Dolly Departed Part 10

Gretchen glanced sharply at her mother.

"I know," Caroline said softly. "I see it."

"What?" April said, hurrying over.

"Flecks of blood on the sofa," Gretchen said. "Not too much. Just a little. And more on this painting. A spot or two."

"It almost looks like an accident," April said. "Like Charlie spilled red paint."

"What about the red paint on the edge of the axe and knife? Those weren't accidents." Gretchen went through all the pieces on the card table, one by one.

"What in the world was Charlie thinking?" Caroline rubbed her eyes. "This one is a Victorian household, That"-- she said, pointing at a different pile--"is a farmland setting with a church in the background. Little crab apple trees, a bale of hay, not much else."

April held up two tiny steps. Decrepit, worn, a touch of blood on the first stepping-stone. "From the backyard pile. Mini windows with small panes, some broken, a wooden door."

Caroline gestured toward another group of items. "This is also a bedroom, but from a later era and much more luxurious. An Oriental rug, mahogany bed and dresser, fanback chair. Look at the precious Martha Was.h.i.+ngton bedspread."

"And the pile of unknowns." Gretchen looked throughthe leftover pieces. Tiny sheets of old plywood, bits of paper, things that might not have anything to do with the room boxes.

"It sure would be fun to make my own miniatures sometime." April picked up another item and wiped it with her cloth. "I'd never be as accomplished as Britt, though. Few doll makers are. It's extremely detailed work. You need a lot of patience."

"Was Sara's craftwork as good as Britt's?"

"At least as good, maybe better," her mother answered.

"Where are are the dolls Britt made for the room boxes?" the dolls Britt made for the room boxes?"

Gretchen asked.

"We haven't gotten that far," Caroline said. "Now that we've cleaned up and organized the room furnis.h.i.+ngs, we'll place those where we think they go and move on to finding the dolls."

April sucked soda through a straw. "I'd like to give Gretchen an award," she said, presenting Gretchen with a small wrapped box. "I'm so proud of you. I thought you'd like a little memento of your accomplishments since coming to live in Phoenix."

"But why?" Gretchen said. "I haven't accomplished anything."

"You will."

"And that isn't true, Gretchen," Caroline said, watching from the table. "You're very talented."

Gretchen opened the cover and peeked in to find a gold badge. It had a s.h.i.+ny gold finish and was shaped like the sun. The inscription read Best in the West.

"Let me pin it on you." April scooped up the badge.

"Best in the West?" Gretchen asked, laughing. "Best what?"

"Best restoration artist," Caroline called out.

"But that's you."

"There." April finished pinning it on and stood back to admire it. "You look great, real professional. The gold matches your hair. And I have one for Caroline, too."

April handed another package to her mother.

Gretchen turned to check her reflection in the window and was startled to see a man peering in. He wore a dirty sleeveless T-s.h.i.+rt, and a black do-rag covered his hair. A silver ring pierced his lower lip, and a tattoo like barbed wire wound around his right arm.

He stared at Gretchen.

April shrieked.

"That's Charlie's son, Ryan Maize," Caroline said softly. He was young. About twenty. Wiry with dirty, ill-fitting jeans that dragged on the sidewalk. Black running shoes that had seen better days. Ryan's eyes s.h.i.+fted nervously to the badge pinned on Gretchen's chest. His eyes grew wide and frightened. When Gretchen moved closer to the window, he darted out of sight. Gretchen slammed out the door, breaking into a run.

"Wait," she shouted. He disappeared around a busy corner. She raced behind him onto the sidewalk bordering Scottsdale Road. So this was Charlie's son. But why was he running away? Why did he look so frightened? Gretchen was used to jogging and hiking. Camelback Mountain and the desert air were perfect conditioning tools, and though she wanted to lose a few pounds, Gretchen considered herself aerobically fit. She'd been a runner her entire life. Ryan Maize, however, was younger and very quick, weaving among shoppers, never looking back. He shoved someone out of the way. Gretchen heard gasps and squeals from those on the sidewalk as she chased after him. She threaded through the crowd and leaped over a dropped shopping bag, running as fast as she could.

What was she doing? What was she going to do if she actually caught up to him? What if he had a gun or a knife?

She'd karate kick the weapon out of his fist. Sure, right. Brucaleen Lee.

Ryan pulled ahead. Gretchen was fast, but she wasn't fast enough. He was getting away.

Stop, she thought, let him go. let him go. No, she wouldn't give up. The loose soles of his shoes were his downfall. Gretchen saw him stumble. She picked up speed, giving it all she had. Did he know about his mother? That she was dead? No, she wouldn't give up. The loose soles of his shoes were his downfall. Gretchen saw him stumble. She picked up speed, giving it all she had. Did he know about his mother? That she was dead?

Gretchen was using all her energy to catch him. She didn't have the breath to speak. She reached out, and her fingertips almost touched his back.

He pulled away. And tripped again. This time she got a firm hold on the back of his s.h.i.+rt. She heard it rip.

* 12 *

Ryan Maize ducks down and tries to twist out of the woman's grasp. She has him by the back of his s.h.i.+rt, and she's incredibly strong, like the lioness of Babylon. He hears the cloth tear.

If he wasn't bingeing at the moment, she wouldn't be catching him.

Too much alcohol and crack cocaine in his past. Whatever he's on, he can't remember taking it. That worries him.

It isn't his fault that he's in a weakened condition. Everything goes wrong for him. People don't help him enough. Like his mother. If she hadn't refused to help him out, he'd be doing really good. Healthy, happy, and rich. All he needs is a little support from the people around him. He needs just one little break.

Life sucks, and then you die. That's his motto. He twists again, trying to break her grip. She's on him like the evil witch she is.

Shapes.h.i.+fters masquerading as cops. What's next?

He's coming down, slowly descending from an alternate reality.

She's a real cop. He'd seen the badge. That's what he gets for going back to the shop, for wanting one last look.

"Stop running and listen to me," the female cop says. Words staccato through the air like breaks in the time continuum. Moments lost. For him, it isn't lost moments, it's lost years. All gone. Twenty-one going on dead.

The cop's breath is labored, or is that his?

He whirls and catches another glimpse of the badge. You can't even tell the law from the rest of society. A fake woman has him in her power. A Matrix society, and he alone realizes the truth.

Ryan karate-chops the hand.

No reaction.

She must be undercover.

Then why the badge?

A voice inside of Ryan's head answers him. It always does. It's dependable, like nothing else in his life is. Ego. Power. They're all alike, even the women. Especially the women. Ryan jabs her hard with his elbow, and he feels the release. Freedom.

Run!

If she catches up again, he'll sucker punch her. Anything to get away. Anything at all.

"Your mother is dead," the woman says, and Ryan is slammed up against the side of a building. She must know all the martial arts. A trained a.s.sa.s.sin. Who would have guessed by looking at her?

He thinks he will throw up because of the heat pouring through the cracks of the street. He sees serpents twisting out of the poured concrete, coming for his soul. She repeats the statement. Dead, dead. Dead, dead.

Ryan makes a fist. He puts everything he has behind it, everything he has.

The punch connects, and the woman goes down. Surprisingly fast. His strength and power must be growing.

She doesn't move.

Ryan thinks about the concept of remorse but doesn't feel any. He rarely feels anything.

A being with silver hair comes at him, followed by one the size of a wrestler. He recognizes them from his mother's shop. Ryan saw them there, talking to the woman cop. The enormous woman glares at him but is winded and bends over to widen her airway, to make room for her precious air. She glares up at him, then grimaces without saying a word. The other one is filled with anger but hesitates a moment too long. Her eyes flick to the woman on the ground. His feet pound the pavement, and it sounds like thunder of the G.o.ds to him. They have decided to protect him from harm, to champion him for his abilities.

He is one of them.

* 13 *

Miniature dolls, also known as dollhouse dolls, are an intricate part of a small-scale scene. Collectors find miniatures in all the part of a small-scale scene. Collectors find miniatures in all the usual places: doll stores, online shops, and auctions and doll usual places: doll stores, online shops, and auctions and doll shows. But for the most fun and versatility, why not try making shows. But for the most fun and versatility, why not try making your own? You can begin by purchasing a basic doll-making kit your own? You can begin by purchasing a basic doll-making kit from a miniature shop or order one through an online catalogue. from a miniature shop or order one through an online catalogue. Kits contain porcelain parts, patterns for making the doll's cos- Kits contain porcelain parts, patterns for making the doll's cos- tume, materials for jewelry, wigging supplies, and easy-to-follow tume, materials for jewelry, wigging supplies, and easy-to-follow instructions. In no time at all, you will want to cast molds and de- instructions. In no time at all, you will want to cast molds and de- sign your own line of costumes from fabrics and ribbons. You'll be sign your own line of costumes from fabrics and ribbons. You'll be creating hats and shoes from card stock patterns and designing creating hats and shoes from card stock patterns and designing handbags from binder clips. Welcome to the fascinating world of handbags from binder clips. Welcome to the fascinating world of miniature doll making. miniature doll making.

--From World of Dolls World of Dolls by Caroline Birch Wednesday morning the women at Curves hopped to the beat of "Build Me Up b.u.t.tercup." by Caroline Birch Wednesday morning the women at Curves hopped to the beat of "Build Me Up b.u.t.tercup."

Gretchen tried to ignore the pain in her temple where Ryan Maize had struck her. One punch from that scrawny kid, and she'd fallen hard, like a rock from a mountain ledge. Her mother and April, miraculously arriving just as Gretchen dropped to the sidewalk, had strong-armed a street vendor into parting with a cup of ice. Their quick thinking had kept the swelling to a minimum.

A couple of ibuprofen tablets this morning, and her head no longer felt like it had a built-in subwoofer. And her hair covered the ugly purple bruise.

"I hear you were clobbered good last night," Bonnie said, her red wig stiff with hair spray. Lip liner was drawn in an exaggerated arch around her lips. "Are you okay?"

She trotted in place on a small platform, swinging her arms above her head as the music changed to "Chantilly Lace."

"I'm perfectly fine," Gretchen replied, trying not to wince when she bent over. She had a huge headache and two more hours to go before she could take more pain relievers. Nina, working the abductor machine, piped up, speaking around her niece as though she wasn't present. "Gretchen is too impulsive for her own good. Imagine chasing a tattooed, body-pierced, crazy man through the streets of Scottsdale. What was she thinking?"

Gretchen shrugged. She didn't have a good answer and secretly agreed with Nina.

"Where's Caroline this morning?" Bonnie asked.

"Trying to catch up on our repair work," Gretchen said.

"I should do a reading for you." Nina bounced a large pink ball while running in place. "The tarot cards complement my psychic predictions," she said. "You really need a reading."

"Maybe later."

"I'll take one," Bonnie said.

"I'll watch," April said.

Nina smiled. "Okay."

Gretchen noticed a definite clearing of the air around Nina and April. Nina's new friends.h.i.+p with Britt had something to do with it. And Nina seemed grateful that April had helped rescue Gretchen and then cared for her after the blow to her head. April was doing her part by showinginterest in Nina's tarot cards. Gretchen knew how hard that was for her.

April sweated over the shoulder press. "What do you make of the miniature peanut b.u.t.ter jar?" she asked Gretchen. "How does it fit in?"

Gretchen looked questioningly at her aunt, remembering the promise Nina had made to keep the jar's existence confidential. Nina's eyes s.h.i.+fted to Bonnie, who had originally shared the information with her. Bonnie grinned conspiratorially. "I had to share a teensy bit of police work with my favorite group." She held up her right hand and pressed two fingers together to show how minuscule her sharing really was. "But remember, no talking outside our little circle."

"Change stations now," the programmed voice commanded, and everyone s.h.i.+fted to the next station in the circle.

"After all, you are my best friends." Bonnie's arms swung to encompa.s.s all Curve's members working out, even two women who had signed up that very morning and had only introduced themselves moments before. Her "best friends" nodded enthusiastically.

"That's right," said Rita Phyller, the Barbie collector.

"That's right," Ora, the Curves manager, echoed.

"We're buddies."

"Does anyone have a theory about the jar?" April asked.

"I do. I do." Bonnie shouted, waving her right hand like a kindergarten student. "Charlie always thought her sister had been murdered. Matty is looking into it again."

"Wouldn't that be something if Sara really had been murdered," Rita said, shaking her head. "Too bad Charlie's ticker gave out before the investigation was over."