Free Bury Me With Barbie by Wyborn Senna Page A

married and her husband wanted to finance her dream, it was all over for Sophie. About half of Sophie’s subscribers decided if they could only afford one Barbie magazine, they’d rather buy Sierra’s. Sierra was more creative and had better stories.
    “Sophie was pissed, but what could she do? It’s a free country.” Monya threw up her hands and then let them flop onto her lap.
    “How do you know all this?” Caresse asked.
    “Sophie is my sister.”
    “Wow.”
    “She’s still back east,” Monya said, anticipating Caresse’s next question. “Have you ever met Sierra?”
    “No. We email, and we’ve talked on the phone once or twice. I send my features and photos to her, and that’s about it. I get checks when issues come out, and I have to file a freelance tax thingie each spring. She’s got a lot to do to publish every month.”
    “Did you hear about the Gayle Grace murder?”
    Caresse held her breath. Finally, someone might offer some tidbits that hadn’t been published.
    “Sophie told me some woman in upstate New York was murdered, and her American Girl Barbie collection was raided. As far as they can tell, the dolls were taken the same day she was killed.”
    Chills ran down Caresse’s spine. Instead of letting Monya know she had heard about the homicides, she decided to let her talk to determine whether or not the old woman had information she hadn’t run across.
    “Both Gayle and her husband died in an explosion,” Monya continued. “Investigators talked to Gayle’s sister Megan, who originally helped Gayle inventory her dolls. They went through the Graces’ home, and guess what? Many of the dolls on the list were missing.”
    Caresse wanted to hear Monya’s suppositions. “But why kill them? If you just want someone’s dolls, you take the dolls when they’re not home, right?”
    “Clearly the killer had a grudge against Gayle and wanted her dead. Taking her dolls was important, but killing her was meaningful, too.”
    Chaz approached slowly, dragging a box of trains and track pieces with him.
    “Mom, I want this.”
    Caresse stood up and smiled.
    “How much for the whole box?” she asked Monya.
    Monya placed her right, liver-spotted, many-ringed hand on Caresse’s shoulder. They had bonded. “The whole box, ten bucks.”
    “Such a deal,” she said, returning the woman’s warm smile.
    She turned to Chaz. “You’re gonna have to help me carry it back to the car.”
    Chaz considered this, realizing they’d left their Honda clear over by Mitchell Park prior to their inner-city trek. “It’s worth it,” he said finally. “And Mom, I’m gonna leave this stuff at your place. Dad says we’ve got too much clutter.”
    She raised an eyebrow. “He does, does he?”
    “He should see
this
place,” Monya said, and the three of them laughed.
    They left the shop each holding a side of the box with both hands. They walked semi-sideways in tandem for a while until Caresse almost tripped. She told her son to hang on to her belt loop while she balanced the box on her head all the way back to their car.

19
    The poodles greeted P.J., their tiny black-nailed feet slipping and sliding on the smooth cerulean tile floor in the entryway.
    P.J. took the napkined bacon out of her pocket and addressed them by name.
    “Hi, Pooh. Hi, Schmoo.” Their ridiculous monikers made her smile. The treats were a hit. She had made friends.
    Everything in the living room was pastel. Light peach, lemon yellow, and touches of sky blue gave the place a lighthearted feel. The poodle babies followed her into the room, watching her with curiosity in their eyes. She headed up the plush peach-carpeted staircase. The bathroom was at the top landing, a study was set up in the room to the left, and the master bedroom was to the right. She opted to go into the study and was rewarded by the sight of cardboard boxes stacked high beside a curio cabinet packed with Barbies. The curio was lit, but P.J. could barely tell