The Dollmaker (20 page)

If they were lucky, the autopsy would tell them how Mignon Bujold had died and approximately when. But it was the
why
that worried Alex. Why had she become a target? Because the doll had crossed her path?

His gaze moved back to Claire. Her eyes looked very blue even in the shade, and her lips—lips that he had kissed over and over in a desperate attempt to obliterate her past—trembled ever so slightly with emotion. He couldn’t look her in the eye so he glanced away again.

“You need to go home,” he said.

“I can’t.”

“This is a police matter. You’ll just get in the way if you stay here.”

“What about the doll?”

“What about it?”

“Do you believe me now?”

“What I believe is that you’re so desperate, you’ve convinced yourself that a doll is somehow the answer to all your prayers. You need to let it go. If there’s a connection, we’ll find it.”

“I’m not giving up on this,” she said stubbornly. “I don’t care what you say.”

He hardened his voice. “Then I’m going to give you fair warning. If you interfere in any way in this investigation, I’ll treat you just like I would anyone else. I’ll toss your ass in jail and throw away the key.”

Claire lifted her shoulders. “You do what you have to do, Alex. Because that’s what I intend to do, too.”

She turned and started walking back toward the street. Alex called after her, but she kept going. He wanted to stop her, but he couldn’t. The weight of the photograph—and his own guilt—held him back. He leaned heavily against the wall and let his head drop back against the smooth, worn brick.

W
ater lilies undulated in the
Sea Ray
’s wake as Dave cut back the engines and drifted toward the dock where Marsilius sat in a lawn chair, his face shielded by the brim of a straw hat. Dave had taken the boat out just after lunch and stayed until almost sunset.

Dropping anchor a few miles from shore, he’d set the rods and spun out the lines, then sat under a cloudless sky and waited for the fish to bite. After a couple of hours, the ice bins were lined with spotted bass, crappie and bream, all gutted and cleaned and waiting for the frying pan or the freezer. After he put away the rods, he’d cranked up the engines and made a run down to Vermillion Bay. The afternoon had been hot and sunny, the water as calm as a mirror, but by the time he headed back, clouds were already gathering in the west and he could smell the rain.

Tossing a line to Marsilius, Dave took the other and slipped the loop over a metal cleat bolted into the wooden dock. He was shirtless and he could feel the prickle of sunburn along his back and shoulders as he bent to his work.

“Someone’s waiting up at the house to see you,” Marsilius told him once they had the boat secured.

Dave jumped up on the dock. “Who is it, a client?”

“It’s Claire.”

Even after seeing her the other night, Dave found the sound of her name came as a shock. He turned and stared at the water, his heart pounding.

On the other side of the bayou, an old black man sat under a willow tree, fishing off the bank with a cane pole. Two little boys threw rocks and shells into the water nearby, scaring off the bream that had come to the surface to feed near the water lilies. The old man didn’t seem to mind. He sat puffing on a pipe, his eyes glued to the cork bobber floating among the lily pads.

“Dave, did you hear me?”

“I heard you, old man. What does she want?”

Marsilius shrugged, but his eyes were curious beneath the brim of his straw hat. “She didn’t say, I didn’t ask.”

“She must have told you something.”

He took off the hat and fanned his face. “All I know is she came into the bait shop looking for you. I told her you took the boat out, but I expected you back directly. She asked if I thought it would be okay for her to wait at your place. I said sure, didn’t see no harm in that.”

“Did you let her in?”

“I offered to, but she said she’d just as soon wait outside. But she must be getting pretty hot up there on that porch, Dave. You better go on up there and see what she wants.”

Dave resisted the urge to glance over his shoulder at the house. It was a strange feeling knowing that Claire was up there waiting for him. He had a picture in his mind of her in a yellow dress, sitting in the swing on her grandmother’s front porch. “There you are,” she’d say breathlessly as he slowly climbed the porch steps. “I was beginning to worry you weren’t coming.”

“You weren’t worried. You’re not the kind of girl who gets stood up.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because a guy’d have to be crazy to leave you sitting out here all alone. Especially in that yellow dress.”

She’d cock her head, smile in that way she had. “And you’re not crazy, are you, Dave?”

“Nope. What I am,” he’d say softly, bending to brush his lips against hers, “is just about the luckiest son of a bitch in the whole wide world.”

Dave turned off the conversation in his head as he glanced at Marsilius. “I’ll go up in a minute. I need to clean out the ice chests first and hose off the boat.”

“I’ll take care of that. You go on now, don’t keep her waiting any longer.”

But when Dave turned toward the house, Marsilius called him back, frowning. “Look here, son. I don’t know what she’s got on her mind, but I could tell something was bothering her. You go easy on her, hear?”

“What do you think I’m going to do? Throw her off my porch?”

“You’ve always been bad to hold a grudge, Dave, don’t claim you ain’t. She married somebody else and that didn’t sit well with you. I reckon you made that plain enough. But something’s going on with that girl and there’s no sense in you going up there making her feel any worse about it.”

Dave just shook his head. “You don’t give me much credit for anything, do you?”

“I speak my mind, if that’s what you mean.”

Dave left without another word and walked up to the house through the oak and pecan trees that ringed his property. The breeze picked up, scattering leaves across the path in front of him, and the sky took on a greenish tint.

He paused at the edge of the yard to slip on his shirt before striding down the dirt pathway to his house. A moment later, he drew back the screen door and stepped up on the porch.

Even when she turned, when he saw her full on, she didn’t seem real to him. It was like he’d awakened from a deep sleep, a dream still hovering at the edges of his consciousness, and in that fleeting moment he couldn’t tell if what he saw and heard and felt was real or only a vision.

The screen door snapped shut behind him, and as their eyes met, a smile died on her lips. Her gaze moved over his face, taking inventory of the bruises and the stitch marks near his scalp. “What happened to you?”

“Let’s just say I had a difference of opinion with someone, and leave it at that.”

Their eyes met again and she looked away. “You never change, do you, Dave? You always did have a talent for trouble.”

“According to Marsilius, it’s one of the few things I was ever any good at.”

She didn’t return his smile, but instead glanced around. “I like your place. It’s nice here. Peaceful with all the trees.”

He accepted the compliment with a shrug. “It’s not much to look at, but it’s home.”

“Home,” she said softly, turning to stare out at the yard, making a point not to look at him.

Dave watched her standing there, and a lump rose in his throat. She wore a white cotton skirt and sandals, with a blue camisole that matched the turquoise of her eyes. Her hair was clipped up in back so that he could see the fine, glistening hairs at her nape.

He swallowed, tore his gaze away. “Marsilius said you wanted to see me about something.”

She turned, and what she saw in his eyes seemed to take her aback for a moment. Her hand fluttered to her throat, covering the pattern of freckles on her chest that he had once traced with his fingertip.

“I’ve come to see you about a professional matter. If you have the time,” she added hesitantly.

“Sure. Just give me a minute to get cleaned up. I’ve been out on the water all afternoon.” His hands trembled as he took the key out of the flowerpot and unlocked the front door, but he managed to say evenly, “You want to come inside where it’s cooler?”

She glanced at the door, then shook her head.

“Suit yourself. How about something cold to drink?”

“I’m fine. Don’t worry about me.”

“Okay. I’ll be back in a minute.”

Dave closed the door between them and stood for a moment, eyes closed, the sound of his heartbeat loud and uneven in his ears. Someone had once told him that the past, more than DNA or fingerprints, was what made each human being unique. A person was shaped by the places he’d been and the things he’d done and seen. For Dave, it was what he had lost.

He didn’t know why Claire had come to see him, but he told himself it didn’t matter. He couldn’t let himself get drawn back into her orbit. He couldn’t let himself wish for something that was never going to be, because there was no going back, ever.

There was no changing the past or the person he had become because of it.

A little while later, he climbed out of the shower, dressed quickly and ran a comb through his wet hair before going back downstairs. He took a pitcher of tea from the refrigerator, filled two glasses with ice and carried a tray out to the front porch, where he set it on a small table between the two rockers.

“How about some tea? I don’t know about you, but I’m parched.” He handed one to Claire.

She thanked him and took a sip. “It’s good,” she said in surprise. “Sweet, but still with a bite. It reminds me of Mama’s tea.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Dave said. “How is Lucille?”

“She’s fine. But I expect you already know that, don’t you?” When he didn’t say anything, Claire smiled. “I know you keep in touch with her. She let it slip once.”

Dave shrugged. “She was always good to me. I never saw any reason to cut her out of my life just because you and I split up.”

“She thought the world of you.” Claire paused, glancing out the screen at the rose bush that grew at the corner of the porch. Dave saw the pain that flickered in her eyes before she could hide it.

“Why are you here, Claire?”

She set down the glass and pressed her hands against the sides of her skirt. “You said the other night that you’d moved your office down here. You’re doing P.I. work again.”

“That’s right.”

“I’d like to hire you. I need you to find something for me.” Her face was calm, but her voice shook a little as her gaze met his in the fading light.

“You want me to find something for you,” Dave said, his voice flat, hollow. “Does this have something to do with the divorce?”

“Did Mama tell you about that?” She sounded surprised.

“Lucille never mentioned it. I heard it from someone else. Is it true?”

“Yes. Alex and I are divorcing, but that’s not why I’m here. And I should probably tell you up front that I don’t have much money. I’m hoping when you hear me out, that won’t be a factor.”

Dave sat down in one of the rockers and took a drink of his tea. “You have my attention. What is it you want me to find?”

The twilight softened her features. She looked pale and serene standing by the screen, but when she spoke, her voice was edged with anxiety. “I want you to find a doll for me.”

“A doll.” He almost laughed, but he saw that her expression was serious when she came over and sat down beside him. “What happened? Did Lucille get robbed or something?”

“This isn’t about Mama, either.” Claire’s eyes searched his face. “I think the doll I’m looking for was sculpted by a local artist named Savannah Sweete. She lives somewhere in Terrebonne Parish. Her specialty is portrait dolls.”

“If she lives that close, she shouldn’t be too hard to locate. Did you try looking her up in the phone book or on the Internet?”

“She has an unlisted number and I couldn’t find an official Web site. She’s been wheelchair bound since an accident a few years ago, and I’ve heard that she’s a recluse. Even if we find her, it may not be that easy to get in to see her.”

Dave scratched his sunburned neck. “You want me to drive over to Terrebonne Parish and ask around about her?”

“Yes…but there’s more to it. I told you that she makes portrait dolls. The doll I want you to find looks exactly like Ruby.”

Dave didn’t say anything for a moment. His first thought was that it was some sort of bizarre joke, but Claire, of all people, would never be that cruel. And besides, he had only to see the shimmer in her eyes to know that she was emotional about this.

“Are you telling me that you had someone, this Savannah Sweete person, make a doll that looks like Ruby?”

“No. Not me. But someone did. I saw her in a window in the Quarter when I was shopping with Charlotte. The eyes, the mouth…everything about her was exactly like Ruby. Right down to the dress she had on when she went missing.” Claire paused, put a hand to her mouth as if holding back her emotions. When she lifted her gaze, he saw that the shimmer was gone, replaced by something that might have been fear.

A chill crawled up Dave’s spine. What the hell was she talking about? A doll that looked like Ruby? It made no sense.

“Claire, this all sounds pretty damn weird.”

“I know how it sounds.”

“Are you sure she looked that much like Ruby?”

“She was the spitting image.”

“Did you go into the shop and ask about her?”

“I wanted to. But I couldn’t that day. I was involved in a traffic accident. You probably already know about that, too, don’t you?”

“Lucille may have mentioned it.”

“But she didn’t say anything about the doll?”

“Not a word. This is the first I’ve heard of it.”

“She probably didn’t want to say anything because she doesn’t believe me. No one does. But I’m telling you the truth. I saw the doll clearly that day and it looked so much like Ruby, I couldn’t take my eyes off it. But by the time I was able to get back to the shop the next day, the doll was gone.”

“Someone bought her?”

“I don’t know. The shop was closed. Someone next door told me that the owner was out of town and wouldn’t be back until today. So I went back to the shop this morning and I found her. The owner, I mean. She was dead.”

That same chill was crawling up and down Dave’s spine again. “How did she die?”

Claire drew a deep, shuddering breath. “Someone stuffed her body in a refrigerator.”

“Good God…”

“I know. I can’t begin to imagine who would do such a thing.”

“What did the police say? Do they have a suspect or a motive?”

“Not that they’ve shared with me. But I think the motive was the doll. She’s the only thing missing from the shop.”

“How do you know that?”

“The cash register and the safe hadn’t been tampered with, and there was no sign of a forced entry. And the owner was still wearing an expensive ring on her finger when I found her, so I don’t think it was a random robbery. I think she was killed because of that doll.”

“That’s a pretty big conclusion to jump to, from what you’ve told me.”

“No, it’s not,” Claire said desperately. “It’s the only conclusion that makes any sense. The owner’s daughter told me that a strange man had brought the doll into the shop and offered her for sale. He said a child had died and he needed to get rid of the doll because it was too painful a reminder.” Her lips trembled, but this time she didn’t try to quell the emotion. “You see what this means, don’t you? The doll and Ruby’s kidnapping have to be connected.”

“Claire, you can’t know that for sure. The doll could have been made before Ruby went missing.”