“That’s nice,” Gretchen muttered.

“And Steve called and left a message.”

Gretchen closed the refrigerator. “What did the message say?”

“That he’s been trying to reach you on your cell phone. That Courtney told him what she did, and he can explain.” Nina snorted. “I’d like to hear him explain that one.”

Gretchen took a chocolate croissant from a bag on the counter and bit into it. “I can have this,” she said, defensively. “I worked out this morning.”

“Are you going to call him back?” Nina wanted to know.

Before Gretchen could answer with her very first firm and resounding no, a snarl erupted from the purse lying on the chair next to Nina.

“Enrico’s up from his nap,” Nina said.

* * *

Gretchen and Nina walked side by side through the Biltmore Fashion Park. Nimrod rode on Gretchen’s shoulder in a white cotton purse embroidered with miniature black poodles. The poodles attached to the purse wore red hair bows, which complemented Gretchen’s burned face. The savage demon, Enrico, poked out from Mexican tapestry, a gravelly hum resounding from his throat that threatened to grow into a growl.

After a disagreement with Nina, which Gretchen won, Tutu had stayed at home with Wobbles. The purse dogs traveling by shoulder bag represented Gretchen’s reluctant compromises.

“Okay,” Nina said. “We made two copies of Martha’s key, one for you and one for me.”

“I know that, Nina. I was with you.”

“It helps to verbalize. Keeps it orderly.”

“Right.” Gretchen could feel Nimrod’s tail thumping against her ribs in perpetual puppy happiness.

“We left the original key right where we found it in that smelly old bag.”

“As bait.”

“That’s the part I don’t get.”

Gretchen pursed her lips and winced. “I have to buy another tube of lip balm.” She brushed her fingers across a blister forming on her lip. “We’ll let everyone know that we found Martha’s belongings. We’ll call all the Phoenix Dollers and-”

“There must be over one hundred members. Most aren’t even active.”

“We’ll call the active members. We’ll make the discovery sound exciting and tell them where it is. Then we’ll wait and see what happens.”

“Maybe nothing will happen.”

Gretchen shrugged. “Maybe you’re right, but do you have a better idea?”

“Yes, we should find the door that it opens. We’ll try it in locks until we find a fit.”

“That’s also part of the plan.”

Nina stopped walking and looked at a storefront. “I’m going into Chico’s. Enrico, hide.” She tossed a liver treat into the purse, and Enrico dove out of sight. Nina grinned and strode into the shop. Gretchen wandered into the Flip Flop Shop and purchased two new pairs of shoes, one gold, the other silver. With the tops of her feet burnt the color of Tutu’s red lace collar, flip-flops were the only shoe she could wear for awhile.

Nina appeared behind Gretchen as she paid at the cash register. Gretchen glanced at her watch. “Let the games begin,” she said.

Caroline tapped into the eBay site and keyed in the words antique dolls. She heard the computer churning and watched the list of auction dolls appear on her screen. Her eyes were red-rimmed from countless hours spent monitoring the site.

She scrolled down. Closed the site. Keyed in the Mc-Masters Harris Auction Company site and scrolled through the auction lot listings. Then Theriault’s. She scanned every online doll auction house. The Internet sites had highly specialized bidding technology, some with audio and video of the live auctions, offering customers the ability to participate with the touch of a keystroke.

Caroline sank into the center of the lumpy motel bed and closed her eyes. An hour later she awoke, startled. A door slammed in the hall, and she could hear muffled voices in the next room through the paper-thin walls.

She struggled up, unaware of the time or the day. She bent over, stretching the taut muscles in the small of her back.

Caroline went back to work, the computer startup display glowing green.

An audible gasp. She rubbed her eyes and looked again.

“French Jumeau Bebe, 1910, paperweight eyes, holding a Steiff monkey.”

Caroline knew the inventory list by heart. She clicked on a tiny photograph, and the image opened up. Large and bold. Worth the long wait.

Another of Martha’s dolls.

20

Little French girls eventually tired of playing with miniature copies of their mothers. Instead they wanted to play with versions of themselves. The Bebe doll, created in the image of young girls, was born in the late eighteen hundreds. Emile Jumeau took credit as the original designer. While some may dispute his claim, no one can challenge the beauty of his dolls’ faces or the exquisite detail of the costumes they wore.

– From World of Dolls by Caroline Birch

Bonnie Albright worked part-time in the lingerie department at Saks Fifth Avenue. They found her in a back room, opening a box of bras. She had a box cutter in her hand and red lipstick smeared above her lip. Bonnie had been selected by Gretchen and Nina for several reasons; she was the club’s president, and she was the most indefatigable gossip of the bunch. She would help them with the leg-work. Or in this case, the lipwork.

“Here’s the list you asked for,” Bonnie said, opening a locker and removing a sheet of paper from her purse. “I’ve highlighted the active members. Now tell me what this is all about?”

A snarl filled the room, and one of Bonnie’s penciled eyebrows shot up. “What’s that?” she asked.

“Shhh,” Nina said into the purse. “That’s just Enrico. Ignore him.”

“I’d like to call each of the club members,” Gretchen explained, “and ask them about Martha and my mother. It’s been six days since Martha died and my mother disappeared, and we still don’t know what happened.”

“Matty’s working on it,” Bonnie said with exaggerated pride. “You don’t need to get involved. He’ll solve it.”

“I need to keep busy.”

“Should we tell her?” Nina said to Gretchen, and both of Bonnie’s penciled eyebrows quivered.

Gretchen nodded on cue.

“We found a bag of Martha’s belongings,” Nina said. “One of her friends gave it to us, and it has a few very interesting items inside.”

“What?” Bonnie said, wringing her hands in anticipation. “What?”

“I don’t think we should say until we know more,” Gretchen said. “It wouldn’t be right.”

Nina nodded. “We’ll keep the bag in Caroline’s workshop for now.”

“We should probably notify the police,” Gretchen said.

“Soon,” Nina agreed.

“Well, my, my,” Bonnie said, running her hand over her stiff hair. “Isn’t this a new wrinkle.”

Afterwards they strolled through the open-air mall.

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