“Name one thing that’s going right in my life.”
“Let me make you a cup of green tea.” Nina pulled several pairs of shorts out of the suitcase and returned them to the dresser. “This is impulsive. Let’s talk about it. I know, call Steve. Work it out on the phone.”
Gretchen tossed her hiking boots into the suitcase and stomped into the kitchen to retrieve the cordless phone. “I’ll call and let him know I’m on my way,” she said, carrying the phone into the bedroom and closing the door.
“Explain,” she said to him after waiting an inordinate amount of time while his secretary located him, annoyed that she still wasn’t on the interruptible list, that special group of coddled clients that commanded instant attention. Instead she had to resort to intimidating an overworked secretary.
“This is bad timing, Gretchen.” Steve said, sounding rushed. “I’m in the middle of sensitive negotiations. Why didn’t you return my call earlier?”
In a meeting at 9:30 in the evening, Boston time? “I needed time to think.”
“I don’t know what to say for myself. I love you, you know. Sometimes, I admit, I’m a bit misguided.”
“That’s it?” Gretchen said. “That’s all you have to say?”
“It’s over with Courtney. It hadn’t really even started. She got carried away.”
“Does she understand that? That you were a little misguided and she expected more than you were willing to deliver?”
Steve hesitated, and Gretchen could hear his breath, labored and anxious. “Yes. She understands clearly.”
“Maybe I should give her a call,” Gretchen suggested lightly. “After all, she’s practically a child. She must be devastated.”
“Ah. That wouldn’t be wise. Might even make the situation worse. Besides, she’s on vacation. Someplace in South Carolina.”
How convenient, Gretchen thought. She watched Wobbles snuggle into the suitcase surrounded by her clothes. “You haven’t asked about me or my mother, about what’s happening in Phoenix.”
“I really don’t have time right now, but I want to ask. I’ve been thinking about you. Later. I’ll call later after my meetings.”
Later, Gretchen thought wearily, wait till later. Wasn’t that always the response? Maybe later. Gretchen had waited all these years for a later that never arrived.
She saw a flash of lightning out the window and heard the immediate crash of thunder. Rain pounded hard against the roof, and she thought about flipping on the bedroom light. Instead she sat in the gathering gloom and watched nature’s dramatic interpretation of fireworks.
“What about us, Steve? I’m coming home so we can figure out where to go from here.”
“I love you, Gretchen. We can work this out. We can’t throw away the last seven years.”
“I’ll come then.”
“I have to go to Hilton Head for a few days. Business. A conference, and I’m the keynote speaker. Right after that we can get together. I know I’ve disappointed you, but I’ll make it up to you. Promise.”
Gretchen stared in the mirror, her eyes pale and pained. Courtney vacationing in South Carolina, Steve on his way to Hilton Head. Gretchen hoped Steve was more convincing when he went to trial with his court cases. Was it a nervous slip of the tongue or merely coincidental these two people would be traveling to the same state?
No, Gretchen thought, I’m becoming exactly like Nina. I no longer believe in coincidence.
“Call me later,” Steve said, hanging up and leaving her holding a dead phone.
When Gretchen opened the bedroom door, she gave a loud start.
“You scared me, Nina,” she said, peering at her motionless aunt who stood in the hall. “We need to turn on lights. Who’d guess it’s only four o’clock in the afternoon. It feels more like midnight.”
Nina remained rigid in front of her.
“What’s wrong?” Gretchen asked.
Nina, moving woodenly, took her hand and led her to the workshop doorway. “Martha’s bag is gone,” she said, her voice leaden. “Someone must have been here when we went to see Bonnie.”
“We should have hurried right home,” Gretchen said in shock. “What were we thinking when we stopped to eat? Are you sure it’s gone?”
“It’s gone, all right. And there’s more.”
Nina flipped a switch by the door, and a fluorescent light hanging over the worktable illuminated the room.
Gretchen saw it hanging over the padded table and moved closer. She drew in her breath, sharp and quick.
Someone had hung one of her mother’s Shirley Temple dolls from the overhead light with a piece of restringing elastic. Blood dripped from its face and pooled on the floor. The doll swayed gently from the noose around its neck, eyes wide and sightless.
The screen glowed, casting an eerie light over Caroline’s intent features. She quickly registered as a member and hesitated briefly at the password prompt. She keyed in an appropriate password: counterattack. If this were a game of chess, she would be planning multiple moves into the future, but she hadn’t studied openings for this particular game. Besides, she couldn’t have anticipated her opponent’s deadly first move.
All that mattered now was the endgame. A draw wasn’t an acceptable finish. There could be only one winner.
Caroline’s hands trembled in anticipation as she worked her way through the red tape associated with Internet bidding. She clicked on the French Jumeau Bebe listing and frowned. The seller had set up a private auction, effectively cloaking his or her identity until after the final accepted bid. Only the highest bidder would be allowed full contact information about the seller.
She entered her first bid, determined to win.
Someone else’s bid immediately canceled hers out.
She keyed in a higher amount, determined to avoid the other bidder’s strategy of proxy bidding. Allowing the online service to bid for her until her maximum dollar amount was reached would have stripped Caroline of her feeling of power. She wouldn’t relinquish control.
Besides, she had no maximum level at which she would withdraw.
She had to win, and she had to win her way.
21
The operative word when discussing the value of a doll is original. Just as real estate depends on location, location, location, doll collectors insist on original, original, original.
An antique doll is in excellent condition if the following qualifications are met: the doll has all its original parts, no marks or blemishes mar the skin, original eyes are intact, the wig has not been soiled or restyled, and it is wearing the original clothing, including the original dress, underclothing, shoes, and socks. Mint in box (MIB) means the doll has all of the above and is in its original box, preferably with original tags and labels.
– From World of Dolls by Caroline Birch
Gretchen stared at the hanging doll, cold fear jettisoning through her body. Was the intruder still in the house? She quickly closed the workshop door and locked it. She picked up a pair of scissors lying on the table, and, with Nina as backup, she opened the closet door and peered in. Nothing inside but more bins. She sighed with relief. “It’s empty,” she said.
Nina dropped the repair hook she had grabbed as a weapon, and it clattered to the floor. “I almost died of fright.”
Gretchen retrieved the hook and placed it on the workbench with the scissors. “I’m calling the police. Let’s stay in here until they arrive.”
“What about the animals?” Nina asked shrilly.
