down and delivers another blow, and Albert feels his eye swelling shut. There is only one chance to escape.

A last look up at the colorless sky, a roll to his side. Then Albert goes limp and plays dead.

Gretchen had learned quite a bit from her first doll show. For one thing, she learned never to turn away without keeping a watchful eye over one shoulder.

She learned this the hard way when she turned back to the table after talking to her mother to find muscular, solid Milt Wood holding Chief Wag in his hand.

"What do you want for it?" he asked, beaming with delight. Gretchen sighed. "Mr. Wood, you have the misfortune of admiring dolls I can't sell to you. This one also belongs to a client."

"Tell me who, and I'll approach the owner personally with an offer."

"I can't tell you at the moment."

"You are remarkably obstinate, Ms. Birch, for a woman who hopes to make it in the doll business." Milt wore a smile, but his eyes were steely.

Gretchen picked up the packaging she'd discarded on the floor and showed him the label. "No return address,"

she said. "I don't know who sent it."

Milt turned the Kewpie over. "It looks like it's in perfect condition."

Gretchen took the doll from his hands and returned it to the box before he thought of removing the red shoes.

"Once I find out who it belongs to, I'll pass along your name."

"I won't take no for an answer."

Gretchen looked at him sharply. Something about the man left a bad taste in her mouth. The slightly raised tilt to his head gave her the impression he was looking down on her.