"Tell me what you've found so far." Gretchen leaned across the table. "That is, unless it isn't any of my business."

"I value your opinion mightily." He leaned in to meet her. He kissed her nose, sending a bolt of electricity through her body. How would she react when they got past a few lip-locks? That unleashed bolt of power might kill her.

Matt sat back. "LAPD is a.s.sisting. The victim had a small studio in her Los Angeles home where she made dolls. The artistry of the doll found at the crime scene is consistent with her other works. Did you know that Allison and Andy Thomasia were estranged at the time of her death?"

"No." Gretchen's mother would be interested in that bit of news.

"She remained in their LA home. He rented an apartment. Recently, according to him, they were in the process of reconciling. He claims she invited him along to Phoenix. He'd hoped to work things out between them while here."

"What about the homeless people in the cemetery?"

"No help at all so far."

"Did you let all of them go?" Gretchen was thinking specifically of Nacho.

"What a mess that was." Matt studied his coffee cup as though remembering every detail with dread. "Seventeen potential witnesses without a single one of them admitting having heard or seen a thing. No drivers' licenses, no state ID cards, no other kind of identification on any of them. All we could do was put them through the paces-photographs, fingerprints. We let them go." He looked up at her. "You know some of those people. Maybe you can get them to talk to you?"

"I tried. I haven't seen Nacho, but Daisy claims she didn't see or hear a thing, so they're sticking with their story. Maybe they're telling the truth." A thought occurred to her. "Wait . . . does this mean you need me?"

"I always need you, baby."

"I thought I was supposed to mind my own business."

"I never said that."

Men!

"You implied it."

"Ahh, those nasty implications."

"Tell me again that you need my help."

"I," Matt said with a great grin, "need your help. But only this one time."

Gretchen heard sirens in the distance, not an uncommon sound in one of the most congested cities in the country with a large, aging population. Sirens were as routinely heard as other traffic noises, yet the sound always reminded Gretchen of disaster. The sirens gave her pause to reflect on how lucky she was.

"By the way," Matt said. "There was a multiple-car accident near Twenty-fourth Street and Camelback. Stay clear of that area for a while."

15.

At first Gretchen thought the object under her windshield wiper was a parking ticket. Until she pulled it loose. She unfolded it and stared in shock at the words.

Die, Dolly, Die.

The letters had been individually cut out of newspaper print and glued together in a semistraight line on a piece of white paper.

The same words that had been written on the gravestone.

A threat or a warning? A prediction of her future? Could Nina have left it to scare her into taking the tarot reading more seriously? No. Her aunt wouldn't go that far.

A prankster, maybe? The doll club members were known to pull practical jokes. But this one wasn't funny. Not one bit.

She looked up and down the sidewalk, scanning both sides of the street. What was she searching for exactly? A killer who targeted doll collectors as Nina had suggested? No one on either side of the street paid any attention to Gretchen. Those pa.s.sing by seemed focused on their destinations, not on her reaction to a piece of paper. It had to be a bad joke.

Inside the banquet hall, the cast was onstage, reading from their scripts, focusing much more intently than usual, which was highly suspicious. Their deep concentration had her convinced that they were up to something.

"Who put this on my car?" Gretchen demanded, waving the paper in one hand, clutching the roses in the other. "And don't pretend that you don't know what I'm talking about."

"Shhh," April whispered from Gretchen's director's chair. "Can't you see we're in the middle of rehearsal? And I think they've finally got it down pat. Keep going, crew." She rose and grabbed Gretchen by the arm, pulling her away from the stage and guiding her into the break room. "Don't stop them now. They're on a roll." She looked proud of herself. "All it took was a little tantalizing incentive. Speaking of tantalizing, where's that hot, s.e.xy man of yours?"

"Gone back to the job. Listen, I have to talk to the cast."

"Nice flowers." April took the bouquet and placed the flowers into a tall water gla.s.s. "You can talk to them, but you can't just barge in. They'll be through with this act in a few minutes. Don't you want to know what motivated them?"

"What incentive could possibly have Bonnie speaking her lines correctly?"

April tackled a box of glazed donuts, popping a donut hole in her mouth and chewing it quickly before answering. "When they came in this morning after their Curves workout, Bonnie couldn't talk about anything but the cemetery murder. I told her if she could get through the play, front to back, without any mistakes, you would take her to the scene of the crime."

"What? I didn't agree to that."

"I took creative license." April, another donut in hand, stuck her head out the door before continuing. "Just listen to them."

Even though the cast were still reading from scripts, rather than off-book, they sounded much better than Gretchen could have ever hoped for after the last several disastrous days. "I have to admit, they sound pretty good."

"See?"

"Who would have thought a trip to a cemetery would be Bonnie's carrot?" Gretchen wished she had thought of something so clever.

"They're going to make it through every scene without s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g up," April said. "But the others don't want to go along. They're only working hard for Bonnie because it means so much to her."

"I'm not sure if I want them to make it. Going to a cemetery right after a murder isn't exactly my ideal afternoon outing. Besides, I just found a note-"

"Oh come on," April said, interrupting. "You have to. Look at them."

Gretchen watched as the cast worked away. She could see how hard Bonnie was trying. "Tell her we'll go to the cemetery later this afternoon," she said, defeated.

What had she gotten herself into? More important at the moment, was she cut out for directorship? Should she trade positions with April, sit at the sewing machine, and watch her friend take over?

"What's that?" April noticed the paper in Gretchen's hand.

Gretchen gave it to her.

"Die, Dolly, Die. Not a bad t.i.tle," April said. "But don't you like the one we already have? Ding Dong Dead Ding Dong Dead has a nice ring to it, and we sent out invitations using it." has a nice ring to it, and we sent out invitations using it."

A play t.i.tle? April thought it was an idea for a different t.i.tle? "It was stuck on my windshield wiper blade," Gretchen said. "I thought it was a joke or prank of some sort, but you didn't even know."

"Know what?"

"Nothing. It's nothing." She realized with increasing concern that she hadn't told the club members about the horrible words on the headstone. Not even Bonnie knew about that; if she had, it would have been the first thing she mentioned. The police were keeping it quiet.

"I like the one Caroline came up with better," April said. She scrunched the paper and tossed it into the garbage can before Gretchen could stop her. She would have to dig it out before she left to show it to Matt.

They stood in the doorway and watched the rehearsal. A man wearing gray overalls came out from behind the stage. He unrolled a black extension cord as he backed up. "Who's that?"

"Jerome. He's our new lighting expert."

The man produced a roll of duct tape from a deep pocket. He squatted and began covering the electrical cord, taping it to the floor.

"Where did you find him?" April was turning out to be a competent general manager, even though her original t.i.tle had been seamstress and donut runner. She was a woman of many talents, and Gretchen wasn't about to waste those talents on gofer runs.

"I plucked him right off the street." April giggled. "Well, not really. Mr. B. recommended him."

"Great. Where's Nina?"

"Oops."

"Oops?"

"You weren't supposed to be back from your morning date with Hot Man yet."

"Something's up."

April looked guilty. "Nina's walking the dogs," she said. "Please don't be mad. I couldn't leave Enrico home alone."

"April, we had one rule and one rule only: no pets."

"I know, I know. It won't happen again." The new light technician had noticed Gretchen and was heading over. April dropped her voice and redirected the conversation. "Don't call Jerome names. He gets really mad."

Gretchen whispered back. "What kind of names?"

"Like Sparky or Lampy or Noodle Tech. Oh, look, here he comes."

Jerome stood silently while April introduced him. She talked him up, describing his contribution in the most glowing terms possible. He shuffled uncomfortably, watching his feet, while April laid out his achievements. At first Gretchen thought he was self-conscious, not used to compliments.

A flash of icy steel in his eyes when he finally looked at her informed her otherwise. After he went back to work, Gretchen said, "Not the friendliest guy."

April shrugged. "He's doing his job, free of charge I might add. He's a volunteer. Lighten up."

"How is he getting along with the cast?"

"Fine."

Gretchen thought she detected something in April's tone, but why should she worry herself about every little detail? Whatever April was doing was working.

"Would you mind directing for a few more days?"

"Gee, no, not at all. I really like it."

"That'll give me time to catch up on a few repair jobs."

"Don't feel bad that I'm doing a better job than you are," April said. "Our minds work differently. Mine's just better suited to this line of work than yours is."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, for example, look at your director's desk."

"What's wrong with it?"

"It's a mess. Papers scattered everywhere, old coffee getting moldy in cups."

What could she say? April wasn't lying. The proof was right in front of them.

"I never pretended to be a neat freak," Gretchen said.

"Directing a play takes a lot of organizational skills. Creative people, like you, don't compartmentalize like accounting types."

"You aren't an accounting type." April's home furnishings were topsy-turvy, every single bit of s.p.a.ce taken up with something.

"Yes, but I make up for it by having an excess of managerial skills. You know what you should be doing?"

Spending time with Matt, Gretchen thought.

"You should be creating museum displays," April said. "I suggest that I take over your job. You take over mine."

April had a point. Hadn't Gretchen wished for that same thing, to help out at the museum instead? "Let me think about it," she said.

After promising to meet them at the cemetery later in the afternoon, depending on April's a.s.sessment of their performance, Gretchen returned to the break room to retrieve the note from the trash.

She b.u.mped into Jerome as he was coming out. When he looked into her eyes, she sensed his coldness again. She gave him a weak smile.

What a creepy guy!

After pulling every single item out of the garbage, Gretchen gave up.

The note was gone.

16.