The Dollmaker

Claire listened to everything he said, and then she shrugged. “I don’t care what you think, this is different. I know what I saw.”

He shook his head, at a loss. “I don’t know what to do anymore. I don’t know how to help you.”

“You could try believing me.”

“That’s the one thing I can’t do. I can’t feed this obsession of yours, Claire. I won’t. Because I know how it’s going to turn out. You’ll get yourself all worked up again and then your heart’s going to be ripped open like it always is. I’ve seen it happen over and over, and this time won’t be any different. It’s been seven years. Seven damn years. You can’t spend the rest of your life grieving like this. You have to find a way to get over what happened.” He rubbed the back of his neck as he walked toward the window. “I don’t know, maybe you need to see someone.”

“I’ve been to a therapist. It didn’t solve anything.”

“Then maybe you need to find a different one. You have to do something.”

“I’m not crazy, Alex.”

“You will be if you keep this up. I don’t want you ending up like your old man.”

She gasped. “I would never do that!”

“I don’t want to believe it, either, but sometimes I have to wonder.” He stared out at the weather, his frustration collecting on his face like raindrops on the windowsill. “I see divorces in the department all the time. They’re as common as dirt. Cops just can’t seem to stay married. But most of the time it’s because of another woman or the lousy pay or because the wife gets sick of her man rolling around in the gutter before he comes home to her.” He shoved his hands into his pockets. “But none of those things were ever our problem, were they? What did us in was that what you had was never going to be as important as what you lost.”

“That’s not fair,” she said. “My daughter was kidnapped. That’s not something you ever get over.”

“I’m not talking about Ruby.”

The nerves in Claire’s stomach tightened and she closed her eyes briefly. “Don’t say it.”

His face went white with suppressed fury. “You mean I’m not even allowed to mention the son of a bitch’s name? Well, I don’t know why that should surprise me. From the moment he showed up on your doorstep the night we got married, I never stood a chance, did I, Claire?”

“That’s not true. Our problems had nothing to do with him. I haven’t even seen him in years.”

“When’s the last time you dreamed about him?”

She looked away, silent.

“You can’t even deny it, can you?” Alex scrubbed a hand down his face and drew a long breath. “Believe it or not, I didn’t come over here to start something with you, Claire. I just want to help you. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

“Then let me go,” she whispered.

“I wish I knew how to do that. I really do.”

Six

The child was enchanted by the dolls.

And the Dollmaker was enchanted by her.

Earlier, when he first got back from the city, he’d prepared a dinner tray and brought it down to the studio, deliberately leaving her door open to see if she would venture out. Then he’d gone over to his worktable, where he’d mounted a mirror on the wall so that he could watch the room behind him as he pretended to sketch.

After a few moments, he saw her hovering in the doorway. She was such a slight child. Waiflike, with her long, wavy hair and big brown eyes. He couldn’t take his own eyes off her.

She remained in the doorway, her gaze darting about the studio as she searched for a way out. His workbench was against the far wall, and the mirror was slanted in such a way that he could watch her discreetly. She didn’t see him at first as she took a tentative step into the room, her head turning first one way and then the other.

When she spotted him, her eyes widened and she started to retreat back into her dim little room. But she must have noticed that his back was to her, and her gaze flew to the outside door. She paused, as if trying to gauge the distance, and then, casting another furtive glance in his direction, she hurried over and twisted the knob.

The door was locked, of course. He’d made certain of that.

She tried the knob several times before finally giving up. Turning, she looked back at him, not knowing what to do.

He couldn’t get over how tiny she was. Much smaller at seven than Maddy had been. She wore blue jeans with elastic in the waist and a little yellow T-shirt with a mermaid on the front.

Her clothes were all wrong. Too casual for a little girl’s birthday party, but that didn’t matter. He would make her a new dress, something pink and frilly and utterly feminine. What mattered to him now were her features. The upturned nose, the heart-shaped mouth, the exquisite cheekbones. She was perfect. Or at least she would be very soon.

Several moments went by before the child saw the dolls. And then, for just a split second, the fear left her face and her brown eyes lit with wonderment. He couldn’t blame her. They were wonderful. Beautiful and charming, and he loved them, too.

Dressed in their finest, they were seated around a small, rectangular table, one at the end and two on either side. At the far end, the sixth chair stood empty. For now.

The Dollmaker had set the table with Maddy’s best tea set, and he’d made her favorite cake with strawberry icing. Her presents were piled on either side of her chair, as if waiting for tiny fingers to rip off the colorful bows and tear away the tissue paper.

The child stood transfixed by the scene. Her expression was rapt, and he swiveled around to watch her, but the movement startled her and she backed away.

“No, don’t go,” he said softly. “They’ve been waiting for you.”

Sliding off his stool, he walked over to the little table and knelt beside the doll with the turquoise eyes.

“This is Maddy. Today is her birthday.”

The little girl said nothing, but she didn’t try to run away. She was captivated by the dolls.

He went around the table and made the introductions, and when he finished, he motioned to the empty chair at the end. “Come join the party.”

The child shook her head. “I want to call my mama.”

“In a little while perhaps.”

“I want to go home.”

He sighed, his shoulders sagging dejectedly. “Please don’t be tiresome about this. Remember what happened the last time?”

The little girl flinched as fear crept back into her eyes, and her bottom lip trembled. Slowly she nodded.

“Then come sit down and have some cake.”

She walked over to the table and sat down at the empty space. A tear spilled over and ran down her cheek. She scrubbed it away with her knuckles.

“You’ll feel better after you eat.” He cut a piece of the strawberry cake and placed it on the table in front of her. Then he cut pieces for everyone at the table and one for himself. He sat cross-legged on the floor and ate, his gaze never leaving the child’s face.

At that moment he felt happier than he had in a long time. All that business in New Orleans was behind him now. Maddy was home safe and sound, and all was well in the private little world he’d created.

In spite of her tears, the child’s company made him almost euphoric. He loved having her companionship. He always did. But he couldn’t keep her here much longer. Once the doll was finished, he would have to send her away.

He wouldn’t worry about that now, though. He didn’t want to spoil the party. Besides, even after she was gone, a part of her would remain with him always. Just like the others.

And when they were all finally together, the way they were meant to be, no one would ever take them from him again.

Seven

After Alex left, Claire managed to convince Charlotte to go home for the night, but Lucille wouldn’t budge. “No kid of mine ever spent the night alone in a hospital, and I don’t see any reason to start now.”

“But, Mama, I’m fine. There’s no point in wearing yourself out.”

“Claire, terrible things can happen in a place like this.” Lucille’s eyes, small and unblinking, were dead serious. She sat in a chair next to the bed, shoes kicked off, feet propped on the mattress. Her toenails were painted bright red. The lacquer matched the lipstick she’d reapplied after her last cigarette, but the crimson had already started to bleed into the deep crevices around her mouth, giving her a grotesque appearance in the harsh lighting.

“Nothing is going to happen to me in the hospital, Mama.”

“You don’t know that. You’re at their mercy once they get you all doped up on morphine.”

“They didn’t give me any morphine.”

“Well, they gave you something for pain, didn’t they?” Lucille brushed stray ashes off the front of her T-shirt. “I ever tell you what happened to my cousin Corinne?”

“She got a staph infection from a contaminated needle.”

“That’s right, she did. The nurse dropped the syringe on the floor, picked it up and stuck it right in Corinne’s arm. Didn’t bother to wipe it off or nothing. Took twenty years, but that infection finally killed her.” Lucille’s birdlike eyes gleamed knowingly. “Now don’t you think Corinne wished someone had been watching out for her that day?”

“Yes, Mama.”

Lucille nodded in satisfaction. “You just close your eyes and get some rest. You don’t need to worry about a thing. I’ll be right here all night if you need me.”

Twenty minutes later, she was snoring softly, her head thrown back against the chair, mouth open. Claire wanted to wake her and send her home, but Lucille would swear she wasn’t a bit sleepy, she was just resting her eyes.

Turning off the light, Claire sat in the dark for a while, trying to sort through her emotions. Her nerves vibrated like a taut rubber band as the antiseptic walls closed in on her. A nurse had brought her something for the pain after Charlotte left, but the medication wasn’t working.

Slipping out of bed, Claire walked over to the window to watch the storm. Thunder rumbled overhead and the rain came down hard, blurring the city lights like a soft-focus filter.

And then just like that it was over. The storm moved farther inland, the rain stopped and moonlight broke through the clouds. The dripping treetops glistened and the lights from passing cars painted the glossy streets with misty streaks of color.

After the rain, ditches and backyards would come alive with the sounds of crickets and frogs, but inside Claire’s hospital room, all was silent except for Lucille’s soft snoring.

Climbing back in bed, Claire reached for the remote to the TV. Turning down the volume, she surfed until she finally found a cable news channel. She watched images from a car bombing in the Middle East and a mud slide in Southern California, but her attention was caught by the scrolling text at the bottom of the screen.

An Amber alert was in effect for a seven-year-old Alabama girl who’d been missing for nearly a week. The FBI and local authorities were still combing a wooded area near her home, but so far no trace of the child or her abductor had turned up. No eyewitnesses had come forward; no one had seen anything. It was as if the little girl had gotten off the school bus one afternoon and disappeared into thin air.

Claire watched the scroll until the broadcast finally switched to a video feed from Linden, Alabama. They ran footage of the search, an interview with the local sheriff and a tearful plea from the mother for her daughter’s safe return.

“That poor woman.”

Claire hadn’t realized that her mother was awake, but when she turned her head, she saw the sheen of her eyes in the light from the television screen. Some of Lucille’s hair had come loose from the bun, and the strands coiled around her face like tiny gold wires.

“I hope they catch that son of a bitch,” she said in a fierce whisper. “I’d like to get ahold of him myself.”

“I know, Mama.”

“It’s an abomination, men preying on little girls like that. They ought to fry every last one of them.”

Claire switched off the TV. She couldn’t watch anymore, and she didn’t feel like talking. The room fell silent, but her mind raced with images that had plagued her for years. Ruby was dead. In her heart, Claire knew that to be true. But what torment had the child suffered before she drew her last breath?

Claire squeezed her eyes closed, trying to shut off those terrible questions, but it was no use. Another mother’s agony, coming on the heels of seeing that doll, had reawakened her worst fears.

When Ruby first went missing, Claire had made the same plea to her daughter’s abductor. Before the camera started rolling, she’d agonized over what to say, worried herself sick that she might not be able to make it through the broadcast without breaking down. Dave had wanted to go on camera in her place, but the reporter who conducted the interview encouraged Claire to make the appeal because it would have a more visceral impact coming from the mother. So she’d gone on air and begged for her daughter’s safe return, pleaded with the kidnapper to spare Ruby’s life. And it hadn’t made any difference.

For weeks afterward, Claire worried that she’d come across badly or unsympathetic, and that’s why whoever had Ruby didn’t respond. Both Dave and the FBI agent assigned to the case told her that such an appeal was a long shot, anyway. It wasn’t her fault. But Claire had wondered for ages if she should have said or done something differently. Sometimes she still wondered.

After the interview, she’d been so emotionally drained, she’d walked away from the reporter and collapsed in Dave’s arms. He’d held her for a long time, as if he’d never let her go. He was so strong back then, a rock in times of crisis, but that was before the guilt had eaten him alive. That was before the alcohol had destroyed the man Claire had fallen in love with.

In the weeks and months following Ruby’s disappearance, he’d become someone Claire barely recognized. A drunken stranger who’d shoved his gun in her face one night and demanded to know what she’d done with their daughter.

Claire could picture him the way he was at that moment, with hate and despair twisting his once familiar features. She would never get that image out of her head. That he’d suspected her even for a moment, even under the influence of alcohol, was something she hadn’t been able to live with. She’d packed her bags and walked out the next day.

Drawing the covers over her shoulders, Claire slid down in bed and closed her eyes. The room was quiet, the air was cool and the pain medication she’d finally had to succumb to had started to numb the ache in her joints.

She’d always told herself it was the not knowing that still tore her up all these years later. If Ruby had died of a terrible disease or in some tragic accident, Claire would have been racked with grief. Her life would never have been the same, but eventually she might have been able to move on. If she could have buried Ruby…if she could have known in her heart that her child was at peace, maybe she could have drawn some comfort from her faith.

The not knowing was the worst.

Or so she’d always thought.

But on this dark, drenched night, as Claire huddled under the covers, dread settled like a shroud over her hospital bed. She’d never considered herself clairvoyant or even particularly intuitive, but she could feel the tug of something that might have been a premonition. A presage that warned of an evil she could hardly imagine.

And suddenly she realized how wrong she’d been. The not knowing wasn’t the worst. Her ignorance had kept her sane all these years.

She dreamed about Ruby that night, the same nightmare that always came back in times of stress.

In her dream she was standing at her grandmother’s kitchen sink shelling crawfish. She and Dave and Ruby lived in the tiny apartment over the garage, but Claire had come over that day to use her grandmother’s stove because the one in the apartment was too unreliable and she wanted to make Dave’s favorite meal for dinner.

The vision was so real that Claire could feel the crusty shells of the crawfish beneath her fingers as she watched out the window for Ruby. She’d gotten a new bicycle for her seventh birthday and was riding up and down the sidewalk in front of the house. Claire called through the open window for her to come inside, but Ruby ignored her. Each time she rode up the street, she took longer and longer to get back.

Putting away the crawfish, Claire washed her hands at the sink and then went outside to call her in. The late afternoon shadows from the oak and pecan trees slowly crept toward the street.

She could see the gleam of Ruby’s red helmet off in the distance and she started running after her. Somehow she knew that she had to reach her daughter before Ruby got to the end of the street. Something terrible waited for her there. If Claire didn’t get to her first, she would be lost forever.

Claire screamed her daughter’s name, but Ruby just kept on pedaling. Claire could barely see her now. She was only a dot in the distance. But she was still on her bike. Claire could reach her in time. She tried to run faster, but her legs were suddenly so heavy she could barely lift them.

And then the dream shifted. She saw herself at the end of a narrow alley, the kind in the Quarter that led back to sun-dappled courtyards. She smelled roses and damp moss, and somewhere nearby water splashed against stone. Someone brushed up against her back, but when she glanced over her shoulder, no one was there.

A door appeared in front of her and she heard Ruby sobbing inside the room. Slowly, Claire reached for the knob. When she drew back the door, a shaft of sunlight spilled into the darkened space. A little girl sat at a small table, her head buried in her arms. Claire called out her daughter’s name and the child lifted her head. But it wasn’t Ruby. It was the little girl from the news.

Claire started toward her, but Alex’s voice said from behind her, “She’s dead, Claire. Leave her be.”

She turned to search for him in the narrow alley, but he was hidden in the shadows. And when he stepped into the light, she saw that it was Dave. His lips moved, but he made no sound at all. When he realized that she didn’t understand him, he lifted a hand and pointed behind her. Claire turned slowly back to the door. The little girl was gone, and in her place was the golden-haired doll from the shop window.

Clare glanced over her shoulder at Dave. He reached out to her now, as if to stop her, but she shook her head and walked through the door. She glided across the room and picked up the doll. The porcelain felt warm and soft in her arms, like human flesh, but when the doll slipped from her grasp and hit the stone floor, the fragile face shattered into a million pieces.

Eight

Dave took the Sea Ray out at dawn the next morning to test the overhauled Chevy engines for his uncle. The boat had been in dry dock for over two weeks, a financially disastrous situation during peak season, but Marsilius had used the opportunity to update some of the equipment.

The old thirty-foot sports cruiser now offered a television, stereo, microwave and a fully stocked refrigerator, along with the two-burner stove, full head and stand-up shower. The cabin area could comfortably accommodate four guests for overnight trips out to the steel reefs where the bright vapor lights from the oil rigs beamed down to the water’s surface, attracting schools of bait fish that in turn lured in the yellowfin, mackerel and amberjack.

Marsilius had night fishing down to a science, but Dave had been trying for years to get him to invest in a smaller boat for the anglers who liked to fish the marshes and oyster beds in the basin. His uncle was set in his ways, though, and wasn’t looking to expand his business. He had Dave to relieve him when his knee acted up, and Jinx Bingham’s boy to run the bait and tackle. No sense fixing what wasn’t broke, he always said.

Throttling back the engines, Dave glided through a glimmering channel and dropped anchor in the bay to watch the sunrise. Mist hovered over the marshes and islets, and clung like wet silk to the treetops.

Pouring a cup of coffee from his thermos, he sat down to enjoy the solitude. He couldn’t help but think about the past this morning, or the case that Angelette Lapierre had dropped in his lap. She’d faxed a copy of the file to his office, and he’d sifted through the reports and made a few calls before going down to New Orleans late last night. But he needed more time to study the case before he made a decision about taking it on. He didn’t want to give the grieving family false hope until he figured out Angelette’s angle. She’d used the similarity to the Savaria case to draw him in, but Dave couldn’t figure out why she’d bother. She said Nina Losier’s parents were looking to hire a private detective, and she’d told them about him, but that alone set off an alarm for Dave. He and Angelette hadn’t exactly parted on good terms. Aside from the fact that she’d tried to kill him when he broke things off with her, he didn’t trust her and never had. Maybe at one time her edge had been a big part of her appeal, but now Dave knew only too well the cost of getting mixed up with Angelette Lapierre. And that was one mistake he wasn’t looking to repeat.

But a young woman had been brutally murdered and her parents wanted justice. That was a hard situation to walk away from, especially for Dave, and he had a feeling that was exactly what Angelette was banking on.

As the boat rocked gently in the current, Dave tipped back his head, propped up his feet and tried to let the peaceful setting lull him. Sunrise in the Gulf was always spectacular, a fiery palette of crimson and gold splashed across a deep lavender canvas. As the mist slowly burned away in the early morning heat, the landscape turned a deep, earthy green. Violet clumps of iris jutted through a thick carpet of algae and duckweed, and purple water lilies opened in the green-gold light that filtered down through the cypress trees.

Off to his right, a flock of snowy egrets took flight from the swamp grass, and a second later, Dave saw the familiar snout and unblinking stare of a gator glide past his boat. The vista was at once beautiful and menacing, a shadowy world of dark water and thick curtains of Spanish moss.

Dave had been born and raised in New Orleans, but he loved the Cajun Coast, with its teeming bayous and maze of channels where an outsider could get lost for days. Even when he’d still lived in the city, he had come down every chance he had to help Marsilius with the charters. After he and Claire were married, she would come with him, and when he was finished working for the day, they’d take the boat back out to watch the sunset. Sometimes he would rest on deck while she cooked dinner in the galley, but most of the time he would sit below and watch her.

Her face had mesmerized him. Even the menial tasks she’d performed dozens of times drew a fierce scowl of concentration to her brow, and Dave always wondered what went through her head then. He’d call out her name to make her glance up, so that he could see her quick smile. She had a shy, intimate way of looking at him that made him want to drop whatever he was doing and take her in his arms, no matter where they were.

Sometimes they would stay out on the water until well after dark, and make love on the boat. Afterward Claire would sit between his legs, his arms wound around her as they watched the stars shimmer through the treetops.

When Ruby got older they’d brought her along a few times, but she didn’t take to the water. Too many bugs to suit her, and she didn’t like getting her hair all tangled on the breeze.

“You’re a little city girl,” Dave would tease her.

To which Ruby would proudly respond, “I’m just like my maw-maw.”

Claire had always been a little befuddled by how Ruby emulated her grandmother, and Charlotte had been downright horrified. But Dave got a kick out of it. Lucille was earthy and she looked like a hot mess most of the time, but she had a good heart. And she was the only one in the family who still gave him the time of day.