Deb Baker - Ding Dong Dead

“Sounds more complicated than I imagined,” Gretchen said.

“The days of pounding the pavement for information are almost over. I spend most of my time at a keyboard. It’s raining harder by the way.”

Gretchen didn’t move. This moment alone with him on the mountain was too precious to give up willingly. “Finding the skeletal remains of a human didn’t really bother me as much as I thought it would. I’ve seen enough cadavers in textbooks, and I took anatomy in college, so I can even identify most of the bones in a human body.”

“The missing head did it, right?”

Gretchen snuggled a little closer on the boulder. “The lack of a head, yes. And the headless doll body disturbed me as much as the actual headless skeleton.”

She shivered. “It has to be Flora Swilling’s body. Did you see the photograph of the girl holding a doll? It’s the same cloth doll body. I’m sure of it.”

“It could be, but we can’t work from intuition like you do. I have to prove it with concrete facts. Flora Swilling married a man named Berringer. The husband died in the sixties of heart failure. I went through old missing person reports and found something interesting: In 1981, almost twenty years after her husband died, Flora Berringer disappeared. She was never heard from again.”

Gretchen jumped up, excited. Nina had been right all along about the identification of their ghost. “You know we’ve found her!”

“We still need to make a proper identification, but for now, yes, I think you stumbled across what’s left of Flora Berringer.”

Gretchen felt as though she’d accomplished something big, something really worthwhile. She’d put together one more piece of a puzzle, as grisly as it was. Now the police would study Flora’s history, search her background, and catch her killer after all these years.

“I want to help,” Gretchen said as they started down the mountain. “I felt a connection to her from the moment I saw that old photograph.”

“Now you sound like your aunt.”

“If what I saw last night is all that remains of that woman, I want to help catch the person responsible.”

“That’s my job.”

“We can solve a cold case together.”

“Oh, wouldn’t that be fun.”

“I knew that’s what you’d say.”

They had reached the trailhead. Matt’s car was the only one in the parking area. They ducked into it just as the sky gave way. Rain beat on the windshield. Matt didn’t make any attempt to start the car.

“Are you keeping quiet about the words on the headstone?” Gretchen asked.

“Yes, didn’t Caroline tell you?”

“No, she must have forgotten.”

So her mother wouldn’t have told anyone. And Gretchen hadn’t, which meant that the note on her windshield hadn’t been left as a bad practical joke because no one knew about it.

“About the museum, Gretchen. You can’t go back to it,” Matt said.

“Of course I can.”

“Let me rephrase that. The house has been officially sealed until we go through every box in the place and I’m satisfied that there’s nothing left to find.”

“When will you be finished?”

“In a few days. We’re going to move quickly on this one. In the meantime, please be careful. Stay close to your family. Stay out of dark places. Make sure you’re locked in securely at night.”

There the warnings were again. All the rules that women were forced to live by. What must it be like to be a man, to be able to live without all the fear?

“I mean it, Gretchen,” Matt said. “Put the project on hold. Stay home and work on your business.”

He’d never leave her alone if he knew about the note. He’d only worry more. And what could he do about it? But she had to tell him.

Matt reached into the backseat. “I almost forgot. I fished this out of your mother’s car before it was towed. You’ll give it to her?”

Gretchen took the shopping bag and peeked inside. She withdrew a white plastic bag and started to open it.

“Whoa,” Matt said. “You aren’t going to open that, are you? What if it’s, you know?”

“Oh, right.” Gretchen put the plastic bag back inside. “Doll stuff.” He wouldn’t like that.

“So,” she said after a moment, “we aren’t going to be partners?”

Matt grinned and reached for her. “It depends on what kind of partners you’re suggesting.”

She had no intention of sitting on the sidelines like a good little cheerleader, but the man was irresistible!

A few minutes later, the car’s windows were completely steamed over. And the nasty note was the last thing on Gretchen’s mind.

Chatty Cathy was one of the most popular dolls of the sixties, coming in a close second after Barbie. Both were produced by Mattel. Chatty Cathy, who was twenty inches tall and composed of vinyl, was soon followed by Chatty Baby, Tiny Chatty Baby, and several other offshoots designed to be nurtured by eager children. Chatty Cathy’s innovation was that she could “speak.” Her early phrases included “Please play with me” and “Please brush my hair.” With her protruding little tummy and slightly bucked teeth, Chatty Cathy was the typical, lovable child of her time.

– From World of Dolls by Caroline Birch

Gretchen, Caroline, and Nina crowded around the computer in the doll repair studio. Doll parts were sorted neatly inside stacked white bins, each labeled with their contents. The “basket cases,” those dolls needing extra attention, were wrapped and placed carefully in bins near the worktable. Projects with approaching deadlines were also placed close to the workstations.

“See it!” Nina leaned toward the computer screen and pointed excitedly with a long, red fingernail. “It’s an orb!”

“It’s a smudge on the lens,” Caroline said.

“It’s our ghost,” Nina insisted, clicking her nail on the screen.

Gretchen leaned forward and squinted at the monitor. What had she expected to find? The smoky outline of a human body? All she saw was a spot.

“Ghosts can appear as mist or sparkles,” Nina said. “Orbs are most common. I’d stake my future on it: that glowing circular object is an orb.”

“You’re sure it isn’t dirt on the lens?” Gretchen was doubtful.

Nina picked up her camera and presented the lens side to her sister and to Gretchen. “Not a single speck. It’s as clean as Nimrod’s teeth.”

Gretchen laughed. “That clean?”

“I didn’t tell you I had all the pooches’ teeth cleaned. Nimrod, where are you?” Nina, decked out in black mourning as she decided was fitting after the discovery in the armoire, called out to the puppy.

Gretchen heard her tiny poodle running through the house. He barreled into the workshop, his little black ears flapping. Nimrod almost overran the spot where Nina wanted him to perform. He skidded to a stop and waited impatiently for the next command.

“Smile,” Nina said to him.

Nimrod pulled back his lips, exposing his teeth and producing more of a grimace than a grin.

“My,” Caroline said, laughing. “Those are clean teeth.”

“Take a bow, Nimrod,” Nina said using her training voice.

The poodle tipped his head in a perfect bow.

Gretchen saw a transaction between the trainer and the puppy, a treat passed so discreetly that a casual observer would have missed it.

Everyone clapped. Tutu watched aloofly from afar, miffed that she wasn’t the center of attention.

Caroline held the copy of the old sepia photograph. It was the first time she had seen it.

“I’m amazed,” she said, “that you found this picture.”

“It’s what started us on the path,” Nina said. “Otherwise we wouldn’t have recognized the doll body.”