The Dollmaker (22 page)

When Dave walked into the Gold Medallion that afternoon, Bobby Ray Taubin was stacking beer cases behind the bar. He tried to bolt for the back, but Dave slid over the counter, caught him by the collar and slung him back into the glass shelves on the wall. Taubin went crashing to the floor amid an array of broken glass and spilled liquor.

Before he could get up, Dave was on him. He grabbed a broken whiskey bottle and shoved it under the bartender’s chin. “Nobody here but you and me now, Bobby Ray.”

Taubin’s eyes shifted back and forth as blood ran down the side of his face.

“I’m going to give you two choices, just like you gave me the other night,” Dave. “You either do as I say, or I give your parole officer a call, fill him in on what you been up to since you got off the farm. My guess is he’ll give you a one-way ticket back to West Feliciana Parish.”

“What do you want from me?” Taubin asked sullenly, lifting a hand to wipe the blood out of his eyes.

“It’s real simple.” Dave tossed the whiskey bottle aside and dragged Taubin to his feet. “You’re gonna help me nail Clive Nettle’s hide to the wall.”

M
ist settled over the bayou as Matthew guided his pirogue through the cattails and lily pads that grew thick against the bank. Night had fallen and the half-submerged cypress trees were black against the starlit sky. A bullfrog croaked nearby, and he could see the gleam of beady eyes in the darkness, the twinkle of lightning bugs through the bushes. His oars dipped rhythmically in the water as he moved deeper into the swamp.

Rounding a sharp bend, he saw a light on the water up ahead. His pulse quickened as his gaze dropped to the bundle at his feet, and he saw that the blanket had shifted, exposing a tiny, pale hand in the moonlight.

Careful.

His very presence in the swamp at this hour could arouse suspicions, and if anyone saw what he had in his boat, let alone if they followed him to his destination…

Don’t worry, no one will see us. No one will ever know.

He pulled the blanket over the hand and straightened. The light was getting closer and the sound of laughter drifted over the dark water. Turning the boat, he paddled back toward the bank, carefully maneuvering the bow through a maze of cypress knees and rotting logs. Spanish moss hung like layers of silk from the trees, the lacy tendrils skimming the water’s surface, undulating gently in the current.

He drifted under one of the curtains and used his oar to steady the pirogue as he waited. The other boat was so near now he could hear the individual voices, even make out snatches of conversation. He held his breath as a light flashed over the area where he was hidden.

“There!” one of the voices said excitedly. “Did you see it?”

“Got it! Big ole fat one, too.”

He let out a quick breath.
Nothing to worry about.
It was just some kids out frog-gigging. Not his forte, but to each his own, he always said.

Still, he didn’t want them to see him, so he remained hidden until the voices faded in the mist. When he was sure they were gone, he paddled back out into deeper water. A sinewy ribbon skimmed across the surface in the moonlight and he shivered, all too aware of the dangers in the swamp.

Another turn and he was there. The dilapidated shack was perched at the water’s edge, the porch sagging and the roof caved in from rot and decades of Gulf Coast storms.

Drifting up to the bank, he looped a rope over a cypress knee, then jumped over the side of the boat into ankle-deep water. He reached for the bundle and cradled it carefully in his arms as he entered the shack.

Once inside, he turned on his flashlight and skimmed the beam over the dusty walls and corners. Cobwebs glimmered in the light and something small scurried across the floor at his feet.

The cabin was haunted by his past. The memories were so overwhelming that he started to tremble. If he listened closely, he could hear the beat of all those silenced hearts, feel the accusing stare of all those sightless eyes. He didn’t like coming here, but there was no other way.

Setting the flashlight aside, he pried up a loose board and then removed the blanket from the silent bundle beside him. Long dark hair splayed across the filthy floorboards. Eyes shimmered in the moonlight spilling in through a broken window.

He touched her cold cheek and shuddered.

The doll was nearly perfect. He had outdone himself this time. Each step of the process had been inspired. Sculpting the clay, making the plaster mold, firing the porcelain and painting the delicate features—the end result, a work of art.

He had tested the limits of his talent…but still he’d fallen short.

He wanted to weep in frustration. No matter how many times he tried, no matter how hard he worked, he could not capture the essence of the child with only his hands and a block of clay. There was only one way to truly do her justice. His special way.

Quickly, he placed the doll—another failure—inside the hole with the others, turning his head so that he wouldn’t have to see all those gleaming eyes and taunting smiles. Settling the board back in place, he stood for a moment, letting out a long shaky breath as he waited for his nerves to steady.

Then he returned to the pirogue, unfastened the rope and paddled away from the cabin without looking back.

He never looked back when he came here. He was too afraid of what he might see.

B
y Thursday, Claire’s hand was so much better that she decided to stay on after the gallery closed, and make up for lost time in the studio. The other glassblowers left one by one, until by nine she had the place to herself. Normally, she loved working alone, but tonight she found herself jumping at every little sound. Which was to be expected, she supposed, after everything that had happened in the past week.

Perspiration gathered at the back of her neck and along her spine as she rolled the pliable glass across the steel marver to smooth and shape the surface. She hadn’t slept well the night before, and the heat in the studio was quickly sapping her energy. She’d gone to bed early, but every time she closed her eyes, she saw Mignon Bujold’s pale face staring up at her. And when Claire finally dozed off, she dreamed of being trapped in a cold, dark place, unable to move, unable to scream for help. She’d awakened struggling for breath, her heart pounding in terror until she realized it was only a nightmare. But she hadn’t been able to fall back asleep for hours.

Luckily, the gallery had been so busy all day that she hadn’t had time to dwell on the gruesome aspects of the shopkeeper’s death. But now, in the quiet of the studio, the horror came rushing back, and with it, Claire’s mounting frustration. It was obvious to her that a connection existed between the woman’s murder and the doll, but why would no one believe her? Her desperation had finally driven her to Dave, and when he’d refused to help her, Claire’s disappointment had been crushing, even though she’d tried to tell herself the outcome was to be expected. When had she ever been able to count on Dave Creasy for anything?

But a part of her had wanted to believe that he’d changed, and that when he heard about the doll, he’d be the one person who would believe her, who would be willing to move heaven and earth to help her.

Instead, he’d turned everything back to him and his needs, and Claire didn’t know why that had surprised her. She’d once loved him deeply, but when she looked back now, she realized that their relationship had always been about him. The dark moods, the drinking, even his betrayal. He’d slept with another woman not because he loved her, but because Angelette Lapierre had offered something he wanted and needed that Claire couldn’t give him. And because he was Dave, he’d taken it.

Sometimes Claire still wondered if the devastating hurt and humiliation of his betrayal, perhaps even more than her grief over Ruby’s disappearance, had been the catalyst that pushed her into Alex’s arms. And then once there, she hadn’t wanted to admit that she’d made a terrible mistake.

Now her second marriage had dissolved, too. Lucille thought it was because Claire had never gotten over Dave, but if seeing him again had proved anything to her, it was that her decision to walk out on him seven years ago had probably been the smartest thing she’d ever done. On most days, it was all she could do to battle her own demons, much less his.

As Claire continued to mold the glass, she tried to clear her mind, but tonight work wasn’t as therapeutic as she had hoped it would be. She couldn’t seem to concentrate, and found herself going through the steps automatically, reheating the glass, attaching the punty rod to the bottom, removing the blowpipe from the lip. Someone had borrowed her tools earlier and left them on her workbench. As she reached for the jacks, her hand stilled and a shiver crept over her. For a moment, she could have sworn someone was watching her.

She glanced at the row of windows, then turned to scan the space behind her. The studio was well-lit and she could see the whole room from where she was sitting. The door to the gallery was closed and locked, as was the rear entrance. Claire had worked alone in the studio dozens of times, and the solitude had never spooked her before. She didn’t know what had triggered her apprehension now, but suddenly she had the same premonition she’d experienced standing outside the back door of the collectibles shop. And as she turned, her gaze moving slowly over every inch of the studio, her heart began to hammer against her rib cage.

This is crazy.

She’d been in the studio since the gallery closed at five, and she’d made sure to lock both outside doors when everyone else left. No one had come in or out since she’d been at her workbench, so there was nothing to worry about.

But for some reason, Claire’s mind flashed to the woman who had taken the tour of the studio on Saturday. Even though she’d stayed at the back of the crowd, Claire had noticed her because of her unusual appearance. She hadn’t thought much about her since that day, but now Claire found herself remembering the woman’s strange behavior.

But there was no way that woman—or anyone else—could get inside the studio without Claire knowing it. She was letting her imagination get the better of her. Taking a deep breath, she went back to work.

When she finally had the piece inside the annealer oven, where the glass would gradually cool until morning, she removed her Kevlar gloves and started to clean up around her workbench. Then she went to get her purse and keys, and recheck the gallery door before letting herself out the back way.

As soon as she opened the door, she saw the white box. It was tied with a pink ribbon and placed on the pavement where she wouldn’t miss it when she left.

Claire glanced up and scanned the parking area.

A security light had recently been installed at the back of the warehouse for nights when one of the glassblowers stayed late and had to leave the building alone. Her car was the only one left. No one else was around. No one that she could see, anyway.

She picked up the box and stepped back into the studio, closing and locking the door and turning the lights back on.

Adrenaline was suddenly pumping through her veins and her hands were trembling. She tried to calm her racing pulse, tried to tell herself there was no reason to panic. She didn’t even know if the box had been left for her. There was no name on the package. Maybe she should just leave it until morning and see if it belonged to one of the other glassblowers.

But even as the notion flitted through her head, she was already removing the lid, her hands fumbling with the layers of tissue paper until the contents were revealed.

It was the picture of Ruby that had been taken from Claire’s home a few nights ago. The original wooden frame had been replaced by one cut from cardboard and decorated with spray paint and glitter. The kind of frame a child might make in school for a Mother’s Day gift or Christmas present.

Claire’s stomach churned with dread as she turned the picture over and read the inscription on the back. Icy fingers stroked up and down her spine.

The childish scrawl read simply: “To Mama.”

Claire was still shaking when she pulled into her driveway a few minutes later. Dave’s truck was parked at the curb, and she had no idea why he was there. She supposed she should be grateful that she wouldn’t have to enter her dark house alone, but mostly what she felt was isolated and helpless. No one had believed her about the doll. Why would the photograph be any different?

Shivering, she got out of her car and walked across the yard to the porch. At some point during the evening, someone had stood outside the door of the studio while she worked, had perhaps even watched her through a window. Someone had left the picture for her to find, but who would do such a thing? And, for God’s sake,
why?

She’d run out of the studio in a panic after opening the box, barely taking the time to lock the door before bolting across the parking lot to her car. Claire could see herself in her mind’s eye, and her overwrought reaction shamed her a little. And then she grew angry.

Someone had deliberately used a photograph of her daughter to frighten her. Was it not enough that Ruby had been taken from her? Did her memories have to be tainted now, as well?

As Claire climbed the porch steps, she could see Dave sitting in one of the rockers, but neither of them spoke until she reached the top. He rose then, his face still in shadows.

“Hello, Claire.”

“Hello.” Her voice sounded strained and shaky, and she didn’t want him to get the wrong idea of why she was upset. “What are you doing here?”

“Waiting for you.”

She clutched her purse close to her side as their eyes met in the darkness. It was all she could do not to blurt out her discovery, but she’d swallowed her pride and gone to him once for help. He’d turned her away, and she had no reason to believe that she could count on him now. She couldn’t count on anyone. Not Dave, not Alex, not her family. Claire had been on her own ever since she’d first seen the doll in Mignon Bujold’s window, and the only thing she had any control over was her fear. She couldn’t let it overwhelm her. If she wanted to find out the truth, she had to remain strong.

“Are you okay?” Dave asked with a frown.

“I guess I’m just surprised to see you.”

“Are you sure that’s all it is?”

“Yes, of course.” She drew a long breath. “What do you want?”

He took a step toward her, his eyes catching the moonlight. “I need to talk to you.”

“Why? I think you pretty much told me everything I needed to know on Tuesday, and I’m tired tonight. I want to get inside.”

“I owe you an apology.”

Claire had moved to the front door, keys in hand, but now she stood motionless. “You didn’t need to come all the way to New Orleans for that. We both said things we shouldn’t have.”

“I’m not talking about our conversation the other day, although you’re right. I do regret the way things ended.” He hesitated. “I came to tell you that I’m sorry for what I did seven years ago. I’m sorry about everything.”

Claire felt something deep inside give way, but she clung to the last vestiges of her strength. It had been a long day. She was tired, she was scared and she was in no frame of mind to have an emotional conversation with her ex-husband. “So what is this? Step five or nine? I forget.”

She saw him flinch. “I’m just trying to do what’s right these days. I know an apology doesn’t make up for what I did, but I needed to say it anyway.”

She turned, a taste like metal in her mouth as her anger flared. “And it’s always about what you need, isn’t it? Did it ever once occur to you that maybe I don’t want to hear your apology? Maybe what I need is just to leave things alone. Forget it ever happened.”

“But have you forgotten? I know I haven’t. Even after all this time, it kills me that I cheated on you. And I still don’t even know why I did it.”

“You know, you’re right, Dave. I did need to hear that. I feel so much better now.”

“Claire…”

She sighed, letting the anger slip out of her. “You may find this hard to believe, but I have more on my mind these days than your betrayal. Go home, Dave. Go home and leave me alone, because nothing you say can change what happened.”

“Just let me come in for a minute. Please, Claire.” He held his hands out in supplication. “I don’t expect one apology to change how you feel about me, but at least hear me out. If you want me to help you find that doll, we need to clear the air about some things. It’s important.”

Her gaze lifted. “You’ve changed your mind about helping me?”

“Let’s go inside and we’ll talk about it.”

His face was still in shadows. Claire couldn’t see his expression, but something in his voice made her shiver. “All I want to know is if you believe me.”

“Yes,” he said quietly. “I believe you saw a doll that looks like Ruby. What it means, I have no idea. But I do believe you. Can I come inside so that we can talk?”

She gave a reluctant nod even as she tried to quell the rush of relief inside her. She opened the door and reached inside to flip the light switch. But when she glanced back, he was still standing in the same spot, staring out at the street.

“What’s wrong? I thought you wanted to come in.”

“I do. But something just struck me.”

“What?”

“I was just standing here thinking about the way I used to drive by all the time, hoping to catch a glimpse of you.”

Claire’s chest tightened. “You mean when my grandmother lived here?”

He hesitated. “Yeah.”

“That was a long time ago.”

“Kind of seemed like yesterday until I drove through the old neighborhood on my way over here. That little burger joint where you used to work on weekends is a quick mart now.”

“I know. It has been for years.”

“I guess I hadn’t noticed.” He turned with a shrug. “Anyway, it made me think of the first time I ever stopped in there. Do you remember?”

“Of course I remember. You were in one of your moods. You looked as if you were ready to kill somebody when you came in the door.”

“And then there you were, smiling at me. I couldn’t take my eyes off you. I’d known you most of my life, but something just clicked in my head that day. It was like I was seeing you for the first time. It was only a moment, over in a heartbeat. But that’s when I knew.”

A car pulled into the drive next door, the headlights reflecting in Dave’s eyes as he stared down at Claire. She tried to look away, but couldn’t.

“Ever since you left my place the other day, I’ve been trying to think of the exact instant when things went so wrong for us. If there was a moment when it started, there had to be a moment when it ended. But I didn’t see it. It passed by and I didn’t even notice.”

“Because you weren’t looking,” Claire said softly. She hugged her arms around her middle. “It wasn’t just a moment, it was a lot of them. It was your job and the drinking. The dark moods. There was a part of your life, a part of yourself, that you couldn’t or wouldn’t share with me. I wanted to understand, but you shut me out, and sometimes you made me feel as if I were trespassing on something private. Something that wasn’t any of my business. There were times, especially toward the end, when I felt like an outsider in my own marriage.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you felt that way?”

“I did tell you. You just weren’t listening. And anyway, it really doesn’t matter anymore.”