Ding Dong Dead by Deb Baker Page A

they’d coexisted until now in perfect contentment.
    Caroline winked at Gretchen. She nodded back, knowing what was coming.
    “Why don’t we have the wedding right here?” Caroline said. “We could find someone to perform the ceremony on the patio and have a reception afterward. And everyone would still be invited.” She grabbed Daisy’s hand. “Please say yes.”
    Daisy radiated happiness. “I’d love that!” she said. “I have to go call my friends and tell them about the change in plans.”
    And off she went, bouncing on a dreamy cloud with the teacup poodle in her arms. “Daisy is a mystery,” Gretchen said. “Where did she get the cell phone? And who is maintaining the service for her?”
    “Who knows? I think she came from a good home life. She’s kind and generous and has impeccable manners when it suits her.”
    “I wish she’d agree to accept psychological help and get off the street.”
    “It’s her choice. She’s the only one who can make a change happen. All we can do is support her decision and help in small ways. Besides, she is working on improving herself. She’s trying a new medication.”
    “Really!” No wonder Daisy seemed so rational lately. “The pills are working.”
    “She told me about her doctor’s visit last week, but I wasn’t supposed to tell you.”
    “Why not?”
    “You tend to get too involved.”
    “Marriage will be good for both of them. Now if only—” Gretchen was about to voice her concerns about Nacho and his battle with alcoholism when her mother interrupted.
    “All we can do is support them,” Caroline reminded her. “When is Matt picking you up?”
    “He’s bringing dinner in an hour, enough for all of us.” She glanced up at Camelback Mountain, appreciating the view from the patio as much today as the day she’d moved into her mother’s cabana. “Then we’re hitting the mountain ridges.”
    “The quest for another bird?”
    Gretchen nodded. Something like that.
    “Listen, we have to have a conversation before Matt arrives.”
    “Sure, what’s up?” Her mother looked too serious. Please don’t tell me your cancer is back. That particular fear hung on the edge of Gretchen’s mind all the time.
    “Don’t look at me that way,” Caroline said. “I’m perfectly fine. It’s about the woman in the cemetery.”
    “What about her?” Gretchen had kept the dead woman at the back of her thoughts most of the day. Staying busy had helped.
    “The fantasy doll looked vaguely familiar to me. I thought about it all night, and this morning I knew for sure I was right. It was so long ago, I didn’t believe it could be possible. But unfortunately, it was.” Caroline reached for her glass on the table—her favorite cocktail, a single-malt scotch, ice, no water. “I know who the murder victim is.”
    “What?” exclaimed Gretchen.
    “I met Matt at the police station. He showed me photographs and I identified her. She was older than I’d pictured her. It’s strange, when you haven’t seen someone for a long time, you expect them to remain looking exactly the same.” Caroline’s face registered fear and sadness.
    Gretchen rose and bent over the back of Caroline’s chair, kissing the top of her head and rubbing her mother’s shoulders. “Who was she?”
    Caroline went limp under Gretchen’s fingers, giving herself over to the massage. “We met at a national doll convention long before I married your father. We kept in touch for a number of years, then lost track of each other, but every once in a while, I’d get news and see pictures of her fantasy dolls. Her name was Allison Thomasia.” Caroline smiled, remembering.
    “I wonder what happened in the cemetery,” Gretchen said, feeling her mother’s muscles tighten again, sorry she had said anything.
    “Matt told me someone struck her several times, crushing her head. The murder weapon hasn’t been found.” Caroline’s voice cracked.
    Gretchen thought of the blood stains on the