Dolly Departed

Matt sighed. 'Joseph Reiner came in today accompanied by his Alcoholics Anonymous sponsor. He had a troubling setback in his recovery program last Friday night. He fell off the proverbial wagon and doesn't remember anything about the evening. And he didn't remember a thing about the next day until you told him you saw him at the parade. Seems you prompted a return to reality for him, but before that. .' Matt shook his head in disbelief. 'Nothing. Or so he claims.'

'Interesting,' Gretchen said.

Matt scowled at her. 'You should have told me you saw him at the parade.'

She shrugged an apology. 'I didn't think it was important.'

'You'd never accept that excuse from me.'

True. But Gretchen wasn't about to admit it. 'Joseph really didn't remember until I reminded him?' she asked.

'A total blackout.'

'Did you arrest him?'

'I can't book a man for murder simply because he can't remember where he was.'

'I thought you brute cops were all-powerful and could do anything you wanted.'

'Ah, but we're confined by foolishness like laws, rules, and regulations.'

'I might have evidence you can use.'

'Tell me.'

Gretchen picked up her glass of wine and took a sip before answering. 'Joseph was chewing nicotine gum the last time I saw him.'

Matt stared at her. 'Well,' he said very slowly. 'That's certainly the worst circumstantial evidence I've ever heard.' He grinned.

Gretchen giggled. 'You're right. It is.' Quit acting like a teenager, you dope. She tried to straighten her expression-

more serious, more professional, more adultlike-but it was hard. The night lights, the wine, and relief that she and the others were still alive and unharmed made her giddy. Nimrod scampered down from Matt's lap, dove into the pool, paddled around, jumped out, and shook himself dry in his favorite spot-right next to Gretchen.

Matt laughed while wiping water from his legs. Tan, muscular legs, Gretchen noticed. He had a smile like a strong magnetic force. It pulled her in.

'Do you have a suspect in the attack on us?' Gretchen asked. She really hoped it wasn't Ryan.

'We've eliminated Bernard Waites, as much as you'd like to see him behind bars,' Matt said, not exactly answering her question. 'He's still in the hospital.'

'Maybe he snuck out when no one was looking, threw the bomb, and ran back to the hospital before the nursing staff missed him.'

Matt raised a brow. 'Nice try. You really dislike that guy, don't you?'

'He stole from me. And he has creepy eyes.'

'Creepy eyes, huh. Another bit of evidence to explore, another break in the case.' Matt leaned over and slid his hand under her chin. He turned her head toward the light.

'You have abrasions on your cheek.'

'A little shattered windowpane, is all,' Gretchen said, like glass in her face was an everyday occurrence. 'It'll heal.'

He released her and leaned back. 'You could have been killed today. Personally, I'm relieved your work at the shop is over. Although I would have preferred that you go out with less of a bang.'

'We had finished the room boxes. In the end, the scenes weren't anything we'd want to show at Charlie's funeral. But we did get pictures for her brother before the blast destroyed them.'

'Did you find any connection to Charlie's murder in your work?'

'That's an odd question.' Gretchen glanced at him quickly, but his face was in shadow.

'I'm a detective; it's my job to ask questions. Well? Did you find anything?'

'We found bloodstains painted in two of the boxes and discovered tiny weapons on the floor. We realized that one of the street signs was a replica of that of Lizzie Borden's home, where she was accused of axing her parents to death. And today we found mutilated dolls in a desk drawer.'

Matt sipped his wine. 'Macabre. But it only proves that Charlie had a few emotional issues.'

'One unfinished room box appears to be a kitchen.'

'So when you consider the miniature peanut butter jar.'

Matt paused to sip his wine. 'Things begin to add up.'

'Yes.'

He leaned forward, piercing her with his vivid eyes. She took a sip of wine and turned away, focusing on what she wanted to tell him. 'I think Charlie planned to reveal her sister's killer when she unveiled the display. I believe the incomplete room box scene could be a replica of the killer's kitchen where the poisons were concocted.

That particular room box's walls were hastily wallpapered with a fullsized paper, not a miniature rendition, like it was assembled in a big hurry.'

Matt's dark eyes locked onto hers again. He didn't look convinced.

Gretchen continued. 'I think all five room boxes were ready for the showing. After poisoning Charlie, the killer must have tried to rip apart the fifth room box, then picked up the incriminating pieces.'

'But overlooked the jar because it was under Charlie's body,' Matt finished.

'Exactly. All we have to do is find the room with the same wallpaper, and we have the killer.'

'Except the kitchen room box went up in flames.'

Gretchen struggled to keep her mind on the case instead of the man seated next to her. His body was emitting some sort of sexual energy, and it was affecting her. She wondered if he felt it, too. Matt poured more wine for her. 'The destroyed evidence presents a problem,' he said, handing her the glass.

'Not as much of a problem as you might think,' Gretchen answered, taking a small sip. 'You see,' she leaned closer, 'I took a picture of the room box with-'

Matt slid his chair closer and leaned in as though he was having trouble hearing her. '-my phone,' she croaked. That was really a sexy voice. He was still moving toward her. Slowly. Closer. Coming into her personal space. His lips met hers. Longingly.

Gretchen knocked over her wineglass.

'You did that on purpose.' Matt whispered, his lips close to hers.

'I. . really. . didn't. . mean,' Gretchen stammered, sitting upright and realizing she'd spilled the wine into his lap. She reached for a beach towel on the back of a lounge, stood up, and leaned over to blot the front of his shorts. She stopped just in time.

You almost stuck your hand in his crotch. Geez. Gretchen blushed, grateful that the darkness concealed her discomfort. He laughed and took the towel from her hand. 'I won't need a cold shower now,' he said.

'I'm really, really sorry.'

'Come here,' he said, taking her arm and pulling her down. 'Make it up to me.'

'How?' But she knew the answer. Wasn't she a member of a well-established psychic family?

She pressed against him. Her lips found his.

21

Daisy, future Hollywood star and current member of the Red Hat Society, trudges along the edges of crumbling adobe walls, pushing her shopping cart filled with all her worldly possessions: sleeping bag, bits of food, knickknacks picked out of trash bins, clothes.

Graffiti and iron grates scar what's left of this onceflourishing side of the city. The streetlights flick on. From the shadows, she looks both ways before turning sharply and slipping down an alleyway. The smell of rotting garbage doesn't bother her a bit. Why should it? She's seen and smelled far worse things than decaying waste. Like