Read Online Dolled Up for Murder by Deb Baker - Free Book Online Page A

mother repair dolls?”
    “Through there.” Gretchen pointed to the back of the house, and her uninvited guests thundered off in that direction. She walked into the kitchen and sat down hard, her heart skipping.
    From her vantage point in the kitchen she saw the two cops stride into the workshop, the detective watching them from the hallway. Gretchen heard Larry’s voice, questioning and bewildered. Then he joined her in the kitchen.
    “What’s going on?” he asked. “They’re tearing everything apart.”
    Gretchen shrugged and shook her head. “I don’t know.” She slumped deeper into the chair and waited. Larry paced in front of her.
    Fifteen minutes later, Detective Albright entered the room, and Gretchen noticed that he’d lost his authoritative pose. Instead, he was several shades paler than earlier. The officer behind him held an antique doll in one latex-gloved hand and a sheet of paper in the other. “Put them on the table,” the detective said to the cop. “Check the bedrooms next.”
    “You’re going to search the entire house?” Gretchen knew something was seriously awry when she saw the doll on the table.
    “It’s covered in the warrant,” he answered, a professional tone in his voice much different from the casual banter of earlier. More abrupt. “Do you know anything about these?”
    He motioned to the doll on the table and took a step back, and Gretchen reached to pick it up.
    “Don’t touch that,” he bellowed. Gretchen jerked her hand away.
    Gretchen, hands in her lap and a sick feeling in her stomach, leaned forward to observe the doll. It was an excellent white-faced parian, sixteen inches high, with a beige dress and leather shoes. “My mother restores dolls professionally,” she said. “She has many dolls in her care.”
    “How about the document?”
    Gretchen stood up and leaned forward to scrutinize the paper, while Larry read over her shoulder. Its contents shocked her. “It’s ah . . . it looks like an inventory of Martha Williams’s doll collection. At least that’s what it says.”
    “And this,” Detective Albright said, pointing to the doll, “is one of the dolls on that list. We found the doll and list buried together deep in a supply cabinet. The clothing on the doll matches the description. Don’t you agree?”
    “But Martha Williams lost her doll collection years ago. At least that’s what Nina said.”
    Larry pulled off his sunglasses and blinked rapidly, “That’s right. She didn’t have a single doll. She lived on the street. The inventory is clearly an old, invalid list.”
    The detective’s shiny smile was missing. “How much is this doll worth?”
    “We aren’t appraisers,” Gretchen said, coldly, understanding the implications of the question.
    “April Lehman will answer that for me,” Detective Albright said.
    “You can’t take the doll,” Gretchen insisted.
    “Oh, but I can.” The detective suddenly noticed Larry squinting and blinking. “Something in your eye?”
    “No,” Larry said. “A nervous twitch. It comes and goes.” He put the sunglasses back on.
    Gretchen again surveyed the list of dolls. It was an impressive inventory of antiques, although not particularly large for a serious collector. Poured wax dolls, bisque dolls, wooden dolls, china dolls. Each, she guessed, worth a dollar figure well into the thousands.
    The parian doll found in the cabinet matched the one on the list. But Gretchen didn’t find an entry for a French fashion doll.
    And no doll trunk.
    “I’d like a copy of this list,” Gretchen said. “And a picture of the doll before you take it.”
    Detective Albright nodded and stepped away, clasping his hands behind his back. “That’s a reasonable request.” He motioned to one of the officers. “I noticed a copy machine attached to the computer printer in the workshop,” he said as the officer approached. “Get a copy, and be careful.”
    Gretchen looked at the doll on the table, then at the