"It's not important," Gretchen said, catching the fed-up look on her mother's face. She changed the subject. "Is Nacho back from San Francisco yet?"

  "He's home. He didn't like California." Daisy held up her glass of iced tea. "Here's to love," she said, staring knowingly at Gretchen. They toasted.

  How did Daisy know? Was it that obvious? Daisy, now that Gretchen thought about it, had her own glow since Nacho was home. The moment was idyllic--perfect weather, basking in the sun with two terrific women, the possibility of a serious relationship with Matt.

  Gretchen's cell phone rang when she went to the kitchen for more coffee. "I think I made a terrible mistake!" Nina shouted on the other end.

  "What's up?" Gretchen asked.

  "I botched a reading."

  Tarot cards again. "Did Brandon Kline ask you out yet?" Nina had to get a life.

  "Don't patronize me. You have to listen. Are you listening?"

  "You're shouting. I don't have a choice."

  "Here it is then. Remember the reading I did for Britt?

  Well, I read the cards wrong."

  "How do you know?"

  "Because I'm down at Aurora's New Age Shop, and Aurora knows these things. Let me talk. Remember she drew the king of pentacles? And the hanged man fell on the floor? The card with the man hanging from a tree upside down? I thought the hanged man was for April because it fell at her feet, but it was really for Britt."

  Gretchen entered the workshop and gazed out the window at Camelback. Nina really needed male companionship. Someone to take her mind off of auras and palm readings.

  "But the hanged man means the reversal of the other cards' meanings. Instead of a person of character and a loyal friend, the opposite is true. Britt is corrupt; she'll use any means to achieve her end. She's ruthless, unfaithful, and extremely dangerous."

  "That's what the cards say?"

  "Right. She was capable of killing Charlie."

  What would her aunt come up with next?

  "Nina, what kind of concrete evidence is that? The police can't arrest her because the hanged man says so."

  "But we can try to prove she did it."

  "Call Detective Kline and get him onto her."

  "You constantly make fun of me, don't think I don't know it. You have to believe me this time. We can prove it. Then you'll have to give me credit. I'm so tired of being mocked."

  Nina hung up without saying goodbye.

  Gretchen went back to work in the doll shop.

  * 36 *

  "Where's Nina?" April asked the next morning. Gretchen was bent over a restringing project in her shop. April had stormed in without knocking.

  Gretchen looked up. "She's mad at me."

  "She isn't home."

  "She's probably shopping."

  "Tutu's there."

  "Sometimes she leaves the princess home. Rare, but not unheard of."

  "I think she's been gone awhile. Tutu has doo-dooed and wee-weed all over the house."

  Gretchen put the doll's arm down. "How long do you think she's been gone?"

  "Judging by the canine evidence? Since at least last night."

  Gretchen felt faint. Something terrible might have happened to her aunt. "We have to call the hospitals."

  "I'm way ahead of you. Scottsdale Memorial has a Jane Doe admit. I'm headed over to take a look. Want to come along?"

  Gretchen shook her head. "No, we'll be more effective if we split up. I'll try some of her favorite haunts. I'm sure there's a good reason. Maybe she connected with Brandon last night."

  "She would never neglect Tutu."

  April was right. "Don't tell my mother," Gretchen warned her. "Not yet. It will only upset her. But last night Nina called, babbling on about Britt Gleeland's tarot reading and reverse meanings, and that she'd decided Britt might be the murderer."

  "What nonsense! I ought to throw those cards away."

  April rushed out. Gretchen left her project where it was and grabbed her purse. Nimrod looked at her expectantly.

  "You're staying home today, bud."

  What could have happened to Nina? Where was she?

  Think. Last night she hung up on Gretchen. Was she so angry she had an accident? Maybe. More probable? She had rushed off to prove herself. She certainly had total confidence in the cards. Okay. Work it out. If the clown was the killer, and she was convinced it was, she could eliminate several people. Joseph, Bernard, and Evie couldn't have been disguised as the clown, because she had seen those three within minutes of bumping into the clown. Joseph passed with the crowd, and Bernard and Evie were at the doll shop. None of them would have had time to change.

  That left Ryan, Britt, and Melany. The poison mixer could be anybody, but since she was making wild assumptions, she would assume that the killer was one of the remaining three people. Could Nina be right? Britt wasn't the most likable women Gretchen had ever met. She had dinner with Charlie the night before she died. And she had been in the shop the night after Charlie's death. Cleaning up, Britt had said. Getting some of her things out of the shop.

  Gretchen reached for the phone and called the Scottsdale police department. She asked for Detective Kline. Fortunately, he was in and came on the line. No, he hadn't seen Nina, but he had tried to reach her at her home the evening before. He was sure she was all right, but he'd keep an eye out for her car.

  "Tell me," Gretchen said. "Did anyone have permission to remove items from Mini Maize on the Saturday that Charlie died?"

  "Of course not."

  "So no one should have been inside."

  "Absolutely no one."

  "I thought Matt Albright told me you were finished with the shop on Saturday."

  "We were. But we didn't release it until you arrived the next morning."

  What possible motive could Britt have that would drive her to murder? Charlie had been her best friend, or so she claimed. Britt didn't seem interested in taking over the shop like Bernard. She hadn't been stealing from Charlie as the old dollhouse maker had.

  Yet, she had been a doll maker, too. She might have been in competition with Sara, her best friend's sister. Britt had made pretty weird comments about friendships. Gretchen remembered her own challenges with Nina and April, the tiff they'd had because Nina felt Gretchen was spending too much time with April.

  It had almost ruined their relationships.

  Gretchen jumped into her car and roared away with no clear destination in mind. Almost subconsciously, she turned in the direction of Britt's house.

  Nothing fit into a snug package. Gretchen tried to put herself in the killer's mind. Pretend you just killed Charlie Maize. What would you do next? She'd hope the police would buy into the heart attack. Charlie had had a bad heart, and if they didn't detect the nicotine, she would be home free.

  Hadn't Matt told Gretchen the autopsy almost missed the traces of nicotine overdose? Nicotine traveled through the body quickly, so the evidence might have been easily overlooked. But it hadn't been.

  After that, Gretchen had shared a secret with Nina, and her aunt passed it on to her new friend Britt. Charlie had been murdered.

  The police would now look for the most likely suspect. The killer would have to throw suspicion somewhere else. Why not blame the burned-out drug addict son who had caused his mother so much grief?

  One block from Britt's house, Gretchen stopped the car and thought about her next move. All her conjecture could be wrong. And she had no proof.

  But what about Gretchen's missing aunt? She felt her stomach lurch and tried to calm her nerves. If Nina had barged into Britt's house, flinging accusations in her natural theatrical manner, and she was right, Nina might be dead this very minute.

  If Britt was the killer. As April would say, there were a lot of ifs flying around. Gretchen tried to call April but got no answer. Then she realized April's cell phone would be turned off while she was inside the hospital. Please, April, don't call and tell me Nina is the Jane Doe!

  She eased the car down the street and passed by Britt's house. The garage door was up. And it was empty. Gretchen parked around the corner, grabbed a handful of doll repair tools, and headed for Britt's house. What was she thinking? For starters, she'd get a good look at the wallpaper that had been so similar to the wallpaper in the room box. And she'd look for her aunt. Walking briskly into the garage, she knocked on the door. After waiting for a response, she lowered the garage door. No sense flaunting her lack of break-in skills in front of the entire neighborhood.

  Giving up with the tools, she tried to open the locked door with her repair hooks and her utility knife, but it wouldn't give. She reached up and ran her hand along the top of the doorframe. Hadn't she read somewhere that people like to stash keys near the door? Her fingers touched on metal, and she pulled down a key, stunned at her unbelievable good fortune. Gretchen opened the door, made her illegal entry, and hurried to the kitchen. The house creaked, startling her. The refrigerator motor kicked in, and she almost fainted. Get a grip, she scolded herself.

  The basic wallpaper seemed to be the same color as that in the room box, but the border was different. Gretchen chewed on her lip, trying to remember more clearly. Too bad the room box had been scorched in the fire. She had a picture on her camera phone, but it was a little out of focus, and the colors weren't exactly right. Not to mention that she had left it in her car.

  Gretchen pulled over a kitchen chair and stood on it. She reached up and tried to peel away the edge of the border. It wouldn't budge. She tried a different spot. What was the paper glued down with? Cement?

  She moved the chair to a new spot and tried again. Any second, she expected Britt to come home and catch her. She was almost ready to give up, when she felt the border give slightly under her fingers. Carefully she inserted her utility knife under the wallpaper, working it loose. She pulled the first layer away and stared at the underlying design: an apple. A teapot. The room spun. Gretchen leaned against a cabinet for support.

  Britt hadn't had time to remove the wallpaper, so she'd just papered over it.

  Nina had been right. But Gretchen hadn't believed her. She would never forgive herself if her aunt was dead. Gretchen replaced the chair.

  She heard the garage door rising.

  * 37 *

  Gretchen quickly calculated her chances of getting out of the house before Britt came in and caught her. Slim to none, she decided, running for the doll-making studio. She'd go out the back workshop door, the same one she'd used when they had visited. Piece of cake.

  Except the back door was deadbolted, and the key wasn't in the lock. She felt along the top of the doorframe. Nothing.

  Gretchen heard someone enter the house just as she spotted another door she hadn't noticed when she visited. It was a walk-in storage closet. She slid in and held her breath, wondering how she would get out of this mess. If it came to a physical confrontation, she was sure she could take Britt. Gretchen was a larger woman than Britt. This was the one and only time she had ever appreciated her size. Still, she hoped it wouldn't come to that. It was dark in the closet, but as her eyes adjusted, she saw the outline of storage units lining the wall. If she scooted back far enough, she might remain undetected. Then what?

  She would have to wait until dark and sneak out. Too bad she had left her cell phone in the car. Smart thinking, Gretchen.

  She edged toward the back of the storage closet. Her foot struck something soft, something unyielding. At that moment, she realized she wasn't alone in the closet.

  She blinked, straining to see more clearly. Gretchen squatted and gasped. The clown suit! She slapped her hand across her mouth to stifle a scream. Gretchen could see the jutting hair and the shiny bald spot on top. And the big nose.

  The most horrifying thing of all was that the suit wasn't empty.

  Someone was crumpled in a heap, wearing the clown face: nose, wig, and white face paint. The paint seemed to glow in the dark. The rest of the body was clothed in a fabric Gretchen could identify even in the dark: her aunt's favorite pink pantsuit. The lifeless body belonged to Nina!

  Gretchen ran her fingers along the prone woman's neck, searching for a pulse. If Nina was dead, Gretchen would attack Britt and strangle her with her bare hands. A pulse throbbed under her fingers. Gretchen felt tears of relief well in her eyes. She wiped them away and cradled her unconscious aunt in her arms. She couldn't sit tight and wait until dark to get out. Who knew what Britt had given Nina? Her aunt might have enough poison in her body to kill her while Gretchen waited for the right moment to make her escape. She had to get help as quickly as possible.

  When she peeked out of the closet, she found the room empty. With dawning horror, she realized she had left her tools in the kitchen in plain view. She had to be quick. Her best bet was still the back door. Or a window. Why hadn't she thought of that earlier?

  The casement window opened easily enough, another stroke of luck.

  "What are you doing?" Britt stood next to the kiln, her face twisted with rage--wild, angry eyes and a red, distorted face. "What are you doing in my house?"

  Gretchen whirled. "What is Nina doing in your closet?"

  She steadied her voice. "What did you do to her?"

  "Your aunt was distraught. I gave her something to calm her nerves. See how effective my potions are? I like to mix and match and watch the results. An old hobby left over from my lab assistant days. I love the way chemicals interact with each other, don't you? A little flour here, a little liquid nicotine there, a small dose of epinephrine--"

  "I'm calling for help."

  "No. You aren't."

  With one experienced motion, Britt opened the firing kiln. "This was meant for my traitorous friend, Nina, but I'm sure it will accommodate you as well. Twenty three hundred degrees. Just the right temperature."

  "But, why? Nina offered her friendship to you."

  "Nina doesn't understand friendship any better than Charlie did. Best friends are best friends for life. Until death do us part. Just like wedding vows. Charlie wasn't a true friend, or she never would have cared about her sister more than me."

  "You have that twisted." Did she ever! "You killed Sara and poisoned Charlie. What kind of person are you?"

  "You'll never understand true love. You're as fickle as the rest."

  She blazed with hate as she lunged at Gretchen. Gretchen readied herself for the physical attack. If she could only get to the drawers that contained the knives. She hadn't anticipated Britt's strength. Nor had she seen the hypodermic needle in the killer's hand. Until it was almost too late. Gretchen grabbed her wrist and tried to snap it away from her, but she couldn't break Britt's grip on the syringe. They were locked together when they fell to the floor. Gretchen felt the sting of the needle pierce the skin of her arm. She wrenched away before Britt could release whatever evil potion she had concocted.

  Britt struggled to her feet, panting, preparing for another attack. Gretchen heard a scream from the doorway.

  "Mother! What are you doing?" Britt's daughter, Melany, looked stricken.

  "Tying up loose ends. You came just in time."

  Britt's French twist wasn't perfect any longer. Melany's eyes dropped to her mother's hand.

  The firing kiln spewed raw heat.

  "Nina is in the closet," Gretchen said, afraid to move, anticipating another rush from Britt. "We need to get help for her."

  "What did you do to her, Mother?"

  "Gave her something to calm her nerves."

  "Tell me."

  "You have to help me with both of them," Britt said.

  "You don't want your mother in prison, do you? Hold her for me, and I'll take care of the rest. We'll burn the clown suit right along with them. No one will ever have to know."

  "My old clown suit? What does that have to do with anything?"

  When Britt didn't answer, Melany moved toward them, close enough that Gretchen could see the indecision in her eyes. "You still talk in your sleep," she said to her mother.

  "Night after night I hear you apologizing to Charlie for killing her sister. You make excuses for yourself. Did you know that?"

  "I'm sorry, baby. I never wanted you involved. Sara had to go. She was interfering with the love between Charlie and me. You know I always thought of Charlie as my best friend. If only she hadn't found out what I'd done. Why did she have to make that sloppy excuse for a room box?"

  Melany looked stricken. "The room box with a sample of your wallpaper?"

  "And a miniature peanut butter jar and a vial that was labeled as poison."

  "You killed her because of the room box?" Melany looked like she might pass out. The girl started trembling. Tears welled up in her eyes. If Gretchen made a run for the window, would she make it? Would Melany let her mother burn Nina while she ran for help? Gretchen couldn't risk it. Britt stared at Gretchen, every muscle flexed for combat. "I had no choice. She and I went to dinner the night before the party to celebrate. She was so excited about the room boxes. We stopped back at the shop. She had forgotten her house key, left it on the desk. I peeked under the display cloth while she was in the back room. I saw what she intended to do. To our friendship, to you and me."

  "Mother," Melany cried, "I'm the one who put that room box in with the others. I was the one who wanted to expose you for what you really are."

  "No!" Britt said. "It was Charlie. Not you. Help me now. We'll talk later."

  "Please, Melany," Gretchen said. "Call for an ambulance. Save Nina."

  "You're already an accessory," Britt said to her daughter. "You knew about the explosion at the store and didn't turn on me then. You're on my side. I'm your mother." Britt smiled sweetly.

  Gretchen thought again of escape. Could she climb out the window before Britt plunged the syringe into her back?

  Even if she made it, her aunt would be a pile of ashes before Gretchen could get back with reinforcements. Neither of them would make it out alive if Melany sided with her mother.

  Melany came closer. "You pretended to be Ryan Maize. I found the do-rag," she said, her eyes riveted on her mother.