Dolly Departed dtdf-3 Page 3

  "I was her best friend," the woman said without opening the door any wider. "I'm Britt Gleeland. I made most of the miniature dolls on display in the shop."

  "I'm surprised I haven't met you before."

  "I'm not a member of the Phoenix Dollers."

  Gretchen knew that there were two distinct doll groups: doll collectors and miniaturists. They each had their own clubs and shows, so it wasn't unusual that she hadn't met Charlie's friend before. Of course, there were always crossovers like April, who loved all aspects of the doll world.

  "I'm sorry for your loss." Gretchen said.

  "Thank you." Britt Gleeland had dark hair in a tightly rolled French twist with a fringe of long bangs. She was about forty-five years old and wore a crisp white blouse, dark skirt, and businesslike heels that matched the professional expression on her face.

  "Can I come in?" Gretchen asked.

  "It's not a good time."

  "I won't keep you long." Gretchen couldn't believe how quickly the police had wrapped up their work at the shop. How long had it been? Less than twelve hours?

  "Very well," Britt said, reluctantly standing back. Gretchen moved past her and noticed a shopping bag on the floor next to the counter.

  "I'm collecting some of my dolls," Britt said. "Charlie had them on consignment, so they belong to me. I don't know what's going to happen to the shop now that she's gone, and I was concerned about retrieving them."

  "I hope you left the display pieces."

  "Why?"

  "My mother will be restoring the display case and would like everything to be just as it was. Please don't remove anything just yet."

  "I didn't hear anything about that," Britt said. "But it doesn't matter. I've only gathered up the dolls that Charlie had on consignment." Britt squatted and picked up a room box. "I don't know what I'll do without a best friend. They take years to acquire." She glanced up, her eyes teary. Acquire? What an odd thing to say. It sounded like she was talking about a doll collection rather than a human relationship.

  "Charlie sent me an invitation to attend a party after the parade," Gretchen said. "Do you know what we were celebrating exactly?"

  Britt rose and shrugged. "She liked to invite people to the shop, hoping they'd make purchases. And she'd been working on a new display she wanted to show. I had a migraine this morning, or I would have been here when it happened. I might have been able to save her."

  Gretchen walked over to the display case on the floor. The display case had wooden partitions, each with slightly larger dimensions than the room boxes.

  The case was surprisingly light. She righted it, then saw an inscription on a small metal plaque attached to the top. In memory of Sara Bellingmore.

  "Who's Sara?" Gretchen asked.

  "Charlie's younger sister," Britt said, running her fingers over the letters. Gretchen retrieved one of the room boxes and tucked it into a display panel. It fit perfectly. "The room boxes must have been in the window," Gretchen guessed, noticing a red table covering in a heap near the window. "That's why the area around the window is empty now."

  "Yes," Britt said rather stiffly.

  Wasn't it unusual that the authorities would open up Charlie's shop so soon after Charlie's death? Wouldn't they want to keep people out? "Did the police give you permission to come in and take the dolls?" Gretchen asked.

  "Of course. Officer-now what was his name?"

  "Kline?"

  "That's it."

  "You have your own key?"

  "We were best friends." Britt started to bristle. "You have no authority to question me. You're acting like I did something wrong. I'd like to see proof that you have permission to be here."

  "I didn't mean to imply-"

  "I have to ask you to leave now." Britt escorted Gretchen and her travel companion, Nimrod, out of Mini Maize. Gretchen joined her aunt on the street of Old Scottsdale.

  "I can't believe some people," Nina said. "That crabby gallery owner threw us out. No dogs, the guy said."

  "Join the club," Gretchen muttered. She felt sufficiently chastised. Why had she questioned Charlie's friend?

  Who do I think I am? Jessica Fletcher?

  4

  "Peanut flour," April Lehman exclaimed early Monday morning while jiving to the beat of "Wake Up Little Susie." Her heavy frame heaved from the exertion, her legs pounded away on the gym mat.

  "Peanut flour?" Gretchen asked.

  Curves was packed, as usual. "Change stations now,"

  the programmed voice commanded, as it did every thirty seconds all day long. The women moved in a large circle, climbing onto different machines or creating their own moves on the square platforms spaced at intervals around the exercise equipment.

  The doll collectors, who all gathered at Curves to exercise three times each week, were keeping a steady stream of conversation going. Gretchen looked around at the familiar group: Rita, the Barbie enthusiast; Karen, the kindergarten teacher who liked Lee Middletons; and April, the club's doll appraiser and Gretchen's friend. April always seemed on the verge of collapsing after the first pass around the circle.

  "Peanut flour?" Gretchen repeated.

  "Peanut flour?" echoed Ora, the Curves manager. Bonnie Albright hurried in before April could expand on her peanut flour comment. Bonnie was not only Detective Matt Albright's mother, she was president of the Phoenix Dollers Club and the biggest gossip of the group. She wedged into the circle between April and Gretchen.

  "Where's Nina?" Bonnie asked, her red wig slightly skewed. She had applied lipstick in a shaky line around her mouth.

  "She's picking up a client," Gretchen said. "Enrico is back in training."

  "The Chihuahua?"

  Gretchen nodded. "He needs a monthly refresher course."

  Enrico didn't forget what Nina taught him; he simply refused to cooperate.

  "How's your mother?" Bonnie asked.

  "She came in late last night. She's still sleeping."

  "Let me get back to my story about Sara Bellingmore,"

  April said. She plopped on the thigh abductor but didn't attempt to work the hydraulic machine. She wiped her face with her sleeve.

  When Gretchen had mentioned the inscription on Charlie's display case, April had pounced on the chance to hold center stage.

  "You remember Sara," Rita said to Bonnie. "She was Charlie's sister."

  "The name doesn't ring a bell." Bonnie ran in place on a platform.

  Gretchen smiled to herself. Bonnie's version of running amounted to a few sloppy arm swings and small heel lifts. The mechanical voice interrupted, and everyone moved to the next position in the large circle.

  "You knew her, Bonnie," April said. "She was a miniature collector. She also collected antique penny dolls and must have had several hundred of them. She had a table at one of our shows a few years back, brimming with those tiny little dolls." April sighed wistfully. "I should have bought all of them. I love penny dolls." Gretchen's friend was a serious miniature doll collector, but cash was always tight for April.

  "Now I remember her," Bonnie said, looking thoughtful.

  "The miniaturists keep to themselves, but so do we," she acknowledged.

  "Sara Bellingmore died last year," April said. "She ate a slice of banana bread made with peanut flour."

  "Don't you mean peanut butter?" Bonnie said.

  "Peanut flour," April emphasized. "It has a very mild peanut flavor. Sara died from an allergic reaction to the nuts. Her throat swelled up, and she suffocated to death."

  "What an awful way to go," Gretchen said. "Peanut allergies are dangerous, especially severe ones."

  Rita piped up. "I have a friend who gets sick if she eats anything that's been prepared in a pan that contained peanut oil, even if the pan is washed out first."

  April leaned over to catch her breath after the first turn around the machines. Gretchen worried she might pass out, but, after a few seconds, April straightened up. "I need to lose some weight, and exercising isn't doing it.
"

  "You have to stop putting all that food in your mouth,"

  Bonnie scolded, throwing tact to the wind. "I've never seen anyone eat so much."

  "Try the Curves diet," Rita suggested. "That's how I lost all my weight. And you get to eat a lot of food."

  "A new diet class is starting up," called Ora from the front desk. "Want me to sign you up?"

  April shook her head. "I have it all figured out," she said.

  "I started a submarine sandwich diet yesterday. I can eat as much as I want and I'll still lose weight. Besides, I love subs."

  "Dumbest thing I heard today," Bonnie muttered, loud enough for everyone to hear.

  "I think the sub diet is worth trying," Gretchen said. After a few days of nothing but submarine sandwiches, April would be so tired of them she'd stop eating altogether and start losing weight.

  "At least I have one supporter in this group," April huffed.

  "Get ready for a ten-second count," the mechanical voice said. The women stopped exercising and pressed fingers against their necks and wrists.

  "Sounds like Charlie and Sara shared a love of miniatures," Gretchen said, turning the conversation back to the miniature shop owner's death.

  "Charlie really loved her sister." April left the circle and sat down in a chair. "My heart rate is over the chart. I need a rest." She slung an arm over the back of the chair. "Charlie always thought Sara had been murdered, but she couldn't prove it. Charlie wouldn't stop talking about it. When she wasn't working at the shop, she was investigating Sara's death."

  "What did the police say?" Gretchen asked. "Surely they would have looked into her claim."

  April dug her reading glasses out of her pocket and perched them on the end of her nose. She looked at Gretchen over the top of the lenses. "Nothing came of it."

  "The police are investigating as though Charlie's death could be murder," Gretchen said, remembering last night's interrogations and the technical equipment used at the scene. Bonnie perked up. "Maybe my Matty knows something," she said. "You could call him, Gretchen. Wouldn't that be romantic?"

  "Matt's with the Phoenix police," Gretchen reminded her. "Charlie died in Scottsdale, in a completely different jurisdiction."

  What a break for me. The last thing she needed was Matt Albright coming around, asking her questions and sending signals her way. More than once, she'd caught him watching her with those intense, dark eyes. She had to stay away.

  "Charlie probably had a heart attack," Gretchen said, hoping the doctor at the scene had been overly cautious.

  "Love Potion Number Nine" came on the boombox and livened up the group. Bonnie sang along.

  "Maybe we'll find out more when we go over to her shop this morning," April said. "Did you call and get permission?"

  "I did," Gretchen said, still surprised at how easy it had been. Her mother had supplied the name of Charlie's only surviving brother, now an MS patient in a Florida assistedliving complex, and he had granted them access. In return, Gretchen promised to clean up the shop and send photographs of the room boxes to him.

  "Permission for what?" Bonnie asked.

  April stood up slowly. "We're going to restore Charlie's room boxes. Hopefully, they will be ready in time to display at her funeral." To Gretchen, she said, "I'll see you at Mini Maize at ten."

  She was almost out the door when she turned. "I almost forgot the most important part of my story. Charlie was convinced that Sara had been killed because Sara always had a big supply of epinephrine on hand in case she had an emergency attack. She had prefilled injections that she could give herself. But when she died at home, all alone, there wasn't a single epi dose in the whole house."

  "My," Bonnie said, eyes shining with the possibilities.

  "And. .," April paused for dramatic effect, "the police never discovered where the deadly banana bread came from."

  Gretchen parked in front of Charlie's miniature doll shop at nine thirty and sat in the car waiting for Officer Kline who, after conferring with Charlie's brother, had volunteered to meet her with a key to the store. She had asked Nina and April to meet her at Mini Maize at ten o'clock to begin their restoration work. Gretchen wanted to talk to the officer, settle in, and make a few quiet observations before her band of merry women arrived with all their accompanying bells and whistles. While she waited, she gazed at Nimrod, asleep on the seat next to her. She couldn't imagine life without him. Her opinion of dogs had changed for the better over time, thanks to Nina, who had pressured her into taking Nimrod when his former owner abandoned him. And the feline Wobbles tolerated the fur ball, which was uncharacteristic of the sinewy tomcat.

  A blue Chevy pulled up behind Gretchen's car, and she groaned when she looked through her rearview mirror and saw who it was.

  Just great.

  She'd been avoiding Matt Albright lately for several very good reasons. Aside from her own mixed-up feelings for him, Matt's wacko, estranged wife Kayla was capable of just about anything.

  And here they were, together, out in the open. Gretchen stuffed a groggy Nimrod in her purse and got out of the car.

  She peered around for signs of the Wife.

  This guy comes with way too much baggage. Keep telling yourself that.

  She didn't see Kayla's black Jetta anywhere on the street, but that didn't mean anything.

  What could he possibly be doing in Scottsdale right outside of Charlie Maize's miniature doll shop? This had all the signs of big trouble.

  Matt hadn't closed his car door before he was flashing his dazzling smile. "What are you doing here?" he asked, beating her to the question of the day. He didn't look at all like a cop. Sandals, shorts, T-shirt, body builder's physique.

  Undercover and armed, she was sure. Making him even more mysterious and sexy.

  "I was going to ask you the same thing," Gretchen said.

  "I'm meeting-" He stopped midsentence and laughed.

  "I should have known."

  "What?"

  "That it was you."

  "What?" Gretchen's heart did a little backflip. He grinned wolfishly. "I'm meeting a doll repairer here at the doll shop at. ." he checked his watch. "Nine thirty."

  Gretchen stared at him. "Where's Officer Kline?"

  "Busy. And he really isn't a street cop. He's a detective, too."

  "He fooled me-parade work, uniform, the squad car."

  That explained his air of command.

  "That's what our superiors do to us when we cross them. They give us traffic."

  "I thought that was only in the movies."

  "There's a thin line between fact and fiction." Matt moved closer.

  She could smell his Chrome cologne. Her favorite male scent.

  He grinned, wide and exceptionally friendly. "The departments are collaborating on the cases."

  "Why? Wait. ." Gretchen paused. "Did you say cases?

  Plural?"

  "Charlie's sister died last year in my jurisdiction, and we're taking another look at the circumstances surrounding her death."

  "I heard she died from an allergic reaction."

  "That's right."

  "And Charlie had a heart attack?"

  "I'd like to tell you more, but you're friends with my mother. If she gets wind of it, the entire state of Arizona will be alerted to classified information. I won't look too good."

  "You know you can trust me. Come on."

  "All I can say right now is that we are looking into it,"

  Matt said, the grin not quite as wide. "I seem to get every one of these types of cases." His eyes went to the doll shop window.

  Gretchen knew Matt's secret: he had pediophobia, a fear of dolls. The big, hunky specimen of a man was afraid of dolls.

  "Yes, I can see why this case would be hard for you."

  Gretchen's lips quivered, and a chuckle escaped.

  "See," he said, good-naturedly. "You find my soft spot, and what do you do? You make fun of me. Do you think I want to be this way?"

  Gretche
n rearranged her face to show concern. "Of course not. I'm sorry I laughed."

  Matt looked toward the doll shop. "These are itty-bitty dolls, not enormous killer dolls. I'll be fine."

  "I have confidence in you."

  "We should go inside," Matt said, droplets of manly moisture appearing on his brow.

  "When was the shop released from police custody?"

  Gretchen asked to confirm Britt's permission to be in the shop last night.

  "We finished up yesterday. It's all yours." Matt handed her the key. "You first."

  "After you."

  "I'm being polite. Ladies first."

  "Yoo-hoo," someone called from down the street. Gretchen turned to see Nina hustling down the street from the north, Tutu in the lead. The dog wore a large ruffled pink collar and matching bows clipped to her ears. When Nina drew closer, Gretchen could hear Enrico, the ornery Chihuahua, snarling from a Mexican tapestry purse slung across her aunt's shoulder.

  "Yoo-hoo," she heard from the opposite direction. April thundered at her from the south.

  They all converged in front of Mini Maize as Gretchen unlocked the door.

  5

  Room boxes offer an excellent way to create a scene that is smaller than the traditional dollhouse. Art in miniature has been around since ancient Greece and still has an avid following today. Use your imagination to create your very own. Either purchase a room box or build one out of cardboard, plywood, or fiberboard. Then let the fun begin. For enhanced realism, you can build false walls with windows or doors and display scenic photographs behind them. Make window treatments from shelf edging, shades from mailing tape, or Venetian blinds from wooden coffee stirrers. Paper napkins make excellent bedding, after dunking them in a mix- ture of glue and water. Gift wrap becomes wallpaper, and refrigerator magnets turn into wall hangings. Common household objects will take on new significance as the hunt begins for new and creative ways to furnish your very special room box.

  – From World of Dolls by Caroline Birch

  "Why is that hunky detective still outside?" April said, waving at Matt from inside Mini Maize. "I thought he was over his doll problem."