“Are you positive that they got in with the key?” Gretchen dropped the dish towel onto the table.

“Nothing is forced open or broken, and I always lock up because you can never be too careful these days. Criminals prey on women living alone. There are only two keys-one on my key chain and the one you had. I never replaced the spare behind the Hummel.”

Gretchen didn’t think it necessary to mention the copies she had made for Nina and herself. “I don’t know,” she said doubtfully. “A slightly open dresser drawer seems like flimsy evidence.”

“That’s exactly why I didn’t call Matty,” Bonnie whined. “He would say the same thing. I have a locksmith on the way over, and the lock will be changed. That’ll solve the problem quick enough. I just thought you’d like to know what happened.”

“I appreciate the call. I really do. Are you okay?”

“I’ll live.” Bonnie sniffed again.

Gretchen thought about Martha and the disappearing key. Martha had taken the key but never delivered the package. Or had she? Had she hidden a doll inside Bonnie’s house without her knowledge? Did she enter Caroline’s house as well, with practiced stealth? Maybe Martha had hidden the doll that the police confiscated. And who else could have had enough information to search Bonnie’s house? And what would be the point of hiding dolls in other doll collectors’ homes?

Questions raced through Gretchen’s mind with no easy answers following behind.

“When did this happen?” she asked.

“I was out this morning for a few hours,” Bonnie said. “In fact, I’m in and out of the house every day with my part-time job at Saks and all my errands.”

Gretchen experienced a rising sense of alarm. Nacho couldn’t possibly be responsible for a break-in that morning, since he had turned himself in to the police sometime during the night.

“But I haven’t been in that room for two or three days,” Bonnie continued, effectively placing Nacho back as primary suspect in the lineup. “I’ve got to go. The locksmith is here.”

Gretchen hung up and remembered a certain uneasiness right after she arrived in Phoenix, when she’d noticed the open patio door, unlocked when she was sure she had locked it.

Her mother’s pink bracelet on her wrist caught Gretchen’s eye, and renewed anger at her mother’s silence washed over her. Why hadn’t she returned by now? In Gretchen’s opinion it was time to resurface and to refute the charges against her. Exactly one week since Martha died, and now with Nacho arrested for the murder and a full confession, where was her mother?

Only one explanation occurred to Gretchen. The Bru French fashion doll and its incredible value must have tempted her mother into her current situation. It didn’t really matter whether Martha or Caroline had placed the parian doll in the workshop. The French fashion doll, dressed in a green silk costume and a straw hat, and the doll trunk filled with original costumes and accessories, played a critical role in the murder. That doll was the beginning. Or the end for Martha.

Gretchen had lost her direction. Her plan to find the French fashion doll had been forgotten in the anxious moments of the noose-necked Shirley Temple and the deceitful actions of members of the Phoenix Dollers. Joseph hiding his family ties, Bonnie’s covert visit to the homeless, and April’s suspicious illness. All had distracted Gretchen. Then Daisy’s accident in her mother’s own car and Nacho’s surprising confession.

All had diverted Gretchen from her path to the French fashion doll, and she realized with a sinking sense of helplessness that she had no idea how to go about finding it. Perhaps her mother had the doll with her, and it would never reappear. Maybe they were both gone forever.

What did her mother know that had caused her to flee? Could a doll gain such importance for her that she would abandon her comfortable life in Phoenix for the uncertainty of a life in hiding, cut off forever from her friends and career and family?

Why did Gretchen have this awful premonition that her mother wasn’t coming back?

Close to tears, she heard the phone ringing again, slicing sharply through her tumultuous thoughts. She wouldn’t accept her mother as an accomplice to murder or as a common thief, she decided.

Longing to hear her mother on the other end of the line, she hid her disappointment at the sound of Larry’s voice. “You must be keeping on top of my mother’s work,” she said. “No one has been around here threatening lawsuits for unfulfilled promises.”

“Anything to help. I thought I’d invite you out to lunch,” he said. “You must be ready for some company after spending the last few days with your aunt.”

The morning’s pecan waffles were a distant memory, but the knowledge that she had eaten an entire day’s worth of calories in one sitting lingered. She really didn’t want to be home when Nina and Daisy returned, craving time away from the large entourage that accompanied Nina everywhere.

Besides, she might enlist Larry in her search.

Gretchen laughed. “Only if you promise not to bring any dogs along.”

“Deal,” he said.

The menu at Garcia’s Mexican Restaurant, situated at the base of Camelback Mountain on a busy stretch of Camelback Road, featured some of Gretchen’s favorite foods, and she found it difficult to decide what to order. The menu read like a good book-cheese quesadillas, one of the best guacamole dips in the valley, chicken tortilla soup-the endless list tempted and teased. A perfect pick-me-up after her close call with the onset of major depression. Dieting could wait.

She ordered shrimp tacos and a nonalcoholic margarita and Larry followed suit.

Gretchen briefly wondered how Nina and Daisy were getting along. She hoped Nina wouldn’t be too distressed when she read the note Gretchen carefully remembered to leave for her explaining lunch with Larry.

She missed her cell phone terribly.

Larry apprised her of the status of the repair work. He had offered customers the option of waiting for Caroline to return, and many had opted to do exactly that, insisting that no one else could handle the work as well as she could. Many had heard the rumors and expressed concern for her safety.

“She has a loyal following,” he said. “Three customers were in a panic because they had committed the dolls to shows or to one of their customers. I finished the last one yesterday. Do you think she’ll come back soon?”

“I have no idea. She still hasn’t contacted me. Have you heard about Nacho?”

“Nacho?” Larry’s squinty eyes blinked rapidly.

“I mean Theodore Brummer. Nacho is his nickname. He confessed to Martha’s murder.”

The surprise on Larry’s face surpassed her own astonishment when she first heard. “You’re joking,” he said. “Someone actually came forward and admitted to it?”

Gretchen filled him in on the details she had learned from Matt, careful to exclude any mention of keys or doll lists or burglaries. Mainly because she had lost the energy to revisit them, their stories too complex and convoluted. Perhaps later when she felt stronger, Larry’s opinion would be helpful.

“Caroline can come home now,” he said. “And clear her name.”

“That’s my hope.”

“If you hear from her, I’d like to know.”

“You’ll be one of the first,” Gretchen assured him.

A whippet-thin, golden blonde carrying a Prada handbag walked by as Gretchen bit into her third shrimp taco. She placed the rest of the taco on her plate, abruptly reminded of her commitment to lose a few pounds, and used her napkin to dab at the corners of her mouth.

“I’m free for awhile,” Larry said. “Julia said I was underfoot and gave me the boot. She’s in the middle of inventorying supplies in the back room, and she’s in a terrible mood. I’m at your service until it’s safe to go home. Where would you like to go?”