Deb Baker - Dolled Up For Murder

“She must have a name. At the very least she should have the name of the service.”

“Of course. She handles all my affairs very efficiently. There’s a small problem, however.”

“Yes?” Caroline asked, impatiently. “A name shouldn’t be complicated.”

“My secretary is away at the moment. Somewhere in the Amazon on a small boat or something equally remote. I’m afraid I’m helpless without her.”

He gazed longingly at the doll. “Such a waste. Perhaps I’ll keep the doll after all but at a reduced price, of course. My secretary will return next week, and she will handle the transaction.”

Caroline stared at Rudolph Timms in dismay. A week would be too late. The muffled voice on the phone had been clear about that. She’d be dead by then.

Gretchen greeted Sunday morning with a moan. It took her a good minute to realize she was in Nina’s extra bedroom. She hated mornings, and she hated energetic, bubbly morning people who thought watching the sunrise gave them special powers. At the moment, she hated Nina.

“It’s already nine o’clock, sleepyhead.” Nina sat down on the bed with a bounce. “Two things. First, you left your cell phone in the kitchen, and Steve called this morning. I told him you’d return his call when you got up.”

Gretchen managed to sit up with the support of her one good arm behind her. She cracked an eye.

“I’m going to my meditation center,” Nina said. “If I clear my head of all this stuff floating around, maybe I’ll get a reading on your mother.”

Nina’s methods of handling emergency situations differed drastically from Gretchen’s.

“Take the dogs with you. Please,” Gretchen said.

“I can’t very well take Tutu along. How would I watch her? Nimrod could stay in his purse, but he’d be a distraction. Anyway, he’d much rather stay here with you.” Nina patted Gretchen’s leg. “I’ll stop at Caroline’s and check on Wobbles.”

“Feed him.”

“I will. I won’t be gone long. Have some coffee, it’s fresh, and call Steve back. What’s the plan for the day?”

Gretchen managed to remain sitting upright without the leverage of her arm. She rubbed her eyes. “I can’t think straight. I need coffee first.”

“I’m off then.” Nina fluttered around, gathering her things, kissed Tutu good-bye, and left.

Gretchen slipped into a borrowed robe, pink with green satin trim at the knee-length hem, and shuffled into the kitchen. She poured a cup of coffee and leaned against the counter, sipping it. Everything seemed to move in slow motion without the use of her left hand, but she was grateful that it didn’t hurt this morning.

After she poured the second cup, she returned Steve’s call and related the events of the past two days. For once, Steve heard her all the way through without interrupting.

“You need to come home,” he said when she finished. “This is nuts. You don’t want to involve yourself in something illegal. This is murder we’re talking about.”

“I can’t leave now. Nina needs me.”

“I need you, too. Doesn’t that factor in at all?”

“Of course it does.” Gretchen felt a flash of guilt. She really hadn’t given much thought to Steve recently. But why should she? Couldn’t Steve get by for a few days without her? “But I have to find my mother,” she insisted.

“And what have been the results of your search so far?” he demanded.

Gretchen didn’t say anything.

“She’ll show up when she shows up,” Steve continued. “It doesn’t matter if you’re in Arizona or Massachusetts. I have my career to think about. We can’t have any scandal, especially right now when the firm’s partners are deciding my future. The timing couldn’t be worse.”

Ah, Gretchen thought, the truth comes out. He wasn’t concerned about her well-being at all. His request that she come home was a precautionary career move.

“I’m going to see what happens today,” she said. “I’ll call you tonight.”

“I’ll expect to hear from you by eight. Boston time. You’d think one broken bone would be enough for you.”

Gretchen closed the phone and threw it in her purse. For seven years she had hoped her relationship with Steve would evolve into something permanent. That dream was fading as fast as a drop of moisture in the desert.

Would she end up in spinsterhood like Nina? She already had the stereotypical cat.

Was the cost of marriage to Steve worth the price she’d have to pay? She had already lost the ability to refuse his increasing demands, her inability to say no more pronounced when dealing with him. She rarely crossed him for any reason. Had she subconsciously dimmed her own personality to accommodate his?

Could she move past his recent indiscretion and forget, as well as forgive?

Worry about that later, she scolded. Focus on today and the task at hand.

Tutu caught Gretchen’s attention when she trotted down the hall and whined at the front door. Nimrod trailed at a distance.

“Okay,” Gretchen said in a surly tone. “I’m coming. But be quick about it.”

She opened the door, and Tutu ran out. The dog didn’t stop in the yard to sniff around and find the perfect spot, and if Gretchen had been more awake, she would have remembered that Tutu preferred wee-wee pads and indoor plumbing over normal dog outhouses.

Tutu lowered her body close to the ground and ran full-out down the street without a single glance back, like an escaped convict with the irresistible taste of freedom in her mouth.

Gretchen stood in the doorway with her mouth open in shock. Recovering somewhat, she slammed the door before Nimrod had the chance to join in the escape. Running barefoot into the street, she shouted Tutu’s name. The spoiled schnoodle was nowhere in sight.

Gretchen had managed to lose Nina’s dog mere moments after beginning her dog-sitting assignment.

She had a decision to make. Follow the demented dog immediately in bare feet, wearing Nina’s pink and lime green robe, or quickly change into her own clothes and pull on her sandals. Tutu already had a wide lead, and Gretchen’s only hope of catching up with her would be if the roving rascal encountered a distraction. A cute boy dog would do the trick.

Gretchen gasped. What if Tutu was in heat?

An image of Nina’s reaction to the loss of her prized pet trotted through Gretchen’s head, replaced quickly by an image of Tutu giving birth to schnoodle mutts.

She took off running.

The desert morning heat was already oppressive. The pavement under her feet felt hot and sticky. A bird perching on an overhead electrical wire panted through its small, open beak, and the sound of sprinklers laboring to water the lush tropical yards filled the air.

And sun, sun, blazing sun everywhere.

“Wait up,” she heard someone call out behind her. She whirled to see Matt Albright loping toward her, wearing running shoes, cargo shorts, and a yellow T-shirt. He looked fresh and scrubbed, and he wore that dazzling yet deceptive smile.

Gretchen turned back to the task at hand and continued running, squinting against the sun’s intense rays and wishing for a good pair of sunglasses more than a pair of shoes.