Goodbye Dolly (8 page)

"It doesn't belong to me. Until I speak with the owner, I can't offer it to you."

"Price is no object. I'll pay whatever you ask."

"But as I've explained, even if the owner is willing to sell the doll, it's a reproduction."

"Yes, I heard you. Insignificant." Milt Wood was an expressive talker, his hands keeping time to the beat of his persistence.

"The doll isn't for sale at the moment," Gretchen said firmly. She regretted having mentioned the doll earlier to the collectors gathered at the Boston Kewpie Club table.

Who would have guessed that anyone would be interested in an imitation doll?

"Very well," he said, no longer quite as jovial and friendly. His smile remained, but his eyes darkened. "We'll discuss it again later."

Before Gretchen could think of a response that would send Milt Wood away permanently, she heard sirens screaming outside the building. Instead of growing fainter, the sound grew louder.

Bonnie Albright ran by, her red wig more than a little askew. "Ronny Beam's been murdered," she shouted.

"Right out in the parking lot."

Behind Gretchen, April gasped.

"I told you this would happen eventually," Nina said with a slightly smug tone, although her complexion was several shades lighter than usual.

One of Nina's predictions, usually far off the mark, had come true, and she wasn't about to miss the opportunity to promote it.

"Was he shot?" Gretchen asked Bonnie, remembering the specifics of Nina's premonition that someone would eventually shoot Ronny.

"No. Stabbed with some kind of knife," Bonnie continued. "One with pink nail polish all over the handle."

Gretchen's eyes slid to the floor, to her open toolbox and the assortment of repair tools, all painted Poodle Skirt Pink. Nina reached over with her foot and casually flipped the toolbox cover closed.

No one but Gretchen noticed.

Gretchen quickly gathered her unsold dolls and stored them under her table. The show had ended earlier than planned. The big attraction waited outdoors.

"Are you missing a knife?" Nina whispered, as they swung the puppies and purses onto their shoulders to join the throng of people moving outside. Tutu pranced lightly ahead, while Nina clutched her pink leash.

April, in spite of her bulk, had already outdistanced them in the race to the doors. The opportunity to view a murder was irresistible, and the hall was clearing out fast.

"Yes," Gretchen answered, remembering her search through the workshop. "But don't say anything yet. It can't possibly be mine."

"What kind of knife was it?"

"My hobby knife. I noticed it missing yesterday when I packed up. But it's just a razor blade in a holder. I don't think it could kill anyone. Cut them up pretty bad, but, as a murder weapon...?" Gretchen shook her head. "Impossible."

Still, Gretchen had a sinking feeling that the knife was hers. How many other people paint their tools pink? She struggled to remember when she had last seen the knife. Did she paint the handle? Yes. She had painted it right before Nina left to have her hair done. Then Steve came in and ran his hands along the tools. He was the last person in the workshop aside from her. There was only one explanation. Steve must have taken it. But why?

"It can't be mine," she said again, without confidence. Nina harrumphed and continued moving forward. Gretchen noticed an exit door off to the back of the hall.

"Let's get out of the crowd," she said. "The police are never going to let all these people get close to the... scene." She couldn't bring herself to say
murder scene
. "And I have to see that knife. Come on."

Nimrod and Sophie sensed the excitement around them, and both rode high in their purses for a better view. Nimrod panted heavily, his tiny eyes alert. Sophie's topknot bounced. Gretchen slammed through the exit door with Nina right behind her.

The Arizona sun temporarily blinded Gretchen. She quickly donned sunglasses and realized that they were standing at the rear of the parking lot. Even in early October, the heat struck her instantly. At least one hundred degrees. She moved to the side of the building and peeked around the corner.

A perfect view. Nina edged up next to her and shortened Tutu's leash to keep her close.

On the far side, about seventy yards away, police were trying to contain the swelling crowd. Ambulances and squad cars crept along, and Gretchen wondered how the authorities could preserve the crime scene and find potential witnesses with this mass of humanity.

A better question occurred to Gretchen. How did someone manage to murder Ronny in the middle of the afternoon in a full parking lot without being seen?

Uniformed police swarmed the lot. Several bent over something on the ground behind a car, but Gretchen couldn't make out a body. She felt weak around the knees and leaned heavily against the building for support.

Matt Albright rose from the huddle on the ground, looked over his shoulder, and spotted Gretchen. He did a double take, spoke briefly to another officer, and walked over.

"I think we can rule out premeditation," he said, the strain showing on his face. "This was definitely an expression of rage." He shook his head. "So much for a quiet day off. Why do I feel like I'm going to catch this case? Ronny wasn't on my list of favorite people, and I'm not particularly fond of dolls."

"Ronny could piss off the pope," Nina added. "Excuse my expression."

"You two should pack up for the day," Matt advised.

"We're going to shut the show down until tomorrow. That's the only way to dispel the sightseers. We need to clear the parking lot. Our people can't even get their vehicles in."

"What happened?" Gretchen asked.

"Looks like the killer attacked as Ronny approached his car. He must have been waiting for Ronny."

"How awful," Nina said, eyeing Gretchen. "We heard he was stabbed. Glad that isn't true."

Matt frowned. "My mother was lurking around, soaking up as much information as she could pick up. That's classified information. We're withholding it for now, so you never heard it from me."

"It is true then?" Gretchen looked away from the activity, up at Camelback Mountain rising in the distance over the city. Red, barren clay. Like someone had tried to fashion a camel from potter's clay and failed.

"Sort of. Whoever killed Ronny also stuck an X-Acto knife in his back as a finishing touch." His frown deepened.

"I don't get it, though. The blade wasn't long enough to do any real damage. It's the tire iron we found nearby that will turn out to be the murder weapon."

Nina stared at Gretchen, waiting for her response. Whatever she decided, she knew Nina would back her up. But Gretchen didn't know for certain whether Steve had taken the knife from the workshop, and she suddenly felt uncharacteristically protective of her former boyfriend. Gretchen couldn't share her suspicions with anyone, especially not with Matt, a cop. At least, not yet. Gretchen met Nina's gaze silently.

"I better get back," Matt said.

He strode away.

Nina rammed through the Impala's gears. "I really don't know why you insist on getting involved in Daisy's life,"

she said. "She's perfectly happy where she is."

Gretchen didn't know how anyone could be content to roam the Phoenix streets without a place to sleep or a guaranteed meal.

"I'm not convinced of that," Gretchen said. "This is a good time to check on her, since we have a few extra hours. And maybe she knows something about Ronny that will be helpful. The street people seem to be connected to the city's pulse."

She gazed out the window. "Like Native American drum signals. I don't know how they do it."

Daisy, a homeless drama queen, and her alcoholic friend, Nacho, had entered Gretchen's life right after she'd arrived in Phoenix, and she felt a special fondness for them, even though their refusal to accept her offers of assistance frustrated her beyond words. Traffic on Central Avenue edged slowly forward, the perpetual gridlock an inescapable fact of life in Phoenix. For once, Gretchen didn't mind. It gave her an opportunity to think about Ronny's death and Steve's connection to her knife.

"Why didn't you tell Matt that you think the knife belongs to you?" Nina asked from the driver's seat of her red Impala.

"I don't know. I'd like to wait a little longer. I just have a bad feeling about the whole thing."

"That's my girl. Your inherited psychic gifts are finally kicking in."

"Because I have a bad feeling about a murder, and my repair tool was used as a weapon?"

"Exactly." Nina punched the horn and slammed on the brakes when the car ahead of her stopped abruptly. "My nerves are shot," she said. "I think it's a combination of the heat and Ronny's murder."

"You should have let me drive."

"You're always lost. I'll take care of the driving. You pay attention to where we're going and start orienting yourself to Phoenix's streets. I've never known anyone with such a poor sense of direction."

"I haven't gotten lost for a long time."

"Right. Sure."

"There she is." Gretchen pointed. "Pull over."

Nina edged to the curb and idled in a no parking zone.

"Make it quick," she said, adjusting the bows in her hair. "I don't want a ticket."

As soon as the car stopped, all three dogs began prancing in the backseat, running into each other and yipping. Gobs of canine goo streaked the back windows. Nimrod and Tutu recognized Daisy immediately, and their chorus resounded at a nerve-racking level.

Daisy sat alone on a wooden bench wearing a baggy purple dress and a red baseball cap, and weeping into a corner of the dress.

"What's wrong, Daisy?" Gretchen said, getting out of the car and sitting down beside her.

"Oh, hey." Daisy looked up and sniffed, trying to compose herself. "I'm okay."

"Your bedroom is still waiting for you, whenever you feel like stopping by."

"Thanks, Gretchen, but it's hard to get noticed by talent scouts way up there by the mountain. I need to be on the streets. Visible. Besides, I have everything I need right here with me."

She motioned to a shopping cart wedged between the bench and an electrical pole. It was packed with old clothes and other miscellaneous items Daisy had found in her wanderings.

"Any luck with the acting yet?" Gretchen slung her arms across the back of the bench. She saw Nina scowl at her from the car.

"Soon," Daisy said, sniffling. "I just need my first big break. Then it's Hollywood, here I come."

Gretchen wished she had paid more attention in her college psych classes. Daisy talked incessantly of her future as a movie star. There must be a clinical name for it. Not that a label mattered. The woman would never agree to psychological testing or medication.

"You know, I promised to look out for you," Gretchen said. After Daisy almost died in a car accident, Gretchen had made a vow to herself that she planned on fulfilling, with or without Daisy's cooperation.

"I know you did." Daisy's eyes were red and rimmed with tears.

"You're not making it easy."

"Don't worry about me. Worry about Nacho," Daisy said, beginning to sob again.

"What's going on?" Gretchen felt a tightness in her chest, and she sat up straighter.

"They did a sweep again. I can't find him."

"Oh, no."

Daisy shook her head sorrowfully. "They came in a van,"

she said, "and rounded us up as we came out of the soup kitchen. I ducked back inside, but Nacho wasn't quick enough."

Angry, Gretchen looked down the street as though she might spot the van. "How long ago?"

Daisy shrugged helplessly and looked off into the distance. "I don't know. Awhile."

Nina blew the horn.

"Come with us," Gretchen said, rising from the bench.

"We'll help you look for him."

"I can't leave my stuff behind."

Gretchen eyed the mounded shopping cart. "It won't fit in the car," she said.

Daisy looked up and down the street, then she called out, and two women left a bench farther down and started over.

"We're neighbors," Daisy said. "They'll watch my things."

"Hey, doggies." Daisy slid into the backseat, and the canines pounced on her with a volley of delighted squeals. Gretchen saw Nina scrunch her nose at the new odors permeating the Impala. Nina rolled down her window a few inches.

"Nacho's been relocated again," Gretchen informed Nina.

"Isn't that illegal?" Nina asked. "To take Nacho against his will and drop him off someplace else?"

"I suppose," Daisy said. "But what's he going to do about it? Sue?"

"They probably didn't take him far," Nina said. "Last time, wasn't he dumped in Mesa?"

"And he found his way back," Gretchen said to reassure Daisy. "He'll be back this time, too."

Nina nodded. "He could be anywhere, but he's resourceful."

She shot into traffic and wove expertly between lanes.

"You're right," Daisy said. "He'll come back. He wouldn't leave me by myself for long."

"You know," Gretchen said, changing the subject. "Ronny Beam was murdered a few hours ago."

"I heard," Daisy said.

"How did you find out already? It just happened."

"It's all over the street. Nobody liked Ronny much."

"That's an understatement if I ever heard one," Nina muttered.

"Last January he came to our campsite," Daisy said.

"He said he wanted to see how we make it through the winter. Like Phoenix winters ever get that cold. He was really obnoxious. He had cheap wine in a paper bag and tried to panhandle from an undercover cop. Everybody was relieved when they arrested him and carted him away."

"Dumb as a brick," Nina said.