The Dollmaker (27 page)

“You know something about the doll I’m looking for?”

“I’ve seen it. But that’s all I’m saying until you agree to help me.”

“Maybe you’d better come inside then.” Dave opened the screen door and moved back so that she could step up on the porch. She followed him into the house and he motioned toward the office. “Go in and take a seat. Would you like something to drink?”

She looked hot and thirsty, but she shook her head. The cigarette still smoldered between her fingers, and she looked around for a place to put it out. Dave shoved an ashtray in front of her. She ground out the butt, then tried to wave away the smoke with her hand. “Sorry about that.”

“No problem.” He sat down behind the desk. “Where did you see the doll and how do you know it’s the one I’m looking for?”

“I’ll tell you everything just as soon as I’m satisfied you’ll help me out with Travis.”

“Who’s Travis?”

“The guy I live with.”

“Is he missing?”

“I don’t know if he’s missing or just laid up drunk somewhere. That’s what I need you to find out for me.”

Dave nodded. “All right. I’ll do what I can. I’ll need to ask you some questions, but first you tell me what you know about the doll.”

“Like I said before, I think I’ve seen the one you’re looking for. Curly blond hair. Blue eyes. Looks damn near like a real kid.”

“Where did you see it?”

“One night last week. I worked a double shift at the nursing home, and when I got off, Travis kept asking me if I knew anything about dolls, the kind people collect and pay a lot of money for. I told him the only doll I ever owned was an old Barbie that my mama bought for me at a yard sale one time. So Travis gets on the Internet and starts looking up some stuff. People don’t give him much credit, but he’s pretty smart that way. Anyway, he copies down all these names and addresses of shops in New Orleans where he thinks he can sell this doll.”

“Did he say where he got the doll?”

“No, but knowing Travis the way I do, I’m pretty sure
how
he got it. He’s real bad to steal. It’s like he can’t help himself or something. I’m not making excuses for him, that’s just the way he is.”

“What did he do with the doll after he showed it to you?”

“He shoved it under the bed, and you know what? After a while, I got to thinking that I could hear that damn thing’s heartbeat, that’s how bad it creeped me out. I can’t explain it except that it was just so real-looking. After a while, it started getting to Travis, too. Kind of took the wind out of his sails that night, if you know what I mean. By the time he left for New Orleans the next day, we were both jumpy as all get-out.”

“Did he tell you where he sold it?”

“No, that’s just it. It’s been more than a week since he left, and I haven’t seen him since. He lays out every once in a while, but not like this. He’s never stayed gone this long before. I’m starting to worry that something might really have happened to him this time.”

“Have you reported him missing to the authorities?”

“I didn’t think that was such a hot idea, him being in possession of stolen property and all. That’s why I came here to see you.”

“What’s his full name and what kind of car does he drive?”

“Travis Lee McSwain and he drives an old white T-bird that my daddy let him have.”

“Do you know the year and license plate number?”

“No, but I can get it for you.”

“I’ll need a recent photo as well.”

She chewed her bottom lip. “You think you’ll be able to find him?”

“I’ve got a buddy who’s a cop in New Orleans. I’ll have him run the plates, see if the car has been impounded or involved in an accident. He can check the hospitals, too.” And the morgue, Dave thought.

She nodded. “Since you’re going to all this trouble for me, maybe I’ve got something more that will help you out.” She opened her purse, removed a snapshot and slid it across the desk to Dave. “This was pinned to the doll’s dress. Sounds a little strange, but one of the little girls in the picture looks a lot like that doll. Is that the kid you’re looking for?”

Dave’s heart stopped for a split second as he picked up the photograph. But he saw almost at once that none of the children in the picture was his daughter. Six little girls were seated at a table, and the one at the end bore a striking resemblance to Ruby. Same hair, same features.

“There’s some writing on the back,” Desiree informed him. “It’s a date and a Baton Rouge address. I guess that’s where the picture was taken.”

As Dave studied the photograph, gooseflesh rose on his nape. What were the odds of another child looking that much like his daughter? It could happen, he guessed. Everyone was supposed to have a twin somewhere. The little girl in the photo looked to be about seven, the same age as Ruby when she’d disappeared. But if the date on the back was accurate, the picture was nearly thirty years old. It had been taken more than two decades before Ruby had even been born.

Was it possible the doll Claire saw in the shop window had been made to resemble this child rather than Ruby?

A thought came to Dave suddenly, and the hand holding the photograph started to tremble. What if his daughter had been kidnapped because of her resemblance to the little girl in the picture? What if someone had been trying to replace a child that had been lost twenty-some years before Ruby had even been conceived?

L
ate that afternoon, Dave drove into Baton Rouge and located the address on the back of the photograph that Desiree Choate had given him. The house was only a few blocks from Louisiana State University, in an historical neighborhood that reminded him of the Garden District in New Orleans. A live oak canopy covered the streets, and the homes were a mix of colonial, Victorian and Greek Revival, most with tall chimneys and wraparound galleries.

He pulled to the curb in front of a stately redbrick colonial with dark green shutters and tall, white columns in the front. It was cool and shady beneath the trees, and he sat for a moment, enjoying the breeze through his open window. When he got out of the truck, he saw a woman in a straw hat next door, down on her knees weeding a flower bed. She looked up when she heard his door slam, gazed at him curiously for a moment, then went back to her work.

Dave stood on the sidewalk in front of the house. A wrought-iron gate was set in the garden wall, and he could see orange and yellow hibiscus blazing through the pikes.

The trim on the house looked freshly painted and the lawn was cut and watered. As he contemplated going up to knock on the door, the woman in the straw hat came to the edge of her yard and hollered over to him.

“If you’re looking for the new owners, they haven’t moved in yet.”

Dave turned and walked over to join her. She was in her late fifties or early sixties, slim and handsome in bright orange capris and a white cotton blouse tied at the waist. Her cheeks were red from the heat, but she still managed to have the fresh, crisp look of a woman who came from a world of good breeding, good manners and good connections. She’d been weeding her own flower beds, not because she had to, but because she liked to, Dave surmised.

“I’m not looking for the new owners,” he said, taking out his identification and P.I. license. “My name is Dave Creasy. I’m a private investigator. I’m trying to locate a family who used to live here.”

She glanced at his I.D., then her gaze lifted to his bruised face, a glint of curiosity in her eyes. “I’m Doatsy Benoit. I’ve lived here for nearly forty years so if you can tell me a name, I may be able to help you.”

“The only thing I have is a photograph.” He took the snapshot from his pocket and handed it to her. “Do you recognize any of these children?”

The woman held the picture out in front of her. “Well, I certainly do. The little girl in the yellow dress is my niece, Annie. And the others used to live in this neighborhood. I’ve known most of them all their lives. They’re grown up now and scattered across the country.” “Can you tell me who the child is at the end of the table?”

“That’s Maddy Cypher. This must have been taken at her seventh birthday party. It was a long time ago, but I remember because Annie was visiting from Monroe that week. Maddy’s mother, Katherine, saw us outside one day and came over to ask Annie to the party.” The woman paused, smiling. “Now you have to understand, Annie was a real tomboy. She hated dress-up parties, and I all but had to hog-tie her to get her to go. But I thought it was the neighborly thing to do, and besides, I always felt so sorry for poor Katherine. She just seemed so lost and lonely, bless her heart. Not a single friend in the neighborhood, and you hardly ever saw her out and about.”

“When did the family move away?”

The woman thought for a moment. “My goodness, it must have been thirty years ago. In fact…they left rather abruptly the night after Maddy’s party. I never saw any of them again.”

“Do you have any idea why they left so suddenly?”

Her eyes darkened. “Why are you looking for the Cyphers?”

“I’m working on a case involving a missing child. I have reason to believe the little girl in this photo may somehow be connected.”

Doatsy Benoit’s brows lifted as her gaze flashed to the house next door. She put a hand to her throat. “Oh, dear. In that case, maybe you’d better come in. If you want to know about the Cyphers, this could take awhile.”

A few minutes later, Dave was seated across from Doatsy Benoit on her sunporch, a glass of iced tea in front of him and a plate of lemon cookies between them. She’d taken off her straw hat when they came inside, and her short, blond hair was mussed on top, like a child’s after a nap.

She was one of those women who appeared completely comfortable in her own skin, with the kind of confidence that belonged to the very wealthy or the very beautiful. Dave suspected that Doatsy Benoit had once been both.

“There were two of them,” she said. “A girl and a boy. Maddy and Matthew. They were the same age and looked almost identical.”

Dave frowned. Savannah Sweete had said her nephew’s name was Matthew. “Were they twins?”

“That’s what I thought.” Doatsy glanced out the window, her eyes softening. “Maddy was such a beautiful, charming little girl. To look at her, you’d never know anything was wrong with her.”

“What
was
wrong with her?”

Doatsy hesitated, her gaze dropping to the cookie plate. “According to her mother, she had asthma that was aggravated by severe allergies. That’s why you would never see her outside playing with the other children.”

“What about the boy?”

“Matthew? The complete opposite. He was a sad, solemn little thing. One of those unfortunate children who seem to be born with an old soul. I used to see him outside quite a bit, but he was always by himself and it was almost always when his father was home. I think the poor little thing was trying to avoid him. Daniel Cypher was a fairly well-known surgeon, one of those brilliant, handsome men who casts a big shadow. The kind, I suspect, who would have a lot of expectations for his children, especially his son.”

“How well did you know the Cyphers?”

“Not well at all, I’m afraid. But they were right next door and I couldn’t help noticing some things.”

“What kind of things?”

She sighed. “The kind of things that should have been confronted.”

“Like abuse?”

Her mouth tightened. “I don’t know that for sure. I never saw him lay a hand on them. It was just a feeling I got from some of the things Katherine said. She and Daniel were so secretive and stand-offish. I knew something had to be going on inside that house.”

“Did they have any other family in the area?”

“Not that I know of. Although I do seem to recall her mentioning something about a sister once. She didn’t say much about her, but I had the impression they weren’t close.”

Doatsy paused, then nodded toward the photograph that lay on the table between them. “I’ll tell you what I do remember. On the day of that party, Daniel came home unexpectedly and he sent all the children home early. I was working in my garden when Annie got back, and a little while later, I heard loud voices coming from next door. I knew Katherine and Daniel had to be fighting, and I was afraid of what he might do to her. He seemed to have a terrible temper. So I walked over and rang the bell.

“Katherine answered the door, pale and trembling. She said she was fine, just had a little dizzy spell. Later that night, I saw Daniel and Matthew come out of the house carrying suitcases. Not the kind of overnight bags you might take to the hospital or on a brief trip, but several large bags. Daniel put the luggage in the trunk while Matthew climbed into the back seat. Then Daniel got in and they drove off. As I said, I never saw any of them again.”

“What about the mother and the little girl?”

Doatsy’s gaze went back to the window, where she had a view of the house next door. “They didn’t leave with Daniel and Matthew that night, but I never saw them again either.”

“What did you think happened to them?”

“It was awhile before I found out,” Doatsy said mysteriously. “My sister used to be a nurse and she worked at the same hospital as Dr. Cypher. I mentioned to her one day that I was worried about Katherine and Maddy. She knew we were neighbors, but she would never gossip about Dr. Cypher while he was still on staff. That day she told me that Dr. and Mrs. Cypher didn’t even have a daughter. They had only one child and he was a son.”

“So who was the little girl?”

“There was no little girl.” Doatsy’s gaze met Dave’s and she nodded. “That’s right. Maddy and Matthew were one and the same child. Nowadays, the proper term for someone like Matthew is intersexual. Babies born with ambiguous gender. My sister was on duty the night he was delivered, and she said Dr. Cypher was beside himself. He was almost in a fit of rage.”

“Directed at whom?”

“His poor wife, I suspect. Or maybe God.”

“What about Matthew?”

“This was back in the early seventies, and my sister said that surgery on intersexed babies was still routinely ordered by the attending physician, and often requested by the parents. You would assume that most did so out of love. No parent would want to see their child shunned and stigmatized for being different. But Daniel Cypher?” She said his name in disgust. “I’ve known powerful men like him all my life. He probably considered a child like Matthew as an affront to his own masculinity. So he ordered reassignment.”

“Meaning surgery.”

“A very complicated and painful surgery with more to come as the child grew older. And then injections of hormones when he hit puberty.” She put a hand to her mouth as she shook her head sadly. “Can you imagine how confused that little boy must have been? A cold, domineering father set on having a son, and a loving mother who indulged the child’s natural inclinations when they were alone. I later heard that Katherine had suffered a complete psychotic breakdown and had to be permanently institutionalized. I shudder to think what Matthew’s life must have been like with Daniel as his sole influence.”

“And you say you never heard from any of them again?”

“No, but something strange happened a few months ago. It was right after the house next door had been put on the market. I saw the same car drive by every night for about a week.”

“Did you happen to notice the make or model?”

“It was a black sedan—that’s all I could tell. But a few minutes after I saw the car go by one night, I noticed a man out walking on the street. It was raining and he had his shoulders hunched over. But he stopped in front of the house and just stood there staring up at it for a long time. And when he turned, and the streetlight caught him just right, something about him reminded me of Matthew.”

Charlotte was sitting on Claire’s front porch when she got home from work that day. Her sister wore a light gray silk suit and heels, and Claire figured she must have come straight over from the office. She had on sunglasses, but she slipped them off as Claire climbed the steps.

She rose, hands on hips. “I tried to call you I don’t know how many times last night. Where on earth were you?”

“I went for a drive.” Claire got out her keys to unlock the door.

“I was worried sick about you!”

“Why?”

“You were gone for hours.” Charlotte followed her inside and closed the door. “That’s not like you.”

“A lot’s happened lately. I just needed some time to sort things through.” Claire wasn’t about to admit to her sister that she’d spent the night with Dave. She wasn’t ashamed of what she’d done, but she didn’t feel like having to justify her actions. And besides, what she and Dave had shared was a very private thing. She wasn’t ready to have it brought out in the open and analyzed.

“Why were you trying to reach me?” Claire asked. “Was anything wrong?”

Charlotte dropped her purse on the couch and turned, but her gaze didn’t quite meet Claire’s. “I need to talk to you about Alex.”

“Oh.” Claire tossed her keys into a basket on her desk. “I already know what you’re going to say.”

Charlotte lifted her brows in surprise. “He told you?”

“Reluctantly. He didn’t want to, but he didn’t have a choice. When I went to confront him, I already knew what he’d done, but I wanted to hear it from him. And even then, I still had a hard time believing he could do such a thing. What kind of man would use a little girl’s kidnapping to cover up a murder?”

Charlotte quickly looked away. “I know, Claire. I can’t believe it, either. I’m so sorry. I keep thinking about all those times I tried to get you to reconcile with him. I thought he was the perfect guy. And now to find out what he did…” She closed her eyes. “I feel like such a fool.”

“But you didn’t know. He fooled me, too.”

Charlotte rubbed her temples with her fingertips. “He’s in a lot of trouble, Claire.”

“He should be.”

“Don’t you even want to know what kind of charges he could be facing?”

Claire walked over to the window, glanced out, then turned back to Charlotte. “Right now, I don’t really care what happens to him.”

“That doesn’t sound like you. You’ve always been the most forgiving person I know.”

“Forgiving?” She gave a bitter laugh. “You don’t know me as well as you think you do. I’m capable of carrying around hate and anger for years. Just ask Dave.”

“You’ve forgiven him now, though, haven’t you?”

Claire glanced back out at the street. “I don’t know. I’m not sure what I feel for Dave these days.”

Charlotte came over to stand beside her at the window. “Sometimes I think you’re still in love with him. You’re just too afraid to admit it.”

“Maybe I am. Maybe I always will be. But it’s not enough. Not with Dave. Being with him is too hard. It’s like waiting for a bomb to go off. You know disaster is coming and so you constantly brace yourself for it. You go through each day with your stomach in knots, expecting the worst. I don’t know why anybody would want to go back to that.”

“Maybe because he’s changed,” Charlotte said softly. “And maybe because you’ve never been happy without him.”

A little while later, Charlotte sent Claire upstairs for a long, hot shower while she went into the kitchen to see about dinner. By the time Claire came back down, she could smell spaghetti sauce simmering on the stove. She poked her head into the kitchen to see if she could help. Charlotte stood at the sink, washing greens for a salad.