Goodbye Dolly

being watched again but didn't see anything, or anyone, out of place.

18

It isn't a fair fight from the very first punch, but Albert Thoreau learned long ago that life isn't fair. He has no false illusions, therefore he isn't prone to indulge in emotions such as disappointment or recrimination.

This he firmly believes.

He has no illusions.

What he does have are delusions.

Drinking helps him escape the worst of reality. But, as another blow lands on the side of his face, he wishes he had waited until a little later in the evening before imbibing. Or possibly he should have started earlier and passed out someplace safe.

As he goes down, knees all rubbery and head spinning, he notices specks of blood on his shirt.

The blood is the same color as the sky, he notes, staring upward, flat on his back. The entire world has lost its vivid colors.

Monochromatic. Just like life.

'Tell me where it is, and I'll stop.' His attacker's breath is warm and smells like sour milk.

Once, long ago, Albert had done a little boxing, the old two-step in the ring.

Lightweight.

'Tell me.'

Albert thinks about taking a swing. No point. His assailant has an arsenal of lethal weapons.

He'll take his chances surviving a pair of fists rather than a heavy metal flashlight or police baton. Maybe Nacho will happen along and rescue him. Then he remembers he is supposed to join Nacho at their usual meeting place.

No help coming from that quarter.

'All any of you miserable derelicts understand is pain. Have a little more.'

The man leans down and delivers another blow, and Albert feels his eye swelling shut. There is only one chance to escape.

A last look up at the colorless sky, a roll to his side. Then Albert goes limp and plays dead.

19

Gretchen had learned quite a bit from her first doll show. For one thing, she learned never to turn away without keeping a watchful eye over one shoulder.

She learned this the hard way when she turned back to the table after talking to her mother to find muscular, solid Milt Wood holding Chief Wag in his hand.

'What do you want for it?' he asked, beaming with delight. Gretchen sighed. 'Mr. Wood, you have the misfortune of admiring dolls I can't sell to you. This one also belongs to a client.'

'Tell me who, and I'll approach the owner personally with an offer.'

'I can't tell you at the moment.'

'You are remarkably obstinate, Ms. Birch, for a woman who hopes to make it in the doll business.' Milt wore a smile, but his eyes were steely.

Gretchen picked up the packaging she'd discarded on the floor and showed him the label. 'No return address,'

she said. 'I don't know who sent it.'

Milt turned the Kewpie over. 'It looks like it's in perfect condition.'

Gretchen took the doll from his hands and returned it to the box before he thought of removing the red shoes.

'Once I find out who it belongs to, I'll pass along your name.'

'I won't take no for an answer.'

Gretchen looked at him sharply. Something about the man left a bad taste in her mouth. The slightly raised tilt to his head gave her the impression he was looking down on her.

Am I psychic? Or a good judge of people?

Gretchen snorted self-derisively. A good judge of character? Come on, I'm the one who spent seven years on Steve.

If Steve was an example of her stellar judgment, she should give up on men while she had a little self-respect left.

She glanced at Milt, hoping he hadn't heard her snort, but he was bent over the box, still coveting the doll. Gretchen pushed Steve from her mind with one final thought. Let him stay in jail for awhile. Serves him right.

'Did you know Percy O'Connor?' she asked Milt, pulling the doll box away and closing the cover. Of course he would know the man if Percy had belonged to the same club.

Milt nodded. 'What happened to him was horrible. And to that reporter yesterday. What is the world coming to? I don't envy that detective.'

'Detective Albright? Have you seen him here?'

Gretchen had been keenly aware of his absence from the show today.

'Oh yes,' Milt said. 'Hasn't he been by your table?

He's been questioning exhibitors most of the day. Haven't you seen him?'

'Why, no.'

Maybe Matt was simply trying to gather more evidence against Steve. In any case, Gretchen was glad that he was being thorough. Strange though, that he hadn't stopped by.

'Have you seen Matt?' she called over to April.

'He asked me a few questions earlier,' she called back.

'What kind of questions?'

'Oh, I don't know.'

'You don't know what he asked you?'

A pink flush spread across April's face. 'I didn't want to tell you. You've been under enough pressure.'

'What? Tell me.'

'He wanted me to vouch for you and Nina, to make sure you were accounted for around the time that Ronny was killed.'

'And?'

'And I knew that Nina was right here with the dogs the whole time.'

'I was here, too. Did you tell him that?'

April squirmed like a giant nightcrawler on the end of a fishing hook. 'I couldn't, because you weren't. That was right around the time that Bonnie offered to watch your table so you could go see the Boston Kewpie Club's table. Remember? I had to be honest with him.'

Gretchen turned to Milt. 'I was at your table when Margaret explained the different kinds of Kewpie dolls to customers. Maybe you can tell that to Detective Albright.'

'He asked me about you,' Milt said. 'I remember seeing you and told him that. But I think it happened after Margaret's demonstration.'

Uh-oh. This isn't good.

'There you are,' Nina said, as though Gretchen and the entire table had shifted to a new area and Nina had been looking everywhere for her. 'Take Tutu and wrap the end of her leash around the chair leg for me, would you?'

'Good day, ladies,' Milt said, moving along. 'Let me know about the doll, Ms. Birch.'

Gretchen made a mental note to quiz Milt later about Percy O'Connor.