Ding Dong Dead Part 7

"Really?" Julie said, swinging her head toward Gretchen in surprise.

"What?" Nina shouted. "Is that true? I'm family. Why am I always the last to know anything?" Nina shouted. "Is that true? I'm family. Why am I always the last to know anything?"

"I'm sorry, Nina." Thank you, Bonnie. Thank you, Bonnie. "It was so late by the time I got home . . ." What else could she say? "It was so late by the time I got home . . ." What else could she say?

"My own niece," Nina said. "Absolutely no consideration for me at all."

Bonnie jumped in again. "I knew Gretchen had been there the minute Anne said the detective had a woman with him."

"Was your friend Anne in the cemetery when it happened?" Gretchen asked.

"No, but she was behind on her work, so she stayed late in the office that night. She was going to her car when she heard a ruckus in the cemetery. She's the one who called the cops. Of course, she didn't know about the dead woman until the police arrived and searched the area."

Two other Curves members came through the door, putting an end to their private conversation. "Let's stretch," Bonnie said, leading them to another room. Gretchen took up the end position. They were like a flock of inquisitive turkeys all in a row, trotting along with their necks craned.

Nina hadn't said a word since she found out that Gretchen had been in the cemetery and hadn't told her. She was too busy showing Gretchen that she was angry by ignoring her. "I'm sorry," Gretchen mouthed the next time Nina glared her way. No reaction from her aunt.

Bonnie was already sitting on a floor mat, twisting over one raised knee. "Here's the scoop. It wasn't a random murder. A bunch of those homeless people were lurking in the cemetery, so that would have been my first thought, that one of them did it, or all of them together."

Gretchen couldn't imagine Nacho or Daisy killing anyone or anything. She'd have to take Bonnie down to the rescue mission for a little charitable giving. "People everywhere come in all kinds of packages," she said. "Good and evil exists on all social levels."

"But that's what the police would have thought," Bonnie continued. "That she had been picked just because she was in the wrong place at the wrong time, or because she reminded the killer of someone, or because of whatever reason a psycho kills. But that wasn't the case because the police found a big clue."

"What big clue?" Julie asked.

"A doll," Bonnie said. Gretchen made a point of keeping her mouth shut.

Everyone had forgotten to stretch. Instead they huddled together like football players. Bonnie continued in a whisper. "I put two and two together when Anne told me the dead woman's name. Allison Thomasia. I searched on the Internet and found her right away. She was a fantasy doll artist."

"My mother knew her," Gretchen said quietly. "They were old friends but had lost touch over the years."

"What was Allison doing in the cemetery?" Nina asked. Gretchen took it as a good sign that the intrigue was winning her aunt over enough that she hadn't even commented on Caroline's connection to the dead woman.

"No one knows," Bonnie said. "Or if they do, they aren't saying. I'm going to keep at Matty, but my son has tight lips."

Since learning he can't trust his mother to keep a secret, Gretchen thought. Gretchen thought.

"What I want to know," Nina said, "is whose grave was she visiting after dark?"

All eyes turned to Gretchen, who shrugged.

"Gretchen doesn't know," Nina said, still testy. "Right there at the scene of the crime and she doesn't notice the engraving on the headstone."

"She must have been very upset," Julie said in Gretchen's defense.

"It was pitch-black," Gretchen said. "And, yes, I was upset." When was the last time When was the last time you you stood beside a murdered woman? stood beside a murdered woman? "The woman had crawled from one location to another. I really don't know the answer, but that's a very good question." "The woman had crawled from one location to another. I really don't know the answer, but that's a very good question."

"Fine," Nina snapped. "A killer is on the loose, killing doll collectors, which all of you happen to be, and you didn't notice. Fine. Just fine."

13.

What is the difference between antique dolls and vintage dolls?Dates!Dolls produced prior to 1930 are considered antiques. Most antique dolls came from European countries, especially Most antique dolls came from European countries, especially France and Germany. The dolls were clothed in Victorian and France and Germany. The dolls were clothed in Victorian and Edwardian fas.h.i.+ons. Today they serve as delightful historical Edwardian fas.h.i.+ons. Today they serve as delightful historical artifacts. artifacts.

Vintage dolls were designed between 1930 and 1980, and were produced by doll manufacturers such as the Alexander Doll were produced by doll manufacturers such as the Alexander Doll Company, Ideal Toy and Novelty Company, and Mattel, Company, Ideal Toy and Novelty Company, and Mattel, among others. among others.

-From World of Dolls by Caroline Birch

Caroline unpacks boxes in the museum's upstairs storage room, the same room in which her sister claimed she'd witnessed the presence of an apparition. Nina has made her aware of every creak and groan from the old home, thanks to her talk of otherworldly creatures. Nina has always been very different from Caroline, searching for answers best left unfound, those that defy human logic.

Caroline has never been able to decide if Nina is right or wrong. Strange things do do happen when she is around. Unexplainable things. But Caroline is more comfortable with her black-and-white view of the world. Why complicate it any more than it already is by throwing in beings from other worlds and other dimensions? happen when she is around. Unexplainable things. But Caroline is more comfortable with her black-and-white view of the world. Why complicate it any more than it already is by throwing in beings from other worlds and other dimensions?

She glances at her watch. Ten o'clock a.m., still enough time to look through one more box of dolls before heading home to meet with a customer. The cast of Ding Dong Dead Ding Dong Dead should be at the banquet hall deep into rehearsal. Caroline is very glad she opted out of that fiasco, preferring to work quietly and at her own pace at the museum. She's also glad that she didn't let the other members talk her into trying to open the museum this month. She needs three, four, maybe five months, hopefully less once the luncheon and play are over, when the others can devote more time to help prepare the museum's displays. should be at the banquet hall deep into rehearsal. Caroline is very glad she opted out of that fiasco, preferring to work quietly and at her own pace at the museum. She's also glad that she didn't let the other members talk her into trying to open the museum this month. She needs three, four, maybe five months, hopefully less once the luncheon and play are over, when the others can devote more time to help prepare the museum's displays.

She withdraws dolls from storage containers, one at a time, unwraps them, examining each to determine if it needs repair. Some are antiques, some vintage. Most of the dolls have been preserved well, packed away with expert care. Little is required other than smoothing a wrinkled costume here and there, recurling a lock of hair, wiping a smudge away, finding the proper stand. She has a few of her supplies at hand for the most simple repairs.

The next item that she unwraps is a metal doll head. The doll head has yellow painted hair, red lips, enormous blue painted eyes. The face paint is chipped away in spots, leaving marks like white chicken pox. Caroline isn't surprised to be holding a head without a body. Many of the metal-head dolls were sold that way, and the new owner would then find a suitable body. She wonders about the body this one might have had. Metal, wooden, kid leather, cloth? She works her way through the rest of the container's contents without finding an unattached body.

The paint she needs to restore the doll face is at home in her repair workshop. She'll take the head with her when she leaves, find time when it becomes available. There is no rush. One doll head won't be missed. The collection is enormous, and this isn't even one of the most rare or valuable types of metal heads.

Caroline rewraps it in the original packing paper, puts it into a white plastic bag, and places it in a shopping bag with several other dolls needing work. Then she locks the museum's door and drives toward home, thinking of the customer she's about to meet.

The call came from a man who has never used her service before, but is excessively demanding, wanting a rapid repair in spite of his tenuous position as a first-time client. She should have refused, but he pressed hard and the financial reward offered for quick service was too high to turn down.

She weaves through the gridlock traffic. It's always rush hour in Phoenix, too many people, too few lanes, the new highway systems becoming jammed as soon as they are built. Camelback Mountain is in sight and beckons to her as always, a calming natural force in the ma.s.s of humanity.

The traffic frees, and she quickens her pace.

A white van pulls up alongside her at a red light, blocking her view on the right side. Again. She notices it because it seems to pace her; whether she speeds up or slows down, the van is right there at her side. It's beat-up, junky, most of the side panel damaged, dented and rusty. The vehicle's windows are heavily tinted, privacy windows.

She has room ahead to speed up and rid herself of the van. She does, but the van does the same.

Jerk! She hates driving in the city, the rudeness and unpredictability. The games of chicken. She hates driving in the city, the rudeness and unpredictability. The games of chicken. Look at me, I'm king of the road. Look at me, I'm king of the road. Everybody driving ma.s.sive SUVs, one-upping each other in size and power. Everybody driving ma.s.sive SUVs, one-upping each other in size and power.

The white van is almost in her lane, veering over the line, forcing her closer to the center where cars rush at her from the opposite direction. A horn blares. An oncoming car swerves. She weaves, then returns to her lane.

What a close call!

"Take it easy. Get in your own lane!" she shouts out loud even though the van driver can't possibly hear her. Her heart is thumping.

The van still paces her. Either the van driver is drunk or distracted by a phone call or something equally inattentive and dangerous. She glances over to see the side of the van within inches of striking her car. Now it is her turn to lay on the horn, a shrill plea to the other driver to pay attention, the flat of her hand hitting the horn hard.

Instead of moving off, the van lurches at her, sharply, a wrenching at her as though they are playing roller derby and are adversaries. A solid hit.

She feels the impact and grips the wheel with both hands, struggling to control the car, intuitively knowing that her efforts are wasted. She uses every muscle in her body, focuses with all the power in her being, but still the car swerves beneath her, heading the wrong way.

Then another impact that should have been head-on, but her car has a life of its own and is turned sideways when the collision occurs. She sees the woman's face up close, too close, horrified, mouth open in alarm as she plows into the pa.s.senger side of Caroline's car.

Oncoming cars are running into the other woman's car from behind, sending them both spinning. Gla.s.s breaks. The sound is loud, louder than she could ever have imagined. Her neck is wrenched. She feels a sharp pain, but it doesn't matter. Nothing matters at the moment, because time is suspended. It has ceased to exist.

Caroline closes her eyes. There's nothing more she can do to save herself. She feels her world turn upside down.

14.

Gretchen watched Matt get out of his car holding a bouquet of flowers. He sprinted into the banquet hall without seeing her approaching from the coffee shop down the street. Some detective Some detective, she thought with a smile. Coffee in hand, she perched on the front of his car and waited for him to come back out, not wanting to share him with the others.

The sun still felt like an old friend this early in May, but it would start to sizzle and scorch the desert by June, at the latest.

Julie came rus.h.i.+ng along the street, her haphazard updo as messy as ever. She stopped when she saw Gretchen. "What are you doing on top of that car?"

She must look foolis.h.!.+ "It's Matt's car. He's inside. He'll be right out."

"Hope I'm not too late."

"Bonnie's been working on her lines. You're fine. Don't tell Matt I'm out here."

Julie looked puzzled but willing. "I won't." She slipped into the hall.

After several more minutes, Matt came out of the building and was startled to find her lounging on the hood of his car.

"What's this?" he said, fistful of roses whipped behind his back. "You knew I was taking my life into my hands by going into this building and you didn't warn me?"

"You mean because of your doll problem?" Gretchen pretended not to notice the flowers. "You must like me a lot to risk the sight of all those Barbie dolls on the stage."

"I didn't know the stage setting was in place, or I never would have gone in, even for you." He offered his free hand in a gallant gesture to help her alight from his vehicle. She accepted. "But I really meant those women. I'm lucky I got out with my clothes still on my body."

"They are a scary bunch."

"My mother appeared from a back room just in time to save my clothes, but calling me Matty in front of everyone was thoroughly embarra.s.sing."

"Yup. She always calls you Matty. And the rest of them are man-starved."

"One of them pointed a gun at me."

"Tsk. You poor thing. Want to escape to my secret hideout until we're sure it's safe to come out?"

He glanced at the door to the building. "Absolutely."

"What's behind your back?"

He presented the roses. A dozen vibrant red roses resting in baby's breath.

The first time in years that Gretchen had received flowers from a man.

"Please don't tell me I made you cry." Matt looked worried.

"No. Thank you. I love them. What's the occasion?"

"Our four-month anniversary."

"Oh, okay." Had it really been four months since his divorce was finalized? Since the day they had met on the mountain, at the halfway point?

"Run," he said playfully. "Quick! The door is opening. They're going to get me."

Gretchen turned to see that no one was following them before they trotted down the street, laughing like kids.

This Great Coffee Place was her favorite coffee shop. A Costa Rican light roast and one of the shop's scones was a small slice of heaven on earth. Matt ordered a cup of coffee, and Joan, the friendly proprietor, topped off Gretchen's cup.

"Great flowers," someone called out.

"You must have said yes," from someone else.

"Way to go, Gretchen."

Matt led her to the most private table he could find.

"You know everyone in here," he commented, taking the bouquet from her and laying it on the side of the table. "Is this where you hang out on a regular basis?"

"It's comfortable, has positive energy, and is convenient when I can't stand working with the cast any longer."

"That bad?"

"Worse." Gretchen cut a chocolate chip scone in half and nibbled on tiny pieces of it. "What happened with Andy Thomasia?"

"Under investigation, top secret."

"So he's the prime suspect?"

"Spouses, lovers, they always start out at the top of my list."

"Nina thinks you're dealing with a killer who goes after doll collectors."

A small smile crept over his lips. He was always greatly amused by her aunt's unusual take on life. "Nina would think that."