“Detective Albright,” Gretchen said. “Why don’t you show the club members the picture you confiscated. Maybe someone will recognize it.”

“Good idea,” Bonnie said. “Matt, you should have thought of that.”

After sending a scathing look at his mother, Matt went out to his car and returned with the bubble-wrapped package. He pulled at the tape until the items inside were exposed to all the club members.

No one from the Phoenix Dollers owned a Bru French fashion doll, nor did they know of anyone in the valley who might possess such a rare find. Murmurs of appreciation filled the room when they saw the photo.

“I heard that Martha owned a French fashion doll years ago,” Rita Phyller said.

“That’s an old rumor,” Joseph said. “I knew her quite well before she took to the streets, and she never said anything to me about owning a Bru.”

“What was a Bru parasol doing in her pocket then?” Karen Fitz wanted to know.

“Caroline has some answering to do,” Bonnie added, glancing at Nina. “I know she’s your sister, and I don’t want to say anything bad about her…”

“That would be a first, Bonnie,” Nina said, glaring at Bonnie then holding up a hand. “I know it doesn’t look good. But Gretchen and I are convinced that if we can locate her, she will be able to clear this up. Has anyone seen her since Martha died?”

Gretchen listened in dismay as she realized that no one in the room had any helpful information. They threw around theories, careful not to insult Nina or Gretchen with innuendos, but in the end, nothing new came to light.

“Joseph,” Matt said. “You said you knew Martha well?”

Joseph rubbed his fingers on his right ear, a nervous gesture, Gretchen thought.

“She’d come around to see what I had in stock. We’d talk shop.”

“Did she ever buy anything?”

“Naw. She didn’t have two nickels to rub together. She only came to look.”

“When’s the last time you saw her?”

“I’d have to think about it.” Joseph’s fingers twirled a diamond stud, and Gretchen could see tension etched on his face.

“We can wait,” Matt said.

Bonnie tittered nervously. “What is this? The third degree? Next you’ll be asking all of us for alibis.”

The detective’s eyes met Gretchen’s. “At the moment,” he said. “I’m only interested in one specific alibi.”

Caroline’s hands trembled as she held the nineteen-inch china doll on her lap. She studied the marking on the doll’s body and stroked the cream dress with dainty blue feather wisps in the design. Was this it? The Madame Rohmer she had crossed the country to find?

It had to be. Could there be another exactly like the one she sought? Impossible. But she had to be sure.

Caroline would have examined the inside of the doll’s head if the pate had been loose. With the doll’s new owner sitting next to her, she couldn’t very well rip its head off.

“Do you have a flashlight I can use?” she asked.

Rudolph Timms’s piercing eyes searched hers questioningly. “Excuse me? I thought you wanted a picture.”

Caroline, remembering her ruse, quickly arranged the doll on the ornate sofa and moved back, camera to her eye. “I hope you don’t mind,” she said, after snapping several pictures with her filmless camera. “It’s not every day that I have the opportunity to examine such a wonderful specimen so closely.”

Rudolph preened as though she were complimenting him personally.

“A flashlight would illuminate the doll,” Caroline said, desperate to convince him of the truth of her lie. “The picture will be more striking with additional lighting.”

“Oh, yes, of course.” He hurried across the room and opened a drawer in a desk against the wall. “This should do.”

To continue the illusion, Caroline arranged the light and took more pictures. Then with the doll on her lap, she tapped on the doll’s head and listened. She tapped again on its cheek. She heard a dull thud. Her excitement grew.

She pulled the wig high and held the flashlight against the back of its head. She examined the face of the doll, moving the light as she worked.

Rudolph Timms cleared his throat.

“Remarkable,” Caroline said, without looking up from her work. “Simply remarkable.”

The light’s rays penetrated the layers of transparent porcelain.

Caroline’s gasp of relief caught in her throat.

Yes. Yes. Yes.

She had the doll right in her lap.

10

As Gretchen stood outside of Nina’s house, she heard a coyote howl in the distance. Larry and Julia were the last to leave. Larry wandered out to join her while Julia and Nina worked in the kitchen. Julia, apparently allergy-free tonight, had offered to help clean up in the spirit of renewed camaraderie. More likely, she hoped for an earful of tantalizing new gossip.

“Where did you and Julia originally live?” Gretchen asked. “Everyone in the Phoenix area seems to be a transplant from another state, mainly from the Midwest. I have yet to meet a native Arizonian in Phoenix or Scottsdale.”

“We’re both from Cleveland,” he said, laughing. He wore sunglasses to hide his facial tic, and Gretchen wondered how he could see through them in the dark of night. If she didn’t remove her sunglasses before entering any type of building, she couldn’t see a thing.

“Ah, you started out here as snowbirds.” Permanent Arizonians, Gretchen knew, weren’t particularly fond of Northerners who fled their home states every winter to bask for a few months in the sun. When the cherry and apple trees began to blossom, the snowbirds returned home.

“Didn’t we all?” he asked.

The coyote’s howl was joined by other howls, and a choir of yipp yipp calls sounded across the desert.

“Thank you for your help with the repair projects,” Gretchen said.

“My pleasure. Julia doesn’t let me work on restorations much anymore. She wants me out buying and selling. I forgot how much I enjoy it.”

“It’s relaxing,” Gretchen acknowledged, recalling the many times she had assisted her mother, immersing herself in a doll project, forgetting about the passage of time and life’s pressing responsibilities. “Repairing a doll is one of the few times I actually live in the moment,” she said. “There’s something very Zen about it.”

Larry agreed. “I’m making a wig for one of Caroline’s customers. It’s time-consuming but gratifying. Working on it gives me that same sense of timelessness.”

“Really? You’re making a wig?” Gretchen was surprised. Her mother saved wigs from dolls that were beyond repair and used them to replace damaged wigs. “That’s well beyond the call of duty. The workshop has bins brimming with supplies. You could look there for a wig that would work.”

“I enjoy the challenge. Wig making is one of my specialties.”

“What material are you using? Mohair? A kit?”

“Kits are for amateurs, you know that. I’m using human hair. It’s going to be an extraordinary wig when I’m finished.”

“Is a local salon saving hair for you?” Gretchen had found several human hairpieces stored in the repair shop, but she knew her mother avoided making them unless a customer couldn’t be satisfied in any other way and if the price was right.

“I can’t give out my secrets,” Larry said crisply. “Your mother might move into my territory.”

Gretchen eyed him. “I think it’s the other way around. But seriously, I appreciate your help, and I’m sure she will, too, when she gets back.” She didn’t add that her mother would have more problems than she could deal with when she resurfaced without worrying about her customers’ needs.