“Call me later,” Steve said, hanging up and leaving her holding a dead phone.
When Gretchen opened the bedroom door, she gave a loud start.
“You scared me, Nina,” she said, peering at her motionless aunt who stood in the hall. “We need to turn on lights. Who’d guess it’s only four o’clock in the afternoon. It feels more like midnight.”
Nina remained rigid in front of her.
“What’s wrong?” Gretchen asked.
Nina, moving woodenly, took her hand and led her to the workshop doorway. “Martha’s bag is gone,” she said, her voice leaden. “Someone must have been here when we went to see Bonnie.”
“We should have hurried right home,” Gretchen said in shock. “What were we thinking when we stopped to eat? Are you sure it’s gone?”
“It’s gone, all right. And there’s more.”
Nina flipped a switch by the door, and a fluorescent light hanging over the worktable illuminated the room.
Gretchen saw it hanging over the padded table and moved closer. She drew in her breath, sharp and quick.
Someone had hung one of her mother’s Shirley Temple dolls from the overhead light with a piece of restringing elastic. Blood dripped from its face and pooled on the floor. The doll swayed gently from the noose around its neck, eyes wide and sightless.
The screen glowed, casting an eerie light over Caroline’s intent features. She quickly registered as a member and hesitated briefly at the password prompt. She keyed in an appropriate password: counterattack. If this were a game of chess, she would be planning multiple moves into the future, but she hadn’t studied openings for this particular game. Besides, she couldn’t have anticipated her opponent’s deadly first move.
All that mattered now was the endgame. A draw wasn’t an acceptable finish. There could be only one winner.
Caroline’s hands trembled in anticipation as she worked her way through the red tape associated with Internet bidding. She clicked on the French Jumeau Bébé listing and frowned. The seller had set up a private auction, effectively cloaking his or her identity until after the final accepted bid. Only the highest bidder would be allowed full contact information about the seller.
She entered her first bid, determined to win.
Someone else’s bid immediately canceled hers out.
She keyed in a higher amount, determined to avoid the other bidder’s strategy of proxy bidding. Allowing the online service to bid for her until her maximum dollar amount was reached would have stripped Caroline of her feeling of power. She wouldn’t relinquish control.
Besides, she had no maximum level at which she would withdraw.
She had to win, and she had to win her way.
21
The operative word when discussing the value of a doll is original. Just as real estate depends on location, location, location, doll collectors insist on original, original, original.
An antique doll is in excellent condition if the following qualifications are met: the doll has all its original parts, no marks or blemishes mar the skin, original eyes are intact, the wig has not been soiled or restyled, and it is wearing the original clothing, including the original dress, underclothing, shoes, and socks. Mint in box (MIB) means the doll has all of the above and is in its original box, preferably with original tags and labels.
– From World of Dolls by Caroline Birch
Gretchen stared at the hanging doll, cold fear jettisoning through her body. Was the intruder still in the house? She quickly closed the workshop door and locked it. She picked up a pair of scissors lying on the table, and, with Nina as backup, she opened the closet door and peered in. Nothing inside but more bins. She sighed with relief. “It’s empty,” she said.
Nina dropped the repair hook she had grabbed as a weapon, and it clattered to the floor. “I almost died of fright.”
Gretchen retrieved the hook and placed it on the workbench with the scissors. “I’m calling the police. Let’s stay in here until they arrive.”
“What about the animals?” Nina asked shrilly.
“I’m sure whoever did this is gone by now,” Gretchen said, dialing 911. “But let’s stay smart. If it was me, if I was the bad guy, all I’d care about would be a safe way out of the house.”
“What if we came home while he was here,” Nina said, “and he’s trapped inside with us?”
“Then staying in the workshop will give him time to escape.” Gretchen wasn’t sure she liked the idea of hiding, but after another glance at the swinging doll, she decided not to risk a confrontation.
She gave the dispatcher the necessary information, alerting him to the remote possibility that the intruder might still be in the house, and hung up.
“Red paint,” she said after touching the pooled liquid on the floor and noting an open jar of paint on the table.
“Don’t contaminate the crime scene,” Nina advised. “I hope they dust for prints.”
“How many people knew Martha’s bag was here?” Gretchen asked.
“Bonnie, April, Rita, Larry and Julia, Karen Fitz.” Nina ticked them off on her fingers. “And anyone they might have told. We weren’t trying to keep it a secret.”
“We really botched this one,” Gretchen said, thinking, What else is new? “Who had a key to the house?”
Nina shrugged. “I don’t know.” Then she widened her eyes. “We gave the key to Larry at the hospital when we thought Daisy was Caroline. He checked on the animals, and I suppose he could have had a copy made.”
Gretchen shook her head. “The sliding door was unlocked before I gave Larry the key. I think whoever did this was also in the house earlier. Who else?”
“Clients and friends were in and out of here all the time, but I never knew Caroline to give out her keys.”
Gretchen heard sirens in the distance, growing louder and stopping outside. With all the noise only a bungling fool would still be inside the house.
After a thorough search, a police officer with a perky ponytail and a cautious stance discovered the point of entry. “Jimmied the lock,” she said, studying the patio doors leading to the pool. “Probably came over the fence and forced the lock.”
“Anything else gone?” another officer said, holding a notepad and pen. “Other than the bag?”
“I don’t see anything else missing,” Gretchen said.
“Me either,” Nina said, plopping on the living room sofa surrounded by canines, a firm hand on Enrico, his incisors bared. “I should take him home. He isn’t handling all the excitement very well,” she said to Gretchen. “I’ll come right back.”
“You have to fill out this report first,” the woman said handing a clipboard to Nina, a wary eye on Enrico. “Why would anyone break in to steal a bag of old clothes?”
“Someone wanted the key,” Gretchen said. “Someone knew what the key would open.”
“And what does it open?”
“We don’t know.”
The officers observed Gretchen and Nina with steady stares. “And you don’t know why anyone would hang the doll and smear red paint all over it,” the officer with the notepad said.
“Right,” Gretchen and Nina said simultaneously.
“Looks like a warning to me,” perky ponytail said. “Or a threat. There’s a warrant out for Caroline Birch. Could she have done this?”
Gretchen gaped at the police officer. “Why would my mother break into her own home? Wouldn’t she let herself in through the front door?”
“That’s right,” Nina said, the pen in her hand poised midair, jabbing at the officers. “She wouldn’t try to scare her own sister and daughter.” She shook her head, and Gretchen smiled. She could hear the wheels turning in Nina’s head, berating the cops for what she considered total ineptness.
Their eyes met. We’ll have to take care of this on our own, won’t we? Gretchen thought.