Deb Baker - Goodbye Dolly

Albert, his limp less noticeable today, joined them on the bench, scooting next to Gretchen.

"You look like you're healing," she said.

"It's not bad."

"You're the one who sent the Kewpies to me." She studied the fading bruises on his face.

"How did you know?"

"Your sister gave you some of her dolls and tools."

Albert looked surprised. "You do know Susan."

"No," Gretchen said. "I guessed after I looked her up on the Internet. That's how I found out she's a doll reproductionist."

"She used to pay me to help her in her shop before she moved away," Albert said.

"I told you she was famous," Daisy said.

"The ground-off Kewpie feet were clever touches. What if I'd missed it?" Gretchen asked.

"You wouldn't have."

"You knew what was happening when Brett and Ronny were killed. You tried to warn me with the note on a napkin."

Albert nodded. "Ronny had a big mouth. He liked to sound important, even to me, so he told me the diamond story. And I was at the auction and saw things. It was easy to figure out what was happening." He threw an arm over the back of the bench, and the smell of body odor drifted toward Gretchen.

Albert Thoreau was one of the city's invisible residents. No one paid any attention to Phoenix's homeless. Albert had been in the background all the time, and no one had noticed.

"I saw those two men arguing at the auction," he said.

"And I took the box of dolls. I couldn't help myself. I took it."

"And he asked me to hide it for him after that guy pretending to be a cop beat him up," Daisy said.

"Did you know what was inside?" Gretchen asked her.

"I was pretty sure."

"Albert doesn't care about material things," Daisy said.

"But he's a very sentimental guy."

Gretchen studied Albert. "Why didn't you just tell me what was happening?"

"You would have believed a drunken bum?"

"Of course."

Albert snorted, and Gretchen was silent.

"I didn't want to see you hurt," he said. "You look so much like my sister. Same nose, same hair…"

Gretchen sat awhile on the downtown bench, sandwiched between Daisy and Albert, and watched traffic go by. So much for intuition and first impressions.

Milt Wood had given her the creeps, and he'd turned out to be nothing worse than pompous and arrogant. Brett, the faithful auctioneer's assistant, had been part of the scheme to steal the diamonds.

The cold, heartless killer was the jolly old elf with the twinkle in his eyes.

And the homeless alcoholic sitting next to her, exuding ripe, unsavory odors, had tried to save her life the only way he knew how.

People were full of surprises.

A pigeon landed on the back of the bench. Nimrod yipped, and it flew down to Daisy's feet.

At the moment, life was good.

Tonight, Gretchen would have dinner with Matt Albright. He'd asked, and she'd accepted. She planned to keep it casual and friendly. After all, he was still married. Howie, ten-gallon hat and all, would continue to call his auctions, and Nina's new friend, Eric, had promised to keep in touch with the psychic diva.

Nina might have a special gift for reading auras, but Gretchen would stick to what she knew best: restoring treasures. She stood up and hoped she could find her way home without getting lost.

A workshop filled with dolls awaited her.