Free Dolled Up for Murder by Deb Baker Page A

on Tutu’s collar and standing aside while the canine jumped to the ground. “Oh, I almost forgot to leave you his poodle purse.”
    Wouldn’t that be a serious fashion faux pas? Gretchen thought. A dog without his purse.
    Nina tugged the dog purse from her shoulder and quickly threw it on Gretchen’s lap. “Have fun.”
    Gretchen and Nimrod pulled away and turned toward the center of the city of Phoenix, situated on the opposite side of Camelback Mountain. Three hours didn’t give her much time. She drove to the older part of downtown, west of Central Avenue, and slowly cruised up and down each street, moving to First Avenue then Second Avenue in a quest to find the homeless man.
    Her encounter with him on the street in front of the restaurant wasn’t chance, and Gretchen didn’t think he was a ranting madman. She was convinced that he had a compelling reason to threaten her, and she needed to know why.
    The midday heat had driven most of the homeless to seek shelter from the sun, but a few directionless people wandered the sidewalks. She weaved through the endless lines of cars. Phoenix traffic was perpetually in gridlock every hour of the day including late evening rush hour.
    Gretchen didn’t see the man.
    After several passes, she eased to the curb, reached in the backseat, and lifted Nimrod into the front seat. His tiny feet spun in anticipation, and once she opened the purse he lunged eagerly inside.
    “You’re an old pro at this, aren’t you,” she said, adjusting dog and purse on her shoulder.
    She walked along First Avenue, Nimrod peeking out from the safety of his mobile home. He felt weightless on her shoulder. The noon sun scorched the pavement. Gretchen made an effort to stay in the shadows of the buildings, but they offered little comfort from the oppressive heat.
    A woman walked slowly toward her, pushing a shopping cart piled with clothes and a variety of personal treasures most people would have discarded. Gretchen had read somewhere that women were the fastest-growing segment of the homeless population. A sad statement.
    Gretchen heard the woman mutter as she neared.
    “Excuse me,” Gretchen said. “Can you help me?”
    The woman stopped and stared at Gretchen with suspicion until her gaze shifted to the purse. She saw Nimrod and visibly softened.
    “I’m looking for someone,” Gretchen said.
    “Nice doggy.” The woman reached out with dirty hands and ragged fingernails to stroke Nimrod, and Gretchen willed herself not to flinch or pull the purse away. Nimrod sniffed curiously and allowed her to pat his little head.
    “I’m looking for a man with a growth on the side of his head,” Gretchen said. “It’s important that I find him.”
    “I’m Daisy,” the woman said, not looking up from Nimrod, stroking his curly black fur. “Have you come to see me? I’ve been waiting years to be discovered. I’ll be famous, you know, very soon.”
    “I’m sure you will. But today I’m looking for someone else.”
    Daisy sighed. “Always someone else. I’m always passed over. Too short for the part, they say, or too tall. Always wrong for the casting.” She gave Nimrod a final pat, hung her head, and began pushing her cart.
    “Do you know the man?” Gretchen followed, walking in step with her. “I don’t know how else to describe him. The lump on his head is sizable. Do you know him?”
    “Nacho,” Daisy muttered. “Macho Nacho. What’s the doggy’s name?”
    “Nimrod.”
    “Ah, the mighty hunter.”
    Gretchen felt frustrated. The woman’s delusions must have been caused by mental illness or by the infernal, suffocating desert heat. The weight of the sun burned down on Gretchen as she slowed her steps and fell behind Daisy, soon coming to a complete stop. Nimrod waited patiently at her side as they watched the homeless woman walk away, pushing her cart.
    “His name is Nacho,” Daisy called loudly without looking back.
    Gretchen ran to catch up, forgetting about the heat.