“She told you about that?”

“Of course.”

“We’re making progress. Where are you?”

“Don’t worry about me. Get to work and catch bad guys.”

“We’re doing the best we can.”

Not good enough!

“I appreciate your concern over my safety,” Gretchen said. “The police protection was thoughtful and sweet, but we need to do this our way, not yours.”

“Who’s ‘we’?”

“My mother’s with me.”

Since he was already worked up, Gretchen decided to tell him about the note on her windshield.

“I need to see it,” he said.

“It’s missing.”

“I’m putting out an APB.” He was really, really mad, if she was any judge of male voice tones. “And how do you know about the victim’s computerized family history? What do you think you’re doing outrunning an officer of the law, Gretchen?”

She ended the call.

Was he serious about the APB? Could he have her picked up? She doubted it. What was he going to do? Have her arrested every time she did something he didn’t approve of?

Gretchen sensed a glitch in their previously harmonic relationship. They had had another disagreement.

Hopefully, it wouldn’t be their last.

27

Caroline and Gretchen spent the next hour parked in the crowded lot of the Biltmore Fashion Park making phone calls and warning their other club friends to be on the alert. No one knew why Caroline and Gretchen had been targeted, but all the Phoenix Dollers agreed that the Birch women must have crossed someone, someway, somehow.

Gretchen and Caroline had been the driving force in negotiating the terms of the agreement regarding the museum; they had been singled out to represent the club by the attorney and had handled most of the transaction. They were also the only members with keys to the house, a stipulation required by their benefactor.

The other club members debated whether they too were in danger; it was a possibility they couldn’t ignore.

April had a theory.

“The most active members of the doll club are in big trouble,” she said when she answered her cell and learned of the day’s events. She considered herself in that group, along with Bonnie and Julie. The women would spend the night with friends and stay close together during rehearsals. They were armed with lipstick-size pepper spray, gifts from Nina to all the club members last holiday season.

“It’s the pattern of threes,” April said. “Everything, including murder, comes in threes. Sets. For example, we eat three meals a day.”

Gretchen had heard this before.

“Three cheers,” April continued. “More sets of three-Hip, hip, hooray. Small, medium, and large. Three again. And then abbreviations. ABC, AAA, PTA, TNT, VIP. Before, during, and after. More threes.”

April was building steam. “How about jokes? The minister, priest, and rabbi. The blonde, brunette, and redhead. Tom, Dick, and Harry. All threes.”

“Third time’s the charm,” Gretchen added when April paused for breath. “Gotta go.”

Nina offered to make sure Wobbles was well fed. She’d also pick up Nimrod from their house immediately and keep him with her. Nina, in case she was also on their adversary’s bad side, had her own safety plan.

“I’m staying with Brandon for a few days,” she said coyly, turning the situation to her advantage. “It’ll give me a chance to see if he’s strong relationship material. No sense getting too involved if we aren’t cohabitatively compatible.”

Gretchen hadn’t thought of asking Matt for help. Instead of arguing with him should she have moved in under his protection?

Not that he’d offered.

Not that she would have taken him up on it. She wasn’t the type of woman to play the helpless card. If they were going to make it for the long term, he needed to understand that she wasn’t going to walk two steps behind him.

Gretchen felt better after talking to her friends. For now, everyone was safely off the streets and holed up in various hideouts.

Thinking of being holed up in hideouts reminded Gretchen of her father’s sister, her aunt, Gertie Johnson, who ran her own investigative business in the backwoods of Michigan’s Upper Peninsula. She’d given Gretchen advice in the past that had helped her get out of some tight places.

It was too bad that Gertie and Nina didn’t get along. The two women weren’t related by blood, but Gretchen’s aunts were very much alike-eccentric, opinionated, and stubborn-which was a major contributing factor in their inability to see life through the same type of lenses.

Gretchen could use some of her Midwest aunt’s home-spun solutions. If only she didn’t live across the country.

While Caroline sat next to her in the car talking to Bonnie on her cell, Gretchen called Aunt Gertie. She answered right away.

“How are things in the wild Southwest?” her aunt said.

It took a long time to relate the entire situation from the very beginning, but Gertie was a good listener, rarely interrupting, although she produced several vocal sounds, ranging from snorts to tongue clicks.

Caroline hung up from her call and leaned back in the seat with her eyes closed as Gretchen continued on.

“Whowee,” Gertie said at the end of the story. “That’s quite a tale. Do you want my opinion?”

“I would appreciate it more than you could possibly imagine. I’m putting you on speaker phone, if that’s all right. Then Mom can hear what you have to say.”

“Hi, Caroline,” Gertie said. “You’re in a fine mess.”

“You could call it that.”

“Here’s what you need to do. Ready?”

“Ready,” Gretchen said.

“Find out as much about the Swilling family as you can, and I don’t mean the family tree branch like who’s related to who. You need the more personal stuff, like where are those kids? Find out what happened to Flora’s son and daughter. What are their names?”

“Richard and Rachel.”

“Them. Find out if they reported their mother missing.”

“I’m sure the police are following up on all those connections,” Caroline added.

Another of Gertie’s tongue noises. “In case you’ve forgotten, I have a son who is a sheriff, and I can’t count on him for much in the way of law enforcement. Your cops in Phoenix might be fancier than ours with more resources, but the first thing you have to decide, if you want to live, is that you can’t count on anybody else to handle it for you. You want a job done right, do it yourself.”

“Gotcha,” Gretchen said. “Go on.”

“Get that new owner’s name, the one who owns the museum house.”

“How, though?” Gretchen said. “The attorney is adamant about protecting his client.”

Caroline leaned closer to the speaker. “I tried to get the information through city hall records. The property is part of a trust. The terms of the trust aren’t public record.”

“Then rough up the lawyer. He’ll spill.”

Gretchen loved the way her aunt spoke, tough and to the point. And from what Gretchen had heard, her aunt’s actions were as strong as her speech. “How are we supposed to learn about the Swilling family? They’re all either dead or missing.”

“You told me they owned that house for decades.”

“Correct.”

“Somebody must still be living in their old neighborhood, someone who would remember the family. And if there was gossip concerning them, that person would remember every last detail of any rumors, too.”

“Thanks, Aunt Gert, you’ve been a big help.”

“The only thing I’d suggest that you ignore,” Gertie said, wrapping up the conversation, “is Nina’s stupid idea about haunted houses and ghosts. That woman is several cards short of a full deck. Find something harmless for her to do before she hurts herself. And keep me posted.”

Caroline and Gretchen had done all they could for the time being. Government buildings were closed for the weekend, making it impossible to delve into any more historical records, and their friends were on high alert.