Dolly Departed

'Quick then. Hurry.'

The crowd pushed closer. Once the door was unlocked, the entire mass surged in behind Gretchen, who was front and center whether she wanted to be or not. 'Give us room, please,' Bernard shouted.

'I'm a doctor,' someone called from the back. 'Can I help?'

'Let the man through!'

People continued to flow into the shop. Unwilling to look at the woman sprawled so close to her, Gretchen inched sideways to give the doctor space to work. She glanced around the miniature doll shop with a trained eye, taking in all the sights in the mini wonderland. Dollhouses lined one side of the shop and display cases were stuffed with every imaginable furnishing from every era: tiny Oriental rugs, little dishes, platters of food, flower arrangements, pictures for small-scale walls, and of course, miniature dolls. Her eyes roamed to the floor involuntarily. She caught a glimpse of one of the fallen woman's legs, splayed at an awkward angle. The toes of Charlie's sandaled feet were motionless. Sirens wailed in the distance, growing louder. The doctor, crouching beside Charlie, changed position, blocking the woman from view. Gretchen edged away. The doctor spoke to someone, but she couldn't make out his words.

Evie, the big-hat woman, let out a piercing screech.

'She's dead. Charlie's dead!'

There was a collective gasp from everyone inside the shop followed by a moment of silence. No one knew what to say or what to do next.

Gretchen stepped around several pieces of dollhouse furniture, heading for the door, desperately needing fresh air. She cast her eyes to the floor, so she wouldn't step on any of the scattered items.

Gretchen stopped abruptly and stared down.

One of the items. . it couldn't be.

But it was.

Gretchen was looking at a miniature axe with a dab of red paint along the blade. She stepped gingerly around it and made for the exit, feeling nauseated.

A Scottsdale police cruiser pulled up to the curb.

'What's going on here?' the cop said, unfolding from the squad car. He squinted at Gretchen and then frowned.

'I know you. Is trouble following you around, or are you starting it?'

Just my luck. It was the same cop who had threatened her with a ticket at the start of the parade.

'A doctor is inside,' she said with a catch in her voice.

'Charlie Maize is dead. She had a bad heart.'

'Stay put,' he said, heading inside. 'I'll need your name and a statement.'

An ambulance rounded the corner and stopped on the street, lights flashing and siren wailing. The sound died away, but the colored lights continued to rotate. Two paramedics jumped out, pulled equipment from the back of the ambulance, and hurried inside.

The cop came out of Mini Maize a few minutes later, as another squad car arrived. He shook his head when two female officers joined him. 'You,' he said to one of the officers, 'get in there and contain the crowd.'

'Shop was all locked up,' he said to the other cop. 'And what do they do? They find a key, unlock the door, and storm in. Must be fifteen of them inside, touching everything, kicking little pieces of furniture around. Nobody, not one of them, ever thinks they might be contaminating a crime scene.'

He shook his head again and fiddled with the top of his holster as though the possibility of a rapid draw was always on his mind. 'I have them all backed up against the far wall with their hands in their pockets. I need assistance. The doctor who examined her doesn't think it was her heart. We're treating it as a crime scene unless we find out differently.'

Gretchen stood next to the shop's window, watching and waiting while the officer rushed in. The cop from the parade glanced through the window. She thought about the tone of authority he'd used. When other emergency vehicles arrived, he was the one who gave them directions. Equipment was carted past her: cameras, a tripod, video recorders, and something that looked like a large toolbox.

Gretchen slid along the side of the shop, planning to make her escape unnoticed. The cop turned as if on cue and stared at her. 'Come over here,' he said. Gretchen eased off the wall.

'Let's hear your side of it. And you,' he nodded to the officer who remained outside, 'go inside and make sure none of them get away before we have a chance to talk to them. Handcuff them, duct tape them up in a big ball if you have to. Whatever it takes. And tell them we'll arrest anyone we catch touching any of the dolls. Touching anything, for that matter.' He looked back at Gretchen. 'Well?'

'I was running late. I don't know any more than you do.'

'Did you know Charlie Maize?'

'She was a good friend of my mother's. Charlie sent us an invitation to a party at her shop. It was supposed to be at ten o'clock this morning.'

'Do you have the invitation with you?'

Gretchen dug in her overfilled purse. Nimrod licked her face.

'Here it is.' She handed him the invitation. While he read it, she noted the name on his uniform. Officer Brandon Kline. He looked up from the invitation. 'It doesn't say what the celebration's about.'

'I don't have any idea either,' Gretchen said.

'Where's your mother? Inside?'

Gretchen shook her head. 'She's out of town.'

'Why was your mother on the invitation list?'

'We are doll restoration artists. We repair and restore dolls for collectors. My mother knew Charlie through her work.'

'Do you believe in the chaos theory?'

What a question. 'I'm not sure.' Gretchen hesitated.

'Why?'

'If I can create order from this chaos, it'll be more like a miracle.'

He flipped out a notebook and started writing. 'Name,'

he said.

'Gretchen Birch.'

'Driver's license.' She handed it over.

'Well, Gretchen Birch, you're in the thick of it now.'

Officer Kline returned her license before handing her a clipboard with a form attached to it and a pen. 'Fill this out and stay right here. Since you're the expert, I may need you.'

She stared at him. 'I don't think I can be of any help.'

'Well, I don't know a damn thing about dolls. And you do,' he said, catching her look of dismay. 'Stay put,' he warned her before heading back inside.

Gretchen sighed. She was smack-dab in the middle of a police investigation. She glanced at her watch. High noon.

2

Bernard Waites can't pull his eyes from the fallen woman. How many years has he known her? Twenty? Fifteen, at least. They are. . were a team. He built dollhouses to perfect scale, and Charlie designed the miniature furniture and room details.

They are. . were a good team.

His eyes swing to the dollhouses displayed on shelves along the far wall. He'd built every one of them with his own hands and his own tools. He lifts a veined and knarled hand and studies the back of it. It shakes slightly. Bernard is proud of his craftsmanship. His favorites are the American farmhouse, a Victorian cottage, the English Tudor, and especially, the Queen Anne mansion. He looks at the dollhouse pieces lying on the floor, furniture