Deb Baker - Goodbye Dolly

The stakes had been raised. Someone wanted to harm Gretchen's dog, and that demanded her immediate attention. The tiny poodle and her three-legged cat were dependent on her for their care and support, and she didn't intend to let them down.

Gretchen felt Nimrod cuddle closer against her. He rested his chin on her folded arm.

"Nobody," she said to Nina and April, "messes with my dog."

"What's this?" Nina gestured at the box of worthless Kewpies stowed in Gretchen's trunk.

"That's the box I've been trying to exchange with Duanne Wilson. I have to assume that the winning bidder of these copies has the Ginny dolls that I bought at the auction."

Gretchen opened the back door, and Nimrod wiggled out of her arms and into the car. She shut the door and returned to the trunk, pulling the box toward her and opening the top flaps. "The dogs broke one of the reproductions, and I glued it back together, but I didn't have time to go through the box thoroughly. Now I think we need to take a better look at these, since Kewpie dolls keep popping up in unlikely places."

April peeked in. "I can give you a free appraisal on the spot. It's all garbage. Junk, junk, junk. Chiggy was really bad at making dolls." She shook her head in disgust while she pawed through the dolls.

"Ah, look here," she said. "The real thing. But still worthless."

April held up a Blunderboo Kewpie.

Gretchen noted a crack along the side of its face and a wedge of bisque missing. "Why so many Blunderboos?"

April peered through the hole in the bisque to the interior of the doll. "Nothing there," she said. "Hollow. See."

She handed it to Gretchen.

"You're right." Gretchen wasn't disappointed yet. She still had hopes that the box of dolls would reveal something important.

"Rats," Nina said. "I was hoping to find jewelry. Wouldn't that be something, if we stumbled on a smuggling ring?"

"With our luck, it would be a drug ring," Gretchen said.

"Why did she have one real Kewpie with the ones she made?" Nina asked.

"Probably used it as a guide for her reproductions,"

April said.

"Like a pattern? I get it."

"I'm cracking the dolls open," Gretchen announced.

"All of them?" Nina said.

"What's a little more damage?" April agreed, breaking into a smile. "I have a hammer in my car." She lumbered off, although having a mission seemed to add a noticable bounce to the lumber. April watched demolition derbies on television. This would be right up her speedway lane.

"What about this Duanne person?" Nina asked. "Won't he be mad if you break his dolls?"

"I made every effort to return them to him," Gretchen said, holding up a Kewpie reproduction with a grimace at the poor workmanship. "It's not my fault that he didn't leave his correct address."

Bonnie's car pulled up, and the window on the driver's side slid down. "My house," she said. "Don't forget. One hour." The glowing sun cast its light across her red wig, making it appear harsh and brassy.

"We'll be there," Nina called.

"Okeydokey. Tootles." Bonnie drove away as April returned with a hammer and a folded newspaper.

"Let me," April said, picking up a doll and laying it on the asphalt on top of a sheet of the newspaper. Gretchen transferred the box to the ground, and she and Nina crouched beside April.

"Not that one," Gretchen said, pointing to the doll in April's hand. "That's the one I fixed at home after the animals knocked it from the bookcase. I know there's nothing inside it."

April laid it aside and began cracking open one Kewpie doll after another. Gretchen and Nina sorted through the broken pieces, looking for clues. Soon the box was empty. Broken shards of clay covered the newspaper.

"Nada," Nina said.

April picked up the doll that Gretchen had repaired and with one solid stroke, broke it open.

"Zilch," Nina, the commentator, said.

"I told you it wasn't necessary to break it," Gretchen said to April. "I fixed that one myself."

"Leaving no earth unturned," April said. "Get it? Earth and clay?"

"That's stone, April," Gretchen said. "No stone unturned."

Gretchen unlocked the front door of her mother's house with Nimrod swinging from her shoulder and one hand full of mail. She dropped the mail on the kitchen table, released the poodle from his traveling bag, and looked around for Wobbles. The episode with the scorpion had her on edge. To her relief, the cat stalked into the room.

Nimrod spotted him and ran in circles around the totally indifferent feline.

She flipped through the mail. The last piece was addressed to her. An invitation to a private memorial service for Brett Wesley, Tuesday night at eight.

Gretchen opened cans of food and played referee while her pets ate. Nimrod, true to form, bolted his dinner then tried to take Wobbles's share. Gretchen distracted the puppy with a small rubber ball in a game of catch.

She considered carrying in the boxes from the trunk, but it really could wait until morning. She'd done enough work for the day.

Through the workshop window facing Camelback

Mountain, Gretchen saw dusk approaching. The orange glow of the setting sun glistened in ribbons over the red clay, highlighting the desert shrubs and solitary cacti. Climbers still traversed the mountain, but most were making their way down. From this distance they looked like industrious ants. Nimrod curled up on his bed in the corner and closed his eyes. Gretchen didn't want to break the news to him yet, but he wasn't through for the day. He had a cocktail reception to attend.

No way was she going to let him out of her sight again. And what about Wobbles? Would the same evil-minded person try to harm him?

Gretchen grinned. Wobbles was a street fighter. He'd left his signature scratches on many overconfident canines. Anyone who messed with Wobbles ended up looking like shredded paper.

Besides, no one would actually break into her home, let alone harm Wobbles, right?

No one had any reason to.

Tomorrow, she would throw out the box of crushed Kewpie dolls.

If she ever managed to track Duanne Wilson down, she'd have to pay him for the broken dolls. That is, assuming he returned her box of Ginny dolls. Gretchen really didn't think she'd ever see them again.

But she couldn't help making another attempt to find Duanne, even though she knew she'd be noticeably late to Bonnie's party.

On her way out again, Gretchen bought a city map at the first gas station she passed and tried to make sense of it. After studying it for several minutes without finding Fortythird Avenue or her present location, she attempted to fold it. Giving up, she threw it in the backseat.

Nimrod watched from the passenger seat with tilted head while she dug through her purse for the original slip of paper she'd used to write down Duanne's address. The inside of the purse was a disaster. She'd have to clean it out or she'd have to carry two purses-one for her and one for Nimrod.

Finding the address, she set out with Howie's directions fresh in her mind.

When she turned onto Camelback Road, Gretchen thought she spotted her tail again. So she veered down a side street at the last second without using her turn signal, and looking in her rearview mirror she saw the black car turn down the same street behind her, almost clipping another car. Horns blared and brakes squealed, and Gretchen took a hard right at the next crossing and sped away into the darkening night.

The drive seemed to take forever. She watched through her rearview mirror for the other car. The street numbers descended until she crossed Central Avenue, then the numbers began to ascend again as avenues. This wasn't so hard. And she didn't even need the map. She turned onto Fortythird Avenue and parked along the street to get her bearings. She found an address on a carpet store across the street. Her address was in the next block up. She drove a little farther, parked, and stuffed Nimrod into her already crammed purse.