Dolly Departed Part 12

"I'm looking for Ryan Maize," Gretchen said. "Is he here?"

"Who wants to know?"

"Gretchen Birch. I'm a friend of his mother's."

"No, you're not. You're a cop."

"I'm not a cop."

Gretchen heard a chuckle behind her.

"Do you have a search warrant?" the person inside asked.

"No. I'm trying to tell you, I'm not a cop."

The minuscule opening in the door began to close. Matt's arm shot out to stop it. He flashed identification with his other hand. "I'm the cop," he said. "Don't make a bad choice. Open the door and talk to us."

"Don't you need a warrant?"

"Not to ask questions about a death."

The door swung open, and Ryan stepped hesitantly out onto the porch wearing the black do-rag. He squinted and rubbed his eyes. His shoulders slumped with an air of defeat, like he expected life to keep disappointing him. Cla.s.sic drug addict's philosophy, Gretchen thought. They blamed their circ.u.mstances on bad luck and the actions of others, instead of taking control and making different choices.

"I don't feel too good," Ryan said, leaving the door ajar.

"I think I'm sick."

Matt gave him a cold stare.

The porch was covered with cigarette b.u.t.ts and round burn holes. Gretchen tried to look past Ryan into the house, but the interior was dark. The sunlight blinded Ryan. He covered his eyes. "Make it quick," he said. "I gotta go. I'm gonna be sick."

Gretchen tried not to look at the silver ring piercing his lower lip.

Matt leaned against the stucco wall, outwardly relaxed and appearing casual. But he wasn't. "First, I have a complaint. You a.s.saulted this woman."

Ryan glanced at Gretchen. "She chased me down the street and grabbed me. I was looking through the window, and she started yelling and coming after me."

Gretchen squirmed. He wasn't lying. When he said it like that . . .

"You struck her and knocked her down."

"She started it." Ryan said, a kid's whine in his voice.

"Let it go," Gretchen said to Matt.

"But he a.s.saulted you. Don't you want to press charges?"

"No."

"Why not?"

Gretchen didn't know why not. All she knew was that she felt sorry for him. She'd worked with the afflicted before, serving meals and donating money when she could spare it. Ryan, although not exactly dest.i.tute, had a certain helplessness about him. He brought out the maternal side of her, as weird as that sounded.

Go figure. She felt sorry for the guy who'd slugged her. She looked up at the crumbling pink stucco and wondered how many drug addicts lived inside. "I only wanted to talk to you about your mother," she said to Ryan. "You didn't have to hit me."

"I really think it's important that you press charges,"

Matt said.

"No."

"Can I go now? I'm really gonna be sick."

"Not yet," Matt said. "How did you learn that your mother died?" He didn't say murdered. murdered. Ryan was too messed up to wonder why he would be questioned if his mother had died from natural causes. Ryan was too messed up to wonder why he would be questioned if his mother had died from natural causes.

"One of her friends came by and told me."

"When?"

"Sat.u.r.day . . . um . . . like afternoon."

"Who?"

"Britt somebody."

"What did she say?"

"That my mother had a heart attack."

"What kind of relationship did you have with your mother?"

Gretchen studied Matt. Cool, crisp, and professional but with the appearance of casualness. Even though he wasn't taking notes, she was sure he'd remember every word of the conversation.

"Not too good, but it was her fault. She didn't approve of my lifestyle. Wanted me to be more like her, like everybody else." Ryan's eyes were bloodshot, and his face was pale. Who would want to look and feel this bad every day?

After several more questions, Ryan hunkered down on the side of the porch and retched.

Gretchen and Matt looked at each other.

"We'll have more questions later," Matt said to him. Gretchen wasn't sure Ryan heard.

She stepped off the porch with Matt right behind her. "I don't understand you at all. I thought we were in agreement," he said in a low voice. "Wasn't the whole point to bring him in for questioning? The a.s.sault was a perfect opportunity. His mother was murdered and . . . I don't know why I'm even trying to explain it to you."

Gretchen frowned at him. Men! Talk about miscommunication. Or more like no communication. Other than a few Neanderthal grunts, none of them had the ability to express themselves. "I wish you had told me you were going to threaten him," she said, looking back. Ryan had disappeared inside.

"I wish you had told me what you wanted."

"You need to drop it," Gretchen said, wanting the last word. "I'm not pressing charges."

This time Matt scowled at her.

"What's going to happen to him?" She meant it philosophically, but Matt took her literally.

"If you aren't interested in pursuing charges? Nothing. I really want to know why he's been hiding. And why he struck you." Matt stopped by her car. "Why did he think you were a cop when he opened the door?"

Geez. Did she really have to go into this? She stopped and dug through her purse.

Matt leaned forward and peered inside. "Where's the little fluff ball?"

"He's with Nina. We're meeting at the shop. Here it is." She held up the Best in the West badge. "April gave me this and had pinned it on right before Ryan looked through the window. He saw it and automatically a.s.sumed--"

"So yesterday he thought he was punching a cop?" Matt shook his head.

The situation seemed to be getting worse.

Without waiting for a reply, Matt turned and started out down the street, whistling a tune.

"Where are you going?" Gretchen called after him.

"Back to my car."

"I'll give you a ride."

"I'm a terrible pa.s.senger."

"My driving was that bad?"

"I'm really just a bad pa.s.senger."

"We're miles away from your car."

"One point four miles, to be exact. Don't worry about me. If I need help, I'll call for a squad."

Look who's the impossible one now?

"Wait up." She trotted to catch up.

"I'd love company," Matt said. "But the logistics are complicated. For example, who'll drive your car?"

"You can give me a ride back."

"This gets sillier by the second."

"You started it." Using the same tactic Ryan had. Blame it on the other guy.

Matt raised his arms in a gesture of surrender. "Okay, let's go."

Gretchen looked around at the boarded-up houses and litter in the yards. "This isn't the best neighborhood to leave my car. Or to be walking."

"Anyone bothers us, I'll shoot them." He flashed that great smile, swung his head to check for cars, and jaywalked across Van Buren. Gretchen trailed him across, then quickly fell in next to him.

They silently cut around a slow pedestrian, and Matt's arm brushed against hers. She sucked in her breath, feeling young and foolish. Not a bad feeling. Not at all.

Matt glanced at her. "Are you finished at Mini Maize?"

"Probably today." Should she tell him about the miniature b.l.o.o.d.y weapons and the tiny, painted stains on some of the furnishings? Wouldn't he know about them from the crime scene a.n.a.lysis? "We found interesting things in the display cases. Weapons, fake blood on some of the furniture."

He nodded. "We a.s.sumed that was part of some crazy doll collector's scene." Another grin. "Charlie's prints were the only ones on them. They have nothing to do with her murder."

"I disagree," Gretchen said. What else was new? They disagreed on so much. Matt might send jolts of electricity through her entire nervous system, but his wattage wasn't entirely compatible with hers. Kind of like putting cables on the wrong battery terminals.

"Let's have your take on it then," Matt said. "As if I'm not going to hear it anyway."

"I think she realized that she'd been poisoned and tried to make it to the door. She took the time to knock the display over as a clue, in case she didn't survive. There's something strange about the display. I can't put my finger on it though. Oh, I know--" Gretchen stopped, snapped her fingers as though she just thought of it. She waited for him to stop walking, too. "Maybe it's because of the miniature peanut b.u.t.ter jar. You know the one? It was under her body."

His jaw dropped open. "Where did you get that information?"

"I know who I didn't didn't get it from." get it from."

They approached Matt's unmarked car. Daisy was nowhere in sight. She must be at the audition, if the audition was real. It was hard to tell what was reality and what was fantasy when it came to the homeless woman. Gretchen looked at Matt. She had thrown out a hastytheory, but it made sense. "I'm sure you're right," she said.

"The display case has nothing to do with Charlie's or Sara's murder. Nothing at all."

"You can't fool me. I hear the sarcasm in your voice. I'm not your ordinary insensitive male, you know. I have feelings." Matt opened the pa.s.senger door for her. "Hop in."

* 15 *

"Nina and I had breakfast at a dog-friendly restaurant,"

Britt said, laughing. "Can you believe it?" Britt and Nina were back at work at Mini Maize. If you could call it work. Nina laughed, too. "The restaurant had a patio with a fire hydrant fountain and our waitress served mutt m.u.f.fins. Not to us, of course, but the dogs loved them. Britt and I had coffee and people m.u.f.fins."

"I'll be talking in my sleep again tonight," Britt said laughing along. "Or barking."

"You really should see a hypnotist," Nina relied. "You have to be losing lots of sleep."

Nina, Gretchen decided, could benefit from a little hypnosis herself. Her aunt put all her attention and affection into animals. She needed a male companion to ground her. Although she certainly looked content enough at the moment. Tutu and Nimrod played at their feet. Enrico watched from the safety of Nina's leg, peeking out beside her painted toenails, snarling a warning whenever the other dogs came too close.

April swung through the door, carrying her usual bag of subs. "I lost another five pounds," she announced, setting the bag on the counter.

"Five pounds a day is incredible," Gretchen said, not really believing it was possible. But April did did look thinner. look thinner.