Part 9 (1/2)
”They don't,” Caroline said. ”Each box is unique. The differences in time periods and social settings will make putting them together easy.”
Britt still fidgeted with her hair. ”Bernard made the room boxes.”
Gretchen glanced up at the shelves lining the upper part of the wall. Bernard's dollhouses. And the Victorian he had mentioned. She stepped closer.
When Bernard had said he'd designed a Victorian, Gretchen had a.s.sumed it would be an English Victorian with dormer windows and window boxes filled with petunias and ivy. Her second guess would have been a Victorian farmhouse with a wraparound porch. Instead, she faced an enormous three-foot-high French Victorian with two sloped roofs, wrought-iron balconies, and molded cornices. The steep vertical slopes to the roofs and the heavy faux stonework gave it a sinister undertone.
April came up beside Gretchen. ”It looks like a haunted house,” she said.
”It sure isn't a painted lady,” Gretchen agreed. ”No vibrant colors and trendy painted trim work on this Victorian.”
”It won an award,” April pointed out, reading from a mounted plaque next to the dollhouse. ”Designed and built by Bernard Waites. Kind of scary-looking, but the details are amazing.”
”Bernard looks like a cuddly teddy bear,” Britt called from the other side of the room, ”but he has a dark side.”
”What do you mean?” Gretchen asked.
”Bernard is always in the background like he's waiting for an opportunity to seize control,” Britt said. ”He's been hanging around Charlie ever since she retired last year.”
”It looks like he contributed quite a lot to the shop.”
Gretchen selected a miniature blue velvet hat from one of the piles.
”He built the dollhouses mounted on the walls. But what about everything else you see?” Britt grabbed a container. She had a firm set to her jaw. Determination. Gretchen recognized the box as one that Britt had been packing up when they had met at the shop. She'd forgotten all about it.
Britt opened it up. ”Come over here. Feast your eyes onmy contribution, and then tell me if you think that old man has done the most work.”
All four women leaned in.
The box was filled with the smallest miniature dolls Gretchen had ever seen. Britt picked one up with the tips of two fingers and held it out for everyone to admire.
”A s.h.i.+rley Temple doll,” April said, excited. ”It can't be over a half inch tall.”
”Not a bit of detail was sacrificed,” Britt bragged. ”The mouth, the eyes, the fingers--all as perfect as the original doll.”
Nina reached out with a jeweled forefinger and touched the s.h.i.+rley Temple doll's blonde, curly locks. They all leaned in again and peered into the box. Dozens and dozens of exquisite, dainty, mini-miniatures were lined up in padded rows. Tiny beds of bubble wrap cus.h.i.+oned them from breakage.
”You can't imagine the work that went into these,” Britt said. ”Now I'll have to find another miniature shop to sell my creations.”
Gretchen looked over at the room boxes. ”Did you make any of the dolls for Charlie's special project? For these room boxes?”
”Charlie asked me to make some for her.” Britt's face brimmed with self-pride. ”And I obliged. She had very specific instructions on what she wanted. A clergyman sculpted at a precise height, a married couple for the Victorian era. She said she wanted to dress them herself, so I dropped them off here the day before when we had dinner together, before she . . .” Britt's composure slipped, and she worked to restore it.
”Where are the room box dolls?” Gretchen hadn't seen any miniature people other than those with price tags in some of the other display cases.
”She must have them in the back room. Maybe she didn't have time to arrange them before she died.”
”They were part of the display then?”
”Apparently,” Britt said.
”You don't know for sure?” Gretchen watched Britt fuss with her French twist.
”Of course, I know. Don't be silly. We were best friends.”
Britt's nervous fingers played over her bangs.
* 11 *
Matt appeared on the sidewalk outside of Mini Maize but refused to enter the doll shop. ”I'm taking Gretchen to lunch,” he said, doll phobia sweat s.h.i.+ny on his forehead. April t.i.ttered. Nina and Caroline looked on expectantly. Gretchen swung outside before her aunt had time to push her out.
”I thought you were in therapy,” she said, as they walked down the street.
His humor came back as soon as they left the storefront.
”I am. Can't you tell?”
How could she be interested in a man who was afraid of her life's work?
They found a restaurant with an outdoor courtyard and sat down at a small, round table. A waiter took their orders--tortilla soup for Gretchen, who was watching her weight since her morning resolve to become a hot Arizona babe, and enchiladas for Matt.
Gretchen kept one eye peeled to the street and sidewalk. But chances were that the wacko wife wouldn't appear and cause trouble now. She'd wait in the background until he was gone.
With the doll club members' pa.s.sion for gossip, her altercation with Kayla wouldn't stay a secret for long, unless April was more dependable than Gretchen when it came to confidences.
”What are you looking for?” Matt asked, following Gretchen's gaze down the street.
”Nothing,” she answered. ”Can I ask a personal question?”
”You're interested in my personal life?” He had laugh crinkles around his eyes. ”I bet it's because I've put extra effort into my grooming today. I've showered, brushed my teeth with extra whitening toothpaste, and I used a manly scented deodorant called Wild Beast. Just for you.”
That s.e.xy grin. Gretchen hid her amus.e.m.e.nt.
The waiter brought tortilla chips and salsa.
”Why isn't your divorce final yet?” Gretchen picked up a chip and broke it in half. ”I don't have much experience with the process, but friends of mine have gone through them in much less time.”
”Ah, I see you're getting impatient?”
”Please tell me.”
”Kayla has pulled every trick in the book.” No smile now.
”Several appearances have been rescheduled at the last minute, she's changed attorneys three times, she's appealed to the court for more time due to one problem after another, it goes on and on. Sometimes I think I'll never be free.”
”What about Detective Kline? Is he single?”