twice as much as open-mouthed dolls.
—From World of Dolls by Caroline Birch
The man standing at her mother’s front door wore khaki cargo shorts and a “Running Strong for American Indian Youth” T-shirt. Poking her head through the partially open door and hiding behind it in cotton boxer shorts and a skimpy camisole, she did a quick mental check of her appearance: no makeup, hair in its usual early morning tangle, sleep lines probably creasing her face. Perfect. Great start to the day.
Gretchen had to squint in the radiant light shining from his smile. She shaded her eyes with her hand and caught a whiff of Chrome cologne, one of her favorites.
“Yes?” Gretchen produced a weak smile.
He flipped a badge and held it close to her face. Her tentative smile faded.
“Detective Albright,” he said. “I’m looking for Caroline Birch.”
“You’re Bonnie Albright’s son. Matt.”
He flashed another dazzling smile. “And you must be Gretchen Birch from Boston.”
“News travels fast.” Gretchen raked her fingers through her unruly hair. “Did my watch stop?”
“No, it’s six.”
“Six o’clock on Saturday morning?”
“Correct.”
Gretchen edged further behind the door. “Seems a little early for official business. My mother isn’t home right now.”
“I’ve heard that news, too,” he said. “I was hoping it was a rumor.”
“You aren’t what I expected.” Gretchen imagined his mother. Bonnie of the red flip hairdo and uneven penciled eyebrows. The man looming on the other side of the door had dark wavy hair and a body builder’s biceps. He must take after his father.
“What did you expect? Bald and beastly?”
“Where’s your uniform?”
“I’m undercover.” His eyes slid past her head. “Can I come in?”
“I don’t think so.” She wedged a bare foot against the door. “Do you have a search warrant?”
He grinned. “Do you have something to hide?”
His smile was disarmingly charming, but Gretchen felt sure that he was acting. She had an overwhelming urge to protect her mother. The role reversal seemed awkward and unnatural. Her mother had always been her shield against potential danger.
“Look,” he continued, sliding his badge into his wallet. “I’m investigating a death, and your mother’s name came up. This is all very routine. If she didn’t do anything wrong, you have nothing to hide.”
Gretchen hated logic, especially from a cop. “Who said I have anything to hide?”
“You did.”
“I did not.” See how a cop will twist your words until you don’t recognize them anymore, Gretchen thought, glancing past his shoulder and watching a neighbor walk her dog past the house. Six A.M. Didn’t these people sleep in on Saturdays? She lowered her eyes and met his gaze. Neither one of them flinched or looked away.
“If you know where she is, you should tell me,” he said. “I’m trying to help. She’s one of my mother’s friends.”
Gretchen carefully considered the possible reasons why he would be searching for her mother. She thought she detected a hard, determined glint behind the detective’s sunshine eyes. After the note found with Martha’s body, the police would want an explanation, and Gretchen wasn’t sure her mother had one.
“Come back when you have a warrant,” she finally said and closed the door. A few minutes later she heard his car drive off.
Wobbles was talkative, meowing and rubbing against her leg. Gretchen poured cat food and water into two bowls she found in the cupboard, made a piece of toast, and started a pot of coffee. She ate the toast while she waited for the coffee to perk, then poured a steaming cup and called Nina.
“What time is it?” Nina’s husky voice sounded thick with sleep. Payback time, Gretchen thought.
“After six. I need to borrow your car today.” Gretchen sipped the fragrant coffee and felt it coursing through her body, rejuvenating her spirit in spite of her early morning visitor.
—From World of Dolls by Caroline Birch
The man standing at her mother’s front door wore khaki cargo shorts and a “Running Strong for American Indian Youth” T-shirt. Poking her head through the partially open door and hiding behind it in cotton boxer shorts and a skimpy camisole, she did a quick mental check of her appearance: no makeup, hair in its usual early morning tangle, sleep lines probably creasing her face. Perfect. Great start to the day.
Gretchen had to squint in the radiant light shining from his smile. She shaded her eyes with her hand and caught a whiff of Chrome cologne, one of her favorites.
“Yes?” Gretchen produced a weak smile.
He flipped a badge and held it close to her face. Her tentative smile faded.
“Detective Albright,” he said. “I’m looking for Caroline Birch.”
“You’re Bonnie Albright’s son. Matt.”
He flashed another dazzling smile. “And you must be Gretchen Birch from Boston.”
“News travels fast.” Gretchen raked her fingers through her unruly hair. “Did my watch stop?”
“No, it’s six.”
“Six o’clock on Saturday morning?”
“Correct.”
Gretchen edged further behind the door. “Seems a little early for official business. My mother isn’t home right now.”
“I’ve heard that news, too,” he said. “I was hoping it was a rumor.”
“You aren’t what I expected.” Gretchen imagined his mother. Bonnie of the red flip hairdo and uneven penciled eyebrows. The man looming on the other side of the door had dark wavy hair and a body builder’s biceps. He must take after his father.
“What did you expect? Bald and beastly?”
“Where’s your uniform?”
“I’m undercover.” His eyes slid past her head. “Can I come in?”
“I don’t think so.” She wedged a bare foot against the door. “Do you have a search warrant?”
He grinned. “Do you have something to hide?”
His smile was disarmingly charming, but Gretchen felt sure that he was acting. She had an overwhelming urge to protect her mother. The role reversal seemed awkward and unnatural. Her mother had always been her shield against potential danger.
“Look,” he continued, sliding his badge into his wallet. “I’m investigating a death, and your mother’s name came up. This is all very routine. If she didn’t do anything wrong, you have nothing to hide.”
Gretchen hated logic, especially from a cop. “Who said I have anything to hide?”
“You did.”
“I did not.” See how a cop will twist your words until you don’t recognize them anymore, Gretchen thought, glancing past his shoulder and watching a neighbor walk her dog past the house. Six A.M. Didn’t these people sleep in on Saturdays? She lowered her eyes and met his gaze. Neither one of them flinched or looked away.
“If you know where she is, you should tell me,” he said. “I’m trying to help. She’s one of my mother’s friends.”
Gretchen carefully considered the possible reasons why he would be searching for her mother. She thought she detected a hard, determined glint behind the detective’s sunshine eyes. After the note found with Martha’s body, the police would want an explanation, and Gretchen wasn’t sure her mother had one.
“Come back when you have a warrant,” she finally said and closed the door. A few minutes later she heard his car drive off.
Wobbles was talkative, meowing and rubbing against her leg. Gretchen poured cat food and water into two bowls she found in the cupboard, made a piece of toast, and started a pot of coffee. She ate the toast while she waited for the coffee to perk, then poured a steaming cup and called Nina.
“What time is it?” Nina’s husky voice sounded thick with sleep. Payback time, Gretchen thought.
“After six. I need to borrow your car today.” Gretchen sipped the fragrant coffee and felt it coursing through her body, rejuvenating her spirit in spite of her early morning visitor.
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