Deb Baker - Goodbye Dolly

"Who would be angry?"

"I promised not to tell."

"Come on," Gretchen said. "I won't tell anyone." She felt like she was back in seventh grade. Back then, she remembered, no one really kept a promise.

"It was Detective Albright," Daisy said.

"What does Detective Albright have to do with this?"

"He came downtown the other night and warned me."

"What did he say?"

"He said bad things were happening in downtown Phoenix, and I should get away for a while."

"I thought Detective Albright was the one who beat up Albert."

"Why would you think that?"

"Because I'm the one who told him about Albert."

"Well, Albert was attacked by someone else."

It hadn't been Matt.

Gretchen hung up the phone, leaned her elbows on the doll worktable, and stared out the window at Camelback Mountain.

She'd been wrong about Matt, and she was relieved. He hadn't beat up Albert. Instead, he'd warned Daisy. If Gretchen had shared more information with him, maybe the real killer would be behind bars right now. If only she'd trusted him more…

April appeared at the door.

"Why's the front door locked?" she asked when Gretchen let her in.

"I've been a little nervous lately. I can't see who's at the door. I need to install a peephole."

"Let's go," April said, missing the significance of Gretchen's comment about locks and bolts.

"Go where?"

April had stuffed herself into a black, clingy number, and Gretchen could see every ripple and ridge. "To the Phoenician. We're having a goodbye reception for the Boston Kewpie Club. They're going home tomorrow. Well, all except Steve, who has to stay in Phoenix."

"I have to go to Brett's memorial service," Gretchen said wistfully, wishing she could celebrate life, renewal, and friendships with April and the doll group rather than mourn a tragic death.

"I don't know who else will be at this service," April said. "No one I know has been invited."

"I think the gathering is for the people who were at Chiggy's auction when Brett died. Howie must have arranged it."

"Where is it?"

"Someplace on McDowell Road."

"Do you need directions?"

Gretchen shook her head. "I'll find it. We have to talk later about the murders."

"I'll call you after the party," April said. "Right now, I'm running late."

"Lilly Beth, I know you're in there," Gretchen said, after knocking until her hand hurt. "I can see you through the window."

She backed up and peeked in, her eyes adjusting to the darkening night. Lilly Beth stepped farther back into the shadows.

Gretchen pointed at her and their eyes met. "See, there you are. Let me in."

Finally the door opened a crack.

"What do you want?" Lilly Beth asked.

Gretchen thrust a printout of a photograph through the crack. "This police officer came to my house," she said.

"And you talked to him."

"That's the back of a head. Even if I did, so?"

"So, what did he want?"

"That's private information under the federal homeland security law."

"I demand to know under the freedom of information act, and that supersedes homeland security."

The ridiculousness of the conversation wasn't lost on Gretchen. Lilly Beth had more screws loose than Daisy ever would.

"He didn't tell me," Lilly Beth said. "It's on a need-toknow basis, and I didn't need to know."

Translation: Lilly Beth never stopped talking long enough to find out.

Lilly Beth, once started, took off like a buzzard smelling carrion.

"I don't know what's going on over there," Lilly Beth said. "But whatever it is, the police are on notice. That nice police officer has a job to do and I'm going to see that he accomplishes it. I'll help him in any way I can." Lilly Beth looked Gretchen up and down. "I'm on the side of the law."

"He's driving a green truck, not a squad car," Gretchen said. "Don't you think that's suspicious?"

"He's undercover." Lilly Beth frowned. "Although, you'd think he'd hide it better. If he shows up in the same truck every time, people are going to start noticing."

Gretchen felt cold. Every time? "How many times has he been here?"

"Three. I watch for him at the window because I want to support the police, and I tell him that every single time. I think he appreciates my efforts. Last time I took out some of my chocolate chip cookies. I had just baked them."

"What did he do? Did he knock on my door?"

"Lucky for you, you haven't been home even once, and I tell him that. I think he's going to arrest you if he can pin you down. What you did, I don't even want to know. The goings-on in this neighborhood are ruining the property values."

"What did he say?"

"Like I told you, he kept it to himself, as he should. Quiet man." Lilly Beth thought a second. "Humph… now that I think of it, he didn't say more than a word or two."

Lilly Beth wouldn't have given him a chance.

Gretchen was pretty sure that her busybody neighbor, in her own conniving way, had unknowingly saved her from the same fate as Brett and Ronny. Lilly Beth was like the neighborhood watchdog. She also had pit bull jaws. Once she latched on, there was no getting away.

With any luck, she'd driven him off for good.

"If you see his truck again," Gretchen said. "Stay away from him."

"Oh sure, like I'd listen to you. Whatever you did, you'll have to suffer the consequences."

Gretchen hurried back to her house.

It was time to call Detective Albright and fess up.

Gretchen called Bonnie Albright for Matt's private phone number. Belatedly, she remembered that Bonnie would be on her way to the Phoenician for the Boston Kewpie Club's bon voyage party. She thought about calling Nina's cell phone, but their repaired relationship was still delicate, and she wouldn't disrupt Nina's good time with Eric again unless she had to. She called the police dispatch nonemergency number and was told that Detective Albright was unavailable.

"I need his phone number," she said.

"I'm afraid I can't give that out."

"Can you get a message to him?" she asked.

"Certainly."

"I have important information involving a case he's working. He has to call me immediately."

"We'll see that he receives the message," the dispatcher said, dispassionately taking her cell phone number. Gretchen wondered if he really would be informed and, if so, when. She couldn't wait much longer.

She dressed in somber clothes-black pants and a beige top with decorative black buttons-and ran a brush through her hair. Brace yourself, she thought, this is only the beginning. Ronny Beam's funeral was also upcoming, and she knew the next few days would be as sorrowful as the last. Even though she hadn't known either of the victims well, Brett and Ronny meant more to her than mere statistics and canned obituaries in the Phoenix newspaper.

Nimrod and Wobbles followed her into the kitchen. As always, she was amazed that their internal clocks were so accurate, telling them exactly when dinner should be ready. She fed them and nibbled at leftovers in the refrigerator. The invitation hadn't mentioned food. She scooped up Nimrod, locked the door, and drove toward McDowell Road, scanning the traffic around her for signs of the green truck. She hadn't realized how many Arizonians drove pickup trucks until now. On this moonless Phoenix night, every truck seemed dark and potentially dangerous. The Sky Harbor Airport lights grew brighter as she continued. She wound her way to the far west side of the airport and began to check the street signs, searching for McDowell Road.

A plane came in directly overhead, wheels visible in preparation for landing, and it reminded Gretchen that the Boston Kewpie Club would be returning home in the morning. She hadn't spent much time at all with them. If not for the memorial service, she would be at the party at the Phoenician this minute, sipping expensive red wine and nibbling French cheeses.