Goodbye Dolly (28 page)

"Okay. It isn't a big deal. I was delivering a doll to her."

"A doll?"

"Yes, some kind of Kewpie doll from her brother."

She almost dropped her tools on top of Nimrod, who slept curled nearby.
Stay calm,
Gretchen thought, her heart beating to the band.

"From Percy O'Connor?" she asked.

"Yes, how did you-?"

Gretchen interrupted him. She had to know the rest.

"What kind of Kewpie was it?"

"Gretchen, you should know better than anyone that I don't know the slightest thing about dolls. I wouldn't recognize a Kewpie doll if it wore a name tag, let alone figure out what kind of specific Kewpie it was. I didn't even know there were different kinds. Besides, it was inside a sealed box."

"Then how did you know it was a Kewpie?

"I met Percy through one of the attorneys at the firm. The three of us had lunch one day, and the subject of the Boston Kewpie Club's expedition to Phoenix came up. When I told him I was planning a trip to Arizona, he asked me to deliver the doll to his sister. She lived in Phoenix, and he said he couldn't go to the show himself-health reasons-and he didn't trust the postal service. He said I should tell her it was his favorite Kewpie collectible."

Favorite, like a million dollars favorite?
Gretchen was sure that Steve had delivered a doll filled with diamonds, or at least one that the killer thought was filled with diamonds. After killing Percy and failing to find the gems, he must have suspected that Chiggy had them.

But if she did have them at one time, they must be missing now. Why else would she be so skittish?

"You know that Percy was murdered?" she asked Steve.

"Yes. No one knows why; nothing was missing, and he didn't seem to have any enemies. Quite a likable fellow, really." Steve continued. "The police thought Percy must have surprised a burglar in the act, the burglar killed him, then panicked and ran away without stealing anything. What a tragedy." He paused for a respectable moment of silence. "Chiggy was beside herself with joy when I presented the doll to her."

"I bet," Gretchen muttered.

"A final parting gift from her brother. She seemed to recognize it."

"What makes you say that?"

"She said something like 'at last, I thought it was lost.'

Then she cried."

"Do you remember what she did with the doll?"

"I'm not sure."

"Think, Steve. It might be important."

"I think she may have added it to another box of dolls. Yes, she did. One she planned on keeping, because she made a big deal out of it, pointing out to everyone that they shouldn't take that box."

Gretchen stared at the Kewpies on the worktable. Chiggy wanted to throw out the badly reproduced Kewpies. They really were worthless. Chiggy had hidden Percy's Kewpie doll inside the box of Ginnys.

Bert's Liquor Store was located in a run-down neighborhood in central Phoenix. Its less-than-distinguished features included a cheap rectangular facade, an enormous yellow sign with exposed gray metal where the paint had peeled away, and questionable clientele at the store's drivethrough service window. Gretchen arrived in the late afternoon when she hoped the store's most loyal customers would be thinking about that first jolt of the evening. She sat in her car with the doors locked and thought about her next move. An hour passed while she considered her options and watched a steady stream of people arrive at the store empty-handed, and leave clutching brown paper bags. The three liquor store bags that the Kewpies had arrived in were lying on the seat next to her. Not that they would do her any good. She couldn't march into the store and demand to know what they had contained and who the alcohol had been sold to. Although, if she acted slightly off, she would fit right in with the current clientele. She was wasting her time. She'd give it another half hour and then leave.

What had Aunt Gertie said to her on the phone?

Something like she'd know him when she saw him. Well, she didn't know anyone coming or going. No one even remotely familiar.

You'll know the culprit the minute you spot him,
that's what Aunt Gertie had said.

Or her.

The only familiar character Gretchen had seen so far was approaching the liquor store this minute and was about to pass right by the Echo.

She sat up straighter.

With her shopping cart, Daisy would have blended right in with the rest of the street people. But Daisy's colorful attire stood out from the crowd, and Gretchen was able to spot her at a distance. She wore her red hat and purple sundress, and she sashayed along the sidewalk as if she was the queen of her very own Red Hat parade.

What was she doing near the liquor store? She didn't drink, as far as Gretchen knew. Daisy didn't have to drink to escape reality. She had her own source of hallucinations. Daisy curtsied to a passing pedestrian, a wide smile on her face.

"Hey, Daisy," Gretchen called out the window when she came even with the Echo.

Daisy started, jerking quickly around, panic flickering across her face. Then she saw who it was. "Gretchen, you scared me. I didn't see you." She moved closer. "What are you doing here? Hey, little doggie."

Gretchen thought quickly while Daisy reached in and let Nimrod lick her hand. "I... ah... stopped to buy some wine. How was the audition?"

"Same as always. They were looking for a younger actress. That's my problem." Daisy leaned one arm on the car, the other on her waist. "When I was young, they said I was too young. Now that I'm older, they say I'm too old. I can't win. One of these days my star is going to arrive. That's the thing. I can't give up. All the famous actresses had to go through tough times."

"I'm sure you'll make it." Gretchen got out of the car and stood on the sidewalk next to Daisy, who didn't seem in any hurry to move on.

Gretchen pointed to the liquor store. "Are you going in?"

"Oh, no, I don't drink." Daisy adjusted her hat. "Never touch the stuff."

"How's Nacho?" Gretchen asked. "Is he still mad at me?"

"Ask him yourself. Here he comes."

They watched Nacho approach. When he spotted Daisy, his face lightened from his standard scowl, but when his eyes slid to Gretchen, he looked the other way, passed right by them, and entered the store.

"Yep," Daisy said. "He's still mad. You'll have to go away in a minute. You shouldn't have told the cops about Albert. It puts me right in the middle, and I don't want Nacho mad at me, too." She peered through the liquor store door. "He's coming out soon. He asked me to meet him here, but he won't come near me if you're still around. You have to go."

Lately, it seemed Gretchen had a knack for alienating people. Steve, Nacho, Nina. She opened her mouth to deny the allegations against her, but maybe she
had
been directly responsible for Albert's assault. At least she and Nina had made up, and Steve was on speaking terms with her. Sort of. He hadn't hung up as soon as he'd he heard her voice.

"I didn't know that Nacho shopped at Bert's Liquor,"

Gretchen said.

Could Nacho have sent the Kewpie dolls to her? The thought was too far-fetched to consider. He had no means to purchase the dolls, no opportunity to find out enough about the murders to write the messages, and no apparent motive to do so. The same went for Daisy.

Of course, Chiggy could have sent the dolls and the cryptic messages, but this dilapidated liquor store in this questionable neighborhood wouldn't be the kind of place Chiggy Kent would frequent. Even if she could. Daisy struck a haughty pose. "Bert's Liquor Store, I'll have you know, is where all my friends purchase their alcoholic beverages. Bert has the best prices and friendliest service in all of Phoenix. Everybody who's anybody shops here."

Gretchen looked at the litter lying in piles against the buildings: windblown newspapers, empty bottles, and cigarette butts. Some of the nearby stores had been boarded up and abandoned. Daisy's immediate circle of friends wasn't particular.

"Go, now," Daisy said. Gretchen saw Nacho at the cash register, paying the clerk.

She got into the Echo and pretended like she was about to start the car and drive off, slowly digging through her purse for her keys.

Nacho swung the door open and joined Daisy without any apparent concern over where Gretchen had gone. The two homeless friends wandered away together, arm in arm. Gretchen was about to follow them, but she paused with her hand on the gearshift and the car still in park. Albert Thoreau, sole eyewitness to Brett's death, limped across the street directly in front of her car and went into the liquor store.

When he came out with a bagged bottle under his arm, she was waiting for him on the sidewalk with Nimrod peeking from her shoulder bag.

She saw recognition in Albert's eyes. He glanced away and moved around her.

She held out an arm to stop him. "You know who I am,"

she said decisively.

Albert's face was swollen and blackened, and she noticed that his limp was more pronounced than when he'd entered Bert's. He looked exactly like the picture Daisy had shown her. If he'd had time to heal, she probably wouldn't have recognized him.

He stopped, looked directly at her, and nodded. "I've seen you with Daisy," he said through cracked and puffy lips.

"What happened to your face?"

"Wrong place at the wrong time. It's nothing to you."

"I heard a cop did it."

"You heard wrong." He stared at her defiantly. Gretchen knew he wouldn't talk to her because she wasn't from the street, she wasn't one of his kind. Or perhaps Nacho had shared his anger at Gretchen and the reason why. Albert might blame her for his abuse at the hands of the Phoenix police.

"I'm sorry about what happened to you," she said. "If I am in any way to blame-"

"You're not." He cut her off. "It's got nothing to do with you. You go home and stay out of trouble."

"You saw the man at the auction, the one who was pushed? Tell me who did it."

"Go home," he said roughly. "And watch out." His face softened. "You remind me of my sister."

"Your sister?"

"Same hair, same lots of things. She moved away. Maybe you know her. Susan Thoreau-well, its Mertz now that she's married."

Gretchen shook her head.

"Hey Thoreau," someone called out, and a man came up and high-fived Albert. "What's happenin' man?"

"Coppin' a little friendly comfort." Albert held up the Bert's Liquor bag. "This here is one of Daisy's friends."

He gestured toward Gretchen. "Meet BJ."

Gretchen reached out to grasp the offered hand, a hand coated with grime. She forced herself not to flinch. He was a two-handed shaker, working his left hand over the top of their clutched right hands.

After giving her an appreciative stare, BJ broke the shake and popped Albert lightly in the chest. "See ya later." He looked at Gretchen. "Don't follow this guy's lead when you cross the street. He's color-blind, ya know. He'll have ya crossing against the light cuz he can't tell red from green."

"Catch ya," Albert said, and he limped away, crossing in the middle of the street and heading back the way he came. BJ beelined for the liquor store.

Gretchen watched Albert go. How could these people live like this? Scrounging for basics like food and shelter, living for their next cheap bottles of booze, rejecting offers of assistance. Gretchen couldn't imagine what their lives must be like in July when temperatures remained in the triple digits, day and night.

Not all were alcoholics, but most of those Gretchen met were. Many who remained on the street for any length of time had psychological issues. Like Daisy. Sweet and harmless but unbalanced and unwilling to accept treatment. Maybe living in the make-believe world Daisy had created was easier than facing reality. Gretchen felt as if she could use a little escape from it herself right about now.

How did Albert escape from the reality of his life? The booze, of course.

With one hand on the car door, a thought struck her. Color-blind?

Did BJ say Albert was color-blind?

Gretchen started running down the street. Nimrod let out a yip, and she slowed slightly, readjusting him against her side.

She ran two blocks and stopped at a corner, looking both ways. There he was. She could see him up ahead. The man walked fast for someone with a bad leg who was going nowhere.

Getting closer, she called out his name, and he turned and waited for her to catch up.

She stopped in front of him, her breath fast and ragged, more from the discovery than the physical exercise. "You're color-blind?" she said.

"A little."

"What's a little?" Gretchen wanted to know. "You're either color-blind or you aren't, right?"

"Okay, I'm color-blind, but it's no big deal. I forget about it all the time."

"So... do you confuse all the colors?"

Albert shrugged. "What's this about?"

"I'm curious. For example, if I see blue, what color do you see?"

"What is this, some kind of test?" Albert frowned at her.

"Humor me, okay? What color would you see?"

"Daisy tells me I see purple."

"What color would be blue?"

"What?"

Gretchen wasn't communicating well. She knew it.

"You see blue, I see..."

She waited.

"I see blue," Albert said. "You see green."

Gretchen stared at him. According to Nacho, Albert had seen someone get out of a blue truck and push Brett into the street.

But Albert hadn't seen a blue truck. He'd seen a green one.

A green truck.

Gretchen had watched Howie get into a blue truck and drive off after the auction, after Brett had been killed. Albert had seen a man get out of a truck that, it turns out, was actually green.