tip of the mountain and continued her ascent.
She'd passed the point of no return.
Gretchen headed for the Palm Tree Trailer Park with a fresh cup of coffee but no plan on how to break into Ronny's trailer. She brought her doll repair toolbox just in case she needed mechanical assistance, and she brought Nimrod for… what? Company? Certainly not for protection. She glanced in the passenger seat at the happy, bouncing puppy. She'd asked Wobbles to join them as they prepared to leave, but he'd answered with a loud, sharp-incisored meow and narrowed eyes, signs of an unequivocal no. Her increasing conversations with her pets was a sure sign she was losing her mind.
What if Ronny's trailer didn't produce anything helpful? What if she was arrested for breaking and entering?
She didn't even have bail money now that she'd lost three hundred bucks and the profits she would have made from the dolls.
Once she decided to join the dark side, she did it up big. Breaking into Ronny's trailer today, withholding evidence in a murder investigation yesterday. She thought about the messages in the Kewpie dolls. Was that evidence? She didn't know yet.
Matt Albright could eat bat guano for all she cared. The man popped into her mind when she least expected him to.
She whizzed down Twenty-fourth Street, watching for unwelcome company in her rearview mirror. The encounter with the rattlesnake had frightened her.
Gretchen pulled in, proud of herself for finding the address without having to ask for directions. She passed by several mobile homes and found the address she had looked up in the Phoenix telephone directory the night before. No private, unlisted number for a man who welcomed gossipy snitches and colorful fabricators into his singular life. She parked next to his carport and got out. 'Nimrod, stay,' she said. No sense incriminating both of them. Would a credit card inserted next to the door lock work?
She'd seen that on television. She should have updated her sleuth skills to include the latest technological advances. Oh well, something from her doll repair kit would have to do. A man in a sleeveless undershirt opened the door of the mobile home next door. In the distant past, the undershirt had been white, although it had probably never quite fit him. An enormous potbelly spilled out from the bottom of it. 'What you doin' over there?' he shouted.
This wasn't the best time to flash her toolbox and master her lock-picking skills. Rule number one for future reference: attempt breakins only after dark.
'You deaf or sometin?' His screen door slammed behind him. 'I said, what you doing?'
Rule number two. Learn to lie well.
'I'm… uh… Ronny's girlfriend. I want to pick up some of my things.'
'Like what?' By now he'd shot off his one-step porch and aimed his belly toward her with the precision of a steamroller. His personal appearance didn't improve up close and personal. Were those his boxer shorts?
'Uh… personal effects,' she stammered. 'I can come back later if this isn't a good time.'
He studied her openly with bloodshot eyes. 'You know Ronny kicked the can?'
Gretchen nodded and managed to tear up. 'I heard.'
'Didn't know Ronny had a girlfriend. How about that. Keepin' you under wraps so the rest of us can't get a chance.'
He stroked his exposed midsection. 'How about that?'
Was it something in the trailer park's drinking water that produced the Neanderthal effect in its male residents?
'I'll come back later.' Gretchen stepped backward toward the Echo, keeping a sharp eye on him in case he tried to grab her hair and drag her off.
He waved a hand. 'No, no, help yourself. Nothing left to steal, I suspect. The cops woulda taken anything worth sometin'. You got a key?'
Gretchen shook her head. 'He never gave me one.'
The beady red eyes drilled into Gretchen's cleavage, then drifted up to meet her eyes. He grinned. 'Must be your lucky day, cuz I got one.' He held up a key chain brimming with keys. 'I'm manager of this exclusive community.'
The hardest part of her charade was convincing him that she didn't need his help.
'Take your time,' he said, eventually giving up. 'I'm sure you must be all broke up about losing your boyfriend. If you need a shoulder to cry on, I'm available.'
'You'll be the first one I think of,' Gretchen said. How lucky could she get? Meeting one of Phoenix's most eligible bachelors. The inside of Ronny's trailer smelled like a melange of dirty socks and rotting garbage. Considering that only forty-eight hours had elapsed since Ronny's death, Gretchen had to assume that the offensive odors weren't the consequence of his absence but native to his habitat.
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She ripped it down, crumpled it into a ball, and tossed it into a heap of folded paper bags in the corner. Ronny could have opened his own grocery store with the number of bags he collected.
The bathroom seemed the simplest place to start and the least likely to produce any worthwhile information. Hemorrhoid treatment, hair pomade, and a messy assortment of uncapped toothpastes and shampoo bottles.
As Nina would say, 'Zilch.'
Gretchen had started on the living room when her cell phone rang.
'Hey,' Nina said on the other end. 'What's your plan for today?'
Gretchen picked up a pile of porno magazines from a marred coffee table and dropped them on the floor in disgust. 'You're up early.'
'I have coffee in my hand and the world at my fingertips. I wanted to catch you before you started working away in your little beehive. Want to have lunch and discuss today's plans?'
'I don't know. I'm pretty busy right now,' Gretchen said, looking at unidentifiable goo on Ronny's coffee table and wishing she'd brought latex gloves. Rule number three: wear gloves, for a variety of reasons. Gloves protect against the mismanagement of fingerprints as well as against diseases.
'What are you doing today? Restringing all those dolls from the show?'
'That, and a few other things.'
'Well, call me if you break free.'
Gretchen wished to break free all right, from this sorry excuse for human existence. The stench alone made her want to burst from the trailer and fill her lungs with fresh air. Instead, she methodically finished searching the living room and tiny kitchen.
Next, the bedroom.
Gretchen was beginning to doubt Aunt Gertie's ability to make sound investigative decisions. This was fast becoming a really bad idea. Cavemen lurking outside and germ warfare inside.
The bedroom was indescribably dirty and the source of most of the odor. Ronny, it appeared, liked to eat in bed and use the floor as his landfill for leftovers. She tiptoed through the unidentifiable waste to the closet and flipped the light switch next to it.
Aha. Ronny's office. File boxes were stacked on the floor, three deep. Papers were strewn across the tops of the boxes, and Gretchen stared at the mess with dismay. No way could she wade through that much paper in the time she had.
What would her aunt Gertie do?
She keyed in Gertie's home number and crossed her fingers.
