Dolled Up for Murder by Deb Baker

back, frightened.
    Gretchen remembered the alcohol on his breath the night before and wondered where his stamina came from. Maybe his fear was greater than hers, and his fear drove his momentum. In spite of having nothing material to show for his life, he might have more to lose than she did. If that was possible.
    She began to gain on him. Closer and closer. She could hear her breath, usually controlled when she ran distances, pounding in her ears. Now it came out ragged, and she struggled to establish a rhythm. The sweltering heat beating down from the desert sun was unbearable.
    He vanished behind another building, and Gretchen rushed after him. Rounding a corner, something shot out at her from a Dumpster against the wall and struck her below her knees. Gretchen felt herself falling. She lurched forward, trying to recover from the fall, but it was too late. She put her hands out in front of her to break the fall and felt a sharp pain in her left wrist as her body slammed into concrete.
    Footsteps thundered past her. Then silence.
    She struggled to her feet, holding her wrist.
    Nacho, her only lead, had vanished.

    When Gretchen emerged from between the buildings, Nina jumped from the car and shouted at her. “Are you crazy?” she screamed. “You could have been killed. You didn’t know if he had a gun. What were you going to do if you caught him?” She clasped her hands on top of her head. “He could have had a knife and sliced you to pieces.”
    Gretchen gasped for breath. She bent over and cradled her wrist.
    “What happened to you?” Nina said, noticing Gretchen’s protective stance.
    “Hurt . . . my . . . wrist.” An image of Nacho running flashed through Gretchen’s head. His long strides. His arm motions assisting him, increasing his speed. The arms were important.
    “Let me see.” Nina hurried over to her.
    Gretchen shook her head. “He . . .” She gasped. “. . . tripped me.”
    The arms, she thought. What am I missing?
    She realized what it was. “He dropped the bag.”
    Nina scowled. “What are you talking about?”
    “The garbage bag. He must have thrown it off somewhere along the way.” Gretchen straightened up. “Hurry. We have to find it.”
    Gretchen ran quickly along the sidewalk, retracing her steps. Nina swung the car around and followed. The dogs, sensing a game afoot, watched side by side out the back window. Tutu yelped encouragement, her excitement spurring Nimrod to join in.
    When did she notice that he was swinging both arms? After they crossed the intersection but before Nacho ducked between the buildings. She walked to the intersection and studied her surroundings. Sharp pain shot through her wrist, forcing her to support it with her other hand.
    Where was Nacho now? Was he watching from a hiding place? She had to beat him to the garbage bag. Gretchen looked up and down the street but didn’t see him. She peeked into a trash receptacle on the corner, then motioned to Nina with her head.
    “What?” Nina asked, stepping out of the Impala.
    “You’ll have to grab it,” Gretchen said. “He stuffed the bag in here.” She gestured with her hands.
    “Do I have to?” Nina said, wrinkling her nose.
    “Afraid so.”
    Nina pulled out the black bag with a grimace of disgust and held it away from her body. “Now what?”
    “Let’s look through it in the car, then I’ll return it,” Gretchen suggested. “I don’t want to take it away from him. It’s all he has.”
    Nina looked at her sharply. “After what he’s put you through, how can you sympathize with him? He threatened you. And look at your wrist. An innocent man doesn’t run away like he did. And you don’t want to take his bag? Unbelievable!”
    Nina continued to grumble as they returned to the car, and her protests grew louder when she realized she’d have to search the bag herself. Gretchen’s wrist began to swell and turn a deep purple.
    The search produced a single change of clothes, not especially clean,