Deb Baker: Ding Dong Dead

Nina came out of the break room with two cups of coffee. “After what you went through last night, you should be the one taking the day off. How awful for that poor woman.”

They sat down in upholstered chairs on the stage.

“Right now I’m extremely worried about Nacho and Daisy,” Gretchen said. “Why didn’t Daisy signal to me when I was at the cemetery?”

“How did they ever manage before they met you?”

The two homeless people had been a source of frustration for Gretchen ever since she’d met and become friends with them, shortly after her move to Arizona. She wanted to help them, but she assumed that meant they had to change. She was learning fast that her method wasn’t working.

Still, she didn’t want to give up.

“I called the police station without finding out anything. Daisy isn’t answering her cell. I don’t want to bother Matt until later. I’m sure he worked through the night.”

“Nacho and Daisy will be fine. It’s this project and your safety that I’m worried about. Everything’s off-kilter. Auras are wrong. Everything.”

Her aunt was unlike most people, but her views weren’t without merit. She saw life through a different colored lens, and though she didn’t like to admit it, Gretchen understood much of Nina’s madness.

“If I’d had a vote,” her aunt continued, “I would have voted no to taking this on.”

“Why?” For someone on the opposing side, Nina had certainly waded in to take over control of the play.

“We don’t know anything about the owner. Caroline went down and looked at the deed. It’s titled to something called The Smart Investment Trust. That doesn’t tell us anything.”

The arrangement was unusual, but also a good deal for the club. According to the terms of the agreement with the house’s owner, the club would have several fundraisers to help with refurbishing and operating costs, and they would convert the home into a museum. In return, the owner would allow them to remodel as they wished and then use any revenues generated to keep the museum open and running.

Nina scowled. “That wormy little attorney who is representing the owner, what’s his name?”

“Dean McNalty.”

“Him. There’s not one good reason why he can’t tell us who owns the house. I’d like to get answers out of him even if it means wringing his scrawny little neck.”

“Such violence from a proclaimed pacifist.”

“I’m feeling a bit stressed,” Nina admitted.

“Not only do we have a beautiful old building to work with, but the original owners were also avid collectors. The house is filled with boxes of dolls.”

With what they’d already found inside the house and with the dolls the members had eagerly offered to donate, they might have opened the first floor to visitors by the end of the month. If only the paperwork hadn’t taken so long. She and her mother had received keys and had taken their first walk-through only three days ago.

Gretchen sipped her coffee and looked around the empty room. “There isn’t anything more we can do here. Let me show you the museum. We have our work cut out for us, but the possibilities are limitless.”

There are many ways to place dolls for display. They can be arranged by size, by type, or by color. A grouping of dolls dressed all in white can be very dramatic. Or you can place dolls in scenes, paying close attention to appropriate furnishings for your doll’s particular era.

Preservation of your dolls is the key to their longevity. Keep them away from direct sunlight and florescent lights. Room temperature should be between sixty-five degrees and seventy degrees. Closed cases are preferable to open where the dolls would be exposed to dirt, dust, and insects.

– From World of Dolls by Caroline Birch

Gretchen and Nina walked the three short blocks from the rehearsal hall to the museum, led by Tutu. Caroline came out of the house while they were standing on the sidewalk admiring the architecture. Gretchen loved the Spanish Colonial Revival. It had a low-pitched red-tile roof, arched windows, and an asymmetrical design that Gretchen found intriguing. And it was right in the heart of one of the few remaining historic districts in the downtown area.

To complete the perfect picture, a small balcony overlooked the street, and behind the house stood a tiny caretaker’s cottage. La casita in Spanish.

“The house is owned by an eccentric, hermitlike woman, according to the owner’s attorney,” Caroline said, standing next to them. “No one has lived here for many years.”

The entire doll club had been present for the inspection so Gretchen already knew that the home had been neglected for a very long time. At least most of the dolls had been boxed up and stored away from the damaging effects of dust and sunlight. And what a massive collection it was turning out to be! Generations of this family’s members must have been avid collectors.

“Come in and see the progress we’ve made,” Caroline said.

“Just so you know,” Nina said, “I’m firmly against what you are doing.”

“Oh, really?” Caroline said. “Then you should go shopping. Come on, Gretchen.”

The last thing her aunt could stand was being excluded. “I’ll stay,” she said. “Someone has to protect you two from your own actions.”

Gretchen paused on the sidewalk to admire a large sign, finding herself once again in awe of her mother’s ability to negotiate. World of Dolls Museum, the sign read. A smaller sign hung beneath it announcing that it would open soon. “I like it. You convinced the new owner to name the museum after your doll book. A smart move.”

Caroline beamed. “I had to work through the attorney,” she said. “He had to carry the request and subsequent questions and answers back and forth.”

“Any luck getting the name of our generous benefactor while you were being so clever?”

“None. We’ll have to tie the attorney down and torture it out of him.”

Gretchen couldn’t imagine a worse idea than being trapped with the little man who had approached them with the offer. She’d be the one under torture. “Let’s see what’s happening inside,” she said, opening the museum door and stepping into the World of Dolls.

No one was working in the front of the museum, but Gretchen could hear singing coming from the back of the house.

Caroline set her purse on a counter. “April and I have been working nonstop the last two days. What you see here is all we’ve managed to organize so far.”

“I love it already,” Gretchen said.

Fabulous displays began at the entryway. The minute she entered Gretchen felt as though she were on an exciting Disney ride. Smiling dolls with colorful clothing were placed in settings that would draw visitors farther into the museum. The displays were like scrumptious appetizers, a promise to the diner that every course would be as flavorful as the first.

“I have a few calls to make,” Caroline said. “Look around. You have such a good eye for design, Nina. Come back in, oh, about fifteen minutes and tell me what you think would be the best layout.”

Gretchen and Nina followed the melody down the hall and into a room on the left where fellow club member and good friend, April, was humming away while she arranged dolls. She had a rich, well-projected voice.

April was the doll club’s appraiser. She had a keen eye for detail and a natural talent that Gretchen envied. April could touch a piece of doll clothing and tell you exactly where it came from and when. She was also Gretchen’s best friend along with Nina. April was about Gretchen’s own age but looked older than Nina (who, at twelve years younger than Caroline, was almost closer to Gretchen’s age than her own sister’s). April was a big-boned woman who wore muumuus and colored socks with her sandals, and she absolutely adored a tiny Chihuahua named Enrico, another of Nina’s successful adoption placements.