Thick writing on rough granite, the words Die, Dolly, Die.

All as red as the color of blood. Please no, don’t be blood, Gretchen thought, even as she realized that it looked thicker, brighter. Lipstick? It had to be. Gretchen knew lipstick.

Matt spoke without turning around. “You were supposed to wait in the car.”

Gretchen’s first impulse was to duck down and crawl away. She quickly weighed the odds of retreating without making a fool of herself. They weren’t good.

“How did you know it was me?” she asked.

“Mathematical deduction. Simply a matter of determining how long it would take you to disobey a direct order from a law enforcement official. By my calculations, you’re right on schedule. A little behind really.”

“I thought maybe I could help.”

“You can help by not touching anything. Help by not getting involved.”

“Okay.”

“Gretchen.” He stared at the grave marker. “You have a bad habit of tripping over trouble.”

That was an understatement. She’d had more than her share of difficult situations recently, but she couldn’t see how any of them might have been handled differently. It wasn’t her fault that trouble followed her around.

“Let’s not have a repeat of past disasters,” he said.

“Is it lipstick?” Gretchen asked.

“Probably.”

“A woman’s body then?”

“Yes.”

When he looked at her his face was hard and his eyes were angry. He wasn’t a man she’d want to cross paths with if she had committed a murder. “The woman crawled from here over to there,” he explained. The flashlight beamed along the ground between the headstone in front of them and the site where the group of professionals hovered over the body. “See those dark spots? Drops of blood.”

Gretchen shuddered, staring at the ground. “What about the words?”

“Rage.”

He turned and called out to the team hovering over the body. “Did you find a tube of lipstick?”

“No purse,” replied the woman who Gretchen had pegged as the ME.

“How about checking the area?”

“We’ll take a look,” a cop said.

Gretchen stayed close to Matt.

“Can’t you cooperate?” he said to her. “Can’t you wait in the car like I asked?”

“I’ll go in a minute.” His car was parked in darkness. She needed light.

Matt’s flashlight beam cast eerie shadows along the sides of the headstone. Others with flashlights were scanning the ground in the vicinity of the body. “No ID.” Then the same woman’s voice. “You need to see this.”

“I’ll be right over,” Matt said.

He strode toward the murder victim’s dead body. At the moment, as far as he was concerned, Gretchen had stopped existing. The intense beam from a floodlight came on, revealing more of the scene.

What are you doing? Stay back.

Gretchen ignored her inner voice and moved closer. This was her chance to understand Matt’s passion. She wanted to stop feeling like she was in competition with his career. Two emergency workers partially blocked her view. They shifted positions.

The dead woman had been wearing flip-flops, but they were no longer on her feet. She wore black capris, and her white halter top was stained with blood, her long blonde hair matted with it.

So much blood, puddling on the unyielding desert floor.

Matt looked up at her. Their eyes met.

Someone else moved. Gretchen’s eyes shifted back to the horror of the moment and locked onto the woman’s face.

The dead woman’s eyes were wide open, unblinking and unseeing.

This could have been your mother, your aunt, your friend. It could have been you!

Gretchen felt her heart pounding against her rib cage. It was purely a female thing. Fear was implanted in every woman’s breast from the moment of cognitive awareness, like a pacemaker always pulsing. Be very afraid. Stay out of the dark. Don’t travel alone. Be alert to danger. Carry protection and know how to use it. Learn self-defense techniques. Run fast. Scream.

The woman had made all the wrong moves and had paid the ultimate penalty.

“Gretchen,” she heard behind her as she turned and fled.

She made it to the tree next to Matt’s car. She leaned against the palm tree for support, fighting back waves of nausea, feeling helpless and weak against the monster that had done this to one of her kind.

When Matt reached her, she welcomed his arms, wrapped herself against his chest, and never wanted to let go.

3

Fantasy dolls are the latest rage. Unicorns, dragons, mermaids, fairies, and wizards. They are the three Ms-mystical, magical, and mysterious. For those who enjoy working with clay, creating fantasy dolls can become an addictive hobby. Kits are available for the novice enthusiast. Or dig into the clay and cast your own forms. Fantasy dolls are replicas of immortal earthly spirits with supernatural abilities. Add feathers, fibers, and fairy glitter to your newly sculpted piece and watch her come to life.

– From World of Dolls by Caroline Birch

Detective Terry Vascar arrives at the crime scene and parks behind a line of vehicles. Two women are greeting each other next to the car parked ahead of him. He recognizes one of them, even in the dark. It’s the woman his pal Matt Albright has been dating, Gretchen Birch.

Terry swings his head and spots Matt talking to a forensics team. When he looks back, the women are moving in the opposite direction.

Terry follows, staying in the shadows, curious. They stop at a headstone, not even noticing him.

Three words appear on the marble when the younger woman shines a flashlight beam on it.

Die, Dolly, Die.

“It’s not blood.” Gretchen is breathing fast, rushing her words as she speaks. “It’s lipstick.”

A cop walks toward them, with Matt trailing behind. Terry steps in beside Matt, who nods so slightly Terry almost misses the greeting.

“Caroline,” Matt says, moving forward to shake the older woman’s hand. “Thanks for coming to get Gretchen.”

“I don’t like this.”

“None of us do. Listen, we found a doll. Would the two of you take a look?”

“Of course,” both women respond.

Terry watches his buddy slide away, stopping a good distance from where an officer holds up a clear bag containing a doll.

What’s up with Matt?

The flashlight in Gretchen Birch’s hand illuminates the doll for a moment, then swings wild, erratic. Terry takes the flashlight from her. She doesn’t resist, instead giving him a look of gratitude. He shines it on the object with a steady hand.

The doll’s face is exquisitely chiseled. She has long copper hair that falls to her waist. Ivy snakes up a perfectly formed leg.

A second bag contains gold wings. In the murky light, the wings sparkle like gemstone dust.

“A fantasy doll,” Gretchen whispers. “Her wings have broken off.”

“Yes,” Caroline agrees.

“Have you seen this doll before?” Matt asks from outside the small group. “Or one like it?”

“No,” Caroline says, but Terry catches something in her voice, in the startled expression on her face. Matt senses it, too, because he glances sharply at Terry.

“Thank you again, Caroline, for coming,” Matt says after a pause. Terry waits while Matt escorts the women back to their car, opening doors for them and muttering reassurances. The women drive away.

“Gretchen’s mother?” Terry asks.

“Yes.”

“She recognized the doll.”

“Maybe. I’ll talk to her again.”

Terry gestures toward the body, covered and strapped to a gurney. Strobe lights everywhere. “What’s going on?”

“A murdered woman.”

“Name?”

“No purse and no identification.”

“But we have a doll.”

“Just my luck,” Matt says.