The Dollmaker

Eighteen

A storm came up suddenly in the small hours of Tuesday morning, and Claire lay awake for a long time, listening to the rumble of thunder and the occasional car splashing by on the road in front of her house. As the lightning intensified, she got up to glance out the window, and for a moment she thought she saw someone standing across the street in the rain. But the harder she stared, the more convinced she became that what she saw was only a shadow.

She watched the rain for a while, then went back to bed, but when she finally fell asleep, her rest was fitful. She kept waking up abruptly, certain that she’d heard something in the house, only to realize that it was a branch scraping against the side of the house or rain dripping from the eaves.

She even got back up to check all the doors and windows downstairs, but she saw and heard nothing out of the ordinary. Ever since she’d discovered Ruby’s picture missing, Claire worried that someone had come into her house that night. Someone had deliberately removed the photograph from the table in the sunroom, but why? Who would still want a picture of her missing daughter after all this time?

The only answer she could come up with was almost too chilling to contemplate. Ruby’s kidnapper had never been caught. What if he had come back, after seven years, for some twisted reason that only he could comprehend?

She went back to bed yet again and watched the shifting patterns on the ceiling as the storm finally broke, just before dawn. The clouds moved inland and the light outside her window turned a misty violet. Claire rolled to her side and watched the sun come up. Only then did she close her eyes and sleep peacefully, until the alarm awakened her a few hours later.

By the time she headed into the Quarter, the sun was bright and the sky overhead a clear blue dome. The humidity was high after the rainstorm, and the stifling heat was like being wrapped in a wool blanket. The sidewalk artists along Pirates Alley had already opened their striped umbrellas, and the ones who were not busy sketching waved fans back and forth in front of their glistening faces.

No matter the weather, Claire loved coming to the Quarter. She’d grown up a few blocks away, in a little shotgun-style cottage in Faubourg Marigny, and the old Creole buildings with their worn facades and overhanging balconies were as familiar to her as her own backyard. Alex used to warn her about the dopers and street thugs that hung out in the area. He always said the place was a felony waiting to happen.

Claire supposed he was right. The Quarter had its share of problems, but there were other areas of the city that had much higher crime rates, and, in truth, the underlying danger had always been a part of the Quarter’s appeal.

She didn’t linger today, though, to enjoy the party-like atmosphere in the square. She wanted to be at the collectibles shop by the time the door opened at ten.

The neighboring shopkeeper had told Alex on Friday that Mignon Bujold would be back from her trip today, and Claire assumed that meant she would open at her regular time. Since Claire wasn’t due at the gallery until one, she didn’t have to rush. She could do a little window-shopping just to give the owner plenty of time to arrive at the store and open up.

But the longer Claire delayed, the more apprehensive she became. Now that a few days had gone by since she’d first seen the doll, she’d begun to second-guess herself, and had started to wonder if Charlotte might be right. The mere fact that the doll had curly blond hair and a pink ruffled dress could have been more than enough for Claire’s imagination to supply the rest of her daughter’s features. After all, she’d done it before. She’d been convinced dozens of times over the past seven years that she’d spotted Ruby on a playground or dashing through a crowded mall. What if this time was no different than the others?

But it was different. Claire had had more than a passing glimpse of the doll. The streets in the Quarter were narrow, and even when she’d stood on the corner across from the shop, her view of the display window had been unobstructed. She’d seen the doll clearly from that vantage, and she’d had an even better look as she crossed the street. The doll looked like Ruby. There was no getting away from that fact. Someone had sculpted a doll in the likeness of her missing daughter, and Claire wouldn’t be able to rest until she found out why.

By the time she arrived at the shop, it was after ten, and to her disappointment, the Closed sign remained in the window, the shade was drawn and the door still locked tight.

She pressed her face to the glass and tried to peer around the edge of the shade. But this time, she detected no movement at all inside the shop, nor did she have the impression that anyone was about. To the contrary, the interior looked dark and deserted, and she drew back in frustration.

Claire had looked up the number for the shop in the directory a few days ago in order to leave a message, and now, as she stood in the doorway, she pulled out her cell phone and placed a call. She could hear the phone through the glass, and after several rings, an answering machine picked up. Once again she left her name and number, and asked that someone get in touch with her as soon as possible. Then she hung up and stood watching the midmorning traffic on the street.

The only thing she could do now was check the rear entrance. If the back door was locked, she would at least know that someone had been there since she and Alex left on Friday. If it was still open, then in all likelihood the owner hadn’t yet returned from her trip.

The alley was shady and a few degrees cooler than the street, but the courtyard at the back blazed with sunlight. The pavers beneath Claire’s feet were still damp and slippery from the night’s rain. As she walked down the alley, the street noises faded and the only sounds she noticed were the distant trickle of a fountain and the steady click of her heels against the worn bricks.

The closer she got to the back door, the more nervous she became. She’d never laid eyes on Mignon Bujold, knew nothing about the woman’s habits. There was no reason in the world that she should be concerned about a stranger, but Claire had a bad feeling that something was wrong.

She reminded herself that Alex had gone through the shop on Friday morning and found nothing. The register hadn’t been tampered with, nor had there been any sign of a break-in or struggle, nothing to indicate that the owner had left the shop by any means other than of her own volition.

The shopkeeper next door hadn’t even been alarmed by the unsecured premises, and there was no reason for Claire to be, either. But when the knob turned in her hand, her pulse quickened.

She glanced down the alley to the sunny street. A group of tourists strolled along in the lazy heat, but no one glanced in her direction. The gate to the courtyard was closed and nothing stirred from behind the iron fence except a mockingbird flitting through the branches of a mimosa tree. Claire was all alone in the alley.

Nothing to be afraid of, she told herself. Nothing at all.

But her palms were suddenly clammy and her heart started to pound in trepidation. As she pushed open the door, the chilly gloom seeped out into the alley. Claire stood shivering on the threshold, still hesitant to enter as her gaze darted about the dim space.

Everything inside was just as she remembered it. Shelves stuffed with boxes and packing materials. The worktable strewn with doll parts. The kitchenette. The beaded curtain that swayed in the breeze from the vents.

It was still cold inside the building, and she wondered if the air conditioner had been running all weekend.

She took a step inside, then paused again as her hand went to her nose. She hadn’t noticed a smell when she was there before, but now something unpleasant permeated the frigid air. She only caught a whiff of it now and then, and she wondered if it might be food that had been left in the trash can for days.

When she walked through the beaded curtain into the shop, the scent faded and she was able to ignore it. She’d looked through all the display cabinets on Friday, but today, without Alex to interrupt her, she conducted a more thorough search. As she knelt to examine the shelves beneath the counter, the phone beside the register rang. The jarring sound startled her so badly, she almost toppled over, and had to grab the edge of the counter to catch herself. But the structure wasn’t stable, and when it shifted, she lost her balance and crashed to the floor.

By the time she’d righted herself, Mignon Bujold’s greeting had played, and a woman’s voice came over the speaker. “Mother? It’s Lily. I’ve been trying to reach you all morning, but there’s no answer at the house, and as usual, your cell phone is turned off. The girls are anxious to see you and I’m getting a little concerned, so please call me as soon as you get my messages.” The voice paused, then added with a hint of urgency, “I hope everything is okay.”

The worried tone of the caller triggered Claire’s growing trepidation, and the inexplicable chill she’d felt standing outside the back door came back stronger than ever. Her every instinct told her to get out of the shop as quickly as possible.

The smell grew stronger as she walked back into the workroom, and in spite of her nerves, she paused to glance around. The odor was coming from the garbage can. She was sure of it. The owner had probably forgotten to take out the trash before she left on Thursday. That’s all it was. Just the trash. Or perhaps something in the refrigerator had gone bad….

As Claire’s gaze swept over the old fridge, she noticed something she hadn’t seen before. Something blue was caught in the door. It looked like a swatch of fabric, so small that Claire probably wouldn’t have detected it now if she hadn’t been searching for the source of the bad smell.

As she focused on the fabric, gooseflesh prickled along her arms and she caught her breath, not daring to move as comprehension dawned in a flash of horror. Her mouth went dry with fear. Cold sweat misted her forehead as dread tightened in her chest. She told herself to turn and leave, go outside into the fresh air and call Alex. She didn’t relish a conversation with her soon-to-be-ex-husband, but he was still a cop, and when she told him what she’d seen, what she feared, he would have to come and check out the shop for himself.

But Claire couldn’t move. She couldn’t tear her gaze away from that blue fabric, and it almost seemed as if she’d been hypnotized into doing something she wouldn’t ordinarily do.

She found herself in front of the refrigerator, but couldn’t remember walking across the room. And when her hand lifted, it was as if she were watching someone else, an impetuous stranger, reach for the handle and pull open the door. She tried to close her eyes because she didn’t want to know, didn’t want to see….

The body fell with a hard thud to the floor.

Claire screamed and stumbled back, nausea so thick in her throat she bent double, gagging. Drawing in desperate gulps of air, she lifted her gaze, then shuddered violently when she saw the woman’s eyes. The dead, milky stare was focused on Claire, mesmerizing her with an icy penetration, and for a moment, she couldn’t look away. She felt weak and sick, violated by the smell of death, her own fear and those glazed, sightless eyes.

A dozen thoughts rushed through her head. She had to call 911. She had to reach Alex. She had to get out of there before she fainted dead away.

Still, she couldn’t move. She stood for what seemed an eternity, stunned and trembling, paralyzed by the kind of horror she’d known only in her nightmares.

The refrigerator had slowed decomposition and the woman’s pale features were still clearly discernible. She was older, sixty perhaps, petite and slim with short, white hair. A pair of glasses dangled from a chain around her neck, the lenses frosted over, and Claire saw the flash of a sapphire-and-diamond ring on her right hand. It was Mignon Bujold. Claire was certain of it.

After a moment, when she could get her fingers to work, she took out her cell phone and called Alex’s number. She tried to stay calm, but the words tumbled out in a horrified rush the moment she heard his voice.

“Claire, calm down and tell me what happened. Are you all right?”

“I’m okay. I’m…at the collectibles shop in the Quarter. Mignon Bujold is dead. It looks like…oh, God, Alex, she’s been murdered.”

She heard the sharp intake of his breath. “Claire, listen to me. Don’t touch anything, just get the hell out of there. Go next door or down the street and wait for me. Claire? Are you listening to me?”

“Yes…”

But her gaze had gone back to the body. The last moment of Mignon Bujold’s life was trapped in those frozen eyes, and a terrible thought came to Claire. What if the poor woman had been alive when she’d been imprisoned inside the refrigerator?

What if she’d been alive…and she knew no one was coming to let her out?

Claire sat in a restaurant across the street, staring at the array of emergency vehicles that had assembled outside the collectibles shop. She counted four patrol cars, their lights still flashing in the sunlight, along with an ambulance, a van from the Orleans Parish coroner’s office, and oddly enough, two wreckers.

The sidewalks were clogged with patrolmen, paramedics and the usual assortment of curious onlookers. Claire could see some of the officers talking to neighboring shopkeepers, and every minute or so they would pause to jot something down on their clipboards or lift their static-filled radios.

Alex came out of the shop once, said something to one of the officers, then went back inside. He and Claire had spoken briefly when he first arrived, and then he’d sent her across the street to wait while the forensics investigator finished sweeping the crime scene.

Claire had ordered a Coke, and it sat in front of her untouched, ice melting, condensation streaming down the glass onto the table.

She couldn’t stop thinking about Mignon Bujold. The notion that she’d been trapped in the refrigerator on Friday, still alive, when Claire was inside the shop, haunted her. She couldn’t help wondering if the killer had committed the crime only moments before she arrived. If she’d noticed that telltale fabric caught in the refrigerator door then—if it had, in fact, been there at that time—would she have been able to save Mignon Bujold’s life?

Now the woman was dead, and something told Claire that the murder was somehow connected to the doll. The register and safe hadn’t been tampered with, and Mignon had still been wearing a valuable ring when Claire found her. If she’d been the victim of a random robbery, surely the assailant would have taken the jewelry. The only thing that appeared to be missing from the shop was the doll.

Claire told herself it was too early to jump to any conclusions. She needed to wait and hear what the police found inside the shop. But as much as she wanted to stay calm and rational, her mind raced and she couldn’t stop shaking. She knew it would be a very long time before she would forget Mignon Bujold’s sightless eyes staring up at her.

“Are you Claire?”

She turned with a start. A dark-haired woman in a trim black suit had approached the table, and Claire gave a brief nod.

The woman was slim and petite, but the high heels she wore gave her the illusion of height, and her demeanor, along with the designer bag she carried, spoke of a young sophisticated professional on her way up. She reminded Claire of Charlotte.

Her gaze was cool and detached as she stared down at Claire. “One of the detectives told me I could find you here. My name is Lily Devereaux. I’m Mignon Bujold’s daughter.”

Claire started to rise, but the woman said quickly, “No, please. I don’t mean to disturb you, but could we talk for a moment?”

“Of course.”

She sat down across from Claire, and when the waitress appeared, ordered hot tea in spite of the sweltering heat outside. As they waited for her drink, Claire realized that her initial assessment of the woman had been wrong. What she’d mistaken for cool detachment was, in fact, a valiant effort on Lily Devereaux’s part to hang on to her shattered composure. Her face was nearly colorless, and when she had the tea in front of her, she wrapped her hands around the cup, clinging to the warmth as if it were the only thing that would get her through this.

Her eyes desperately sought Claire’s across the table as a lone tear ran down her cheek. She wiped it away with her napkin.

“I’m sorry,” Claire said. “This must be such a terrible shock for you.”

She nodded, sniffed and seemed to collect herself then. “They told me you were the one who found her.”

“Yes, that’s right.”

“I don’t mean for this to sound accusatory, but…who are you? I don’t remember Mother ever mentioning you. Were you a friend of hers?”

“No. I was a potential customer. I saw a doll in her shop window one day last week and I came back to ask about it.”

The gray eyes stared unblinking at Claire. “How did you get in?”

“The back door was unlocked.”

“So you just walked in?”

Regardless of what she said, her tone was most definitely suspicious, Claire decided. “I know that sounds bad, but I found the rear entrance unlocked when I was there on Friday. Someone next door was supposed to get in touch with your mother and make sure that the premises were secured. I was curious to see if anyone had been there since I left. When I saw that the door was still unlocked, I became concerned.”

“Do the police know that you were there before?”

“Yes, of course. I’ve told them everything I know, which really isn’t much. As I said, I only came back to ask your mother about the doll I saw.”

Claire hadn’t meant to sound defensive, but Lily said quickly, “I’m not implying that you were somehow responsible for Mother’s death. Please don’t think that. I’m just trying to make sense of what happened.”

“I understand.”

Lily drew in a ragged breath. “I have two little girls. They both adored Mother. I don’t know how I’m going to tell them….” She lifted a trembling hand to her mouth. “When I drove up and saw all the police cars out front, I knew something had happened. But I never dreamed…I just still can’t believe it. Even after I identified the body.”

“I’m sorry you had to go through that,” Claire said.

The woman didn’t seem to hear her. “They told me I would have to wait outside until the crime scene had been cleared. I didn’t know what to do or where to go. I couldn’t seem to think…I guess that’s why one of the detectives told me that I should come over here and wait with you.”

Claire watched, mesmerized, as Lily lifted the cup to her lips. Her hands shook so badly, Claire had to resist the urge to offer assistance, but somehow she managed alone. She took a sip, then returned the cup to the saucer with a clatter.

“I should have checked on her sooner. The girls and I were busy all weekend and I thought Mother was out of town. She wasn’t due home until last night, and when I didn’t hear from her, I assumed she’d gotten in late. I didn’t want to bother her….” She trailed off, her eyes filling again.

“I called her house this morning, and when she didn’t answer, I told myself she was probably in the shower or outside. She liked to putter around in her garden before she left for work. I tried her cell phone, but she wasn’t in the habit of turning it on. She only bought one to appease me. I thought it was a good idea because she traveled a lot.”

Lily’s gaze dropped to her cup, and she stared for a long time into the tea, as if trying to divine a message in the dregs.

“I didn’t mean to unload all that on you,” she finally said. “I guess I can’t stop talking about it because it’s just so hard for me to comprehend. Who would do such a terrible thing to someone as kind and gentle as my mother? And why? I don’t understand how something like this could happen….” She bowed her head then and her slim shoulders shook as she began to weep quietly into her napkin.

Claire reached over and touched her hand. “Is there someone you want me to call? You shouldn’t have to face this alone.”

Lily wiped her nose and eyes and straightened her shoulders. “I’ve already called a friend. He should be here soon. I probably shouldn’t ask this of you. I’ve already imposed on you long enough. But…would you mind sitting with me until he gets here?”

“Of course not.”

She turned back to the window, staring out at the commotion across the street. “I’m not usually like this. I never lose control.”

“It’s understandable under the circumstances.” Claire wished she knew what to say to the woman, what words she could offer that might bring some comfort. But grief was an intensely personal emotion. Others could sympathize, but no one else, no matter their own experience, could ever fully comprehend.

The woman bit her bottom lip to stop the tremor. “I should have called the police when I couldn’t reach her.”

“You had no way of knowing she was in trouble.”

“I know, but I should have done something.”

“It’s easy to think in hindsight of everything we might or should have done, but it doesn’t help, and you can let yourself slide into a very dark place if you aren’t careful.”

“I know you’re right. Still…”

She continued to look out the window, and Claire knew that wasn’t a good thing because they would be bringing out the body soon. “Maybe it would help if we talked about something else,” she said.

The woman’s gaze finally moved away from the window. She took another sip of her tea as she mustered her shaky poise. “Why don’t you tell me about the doll you came to ask about? Are you a collector?”

“My mother is. My sister and I were shopping for a birthday present for her when I saw the doll in the window. I was involved in an accident that day or I would have gone in and asked about her then. When I came back on Friday, the shop was closed and the doll was gone from the window.”

A note of desperation in Claire’s voice seemed to filter through Lily Devereaux’s grief, and she looked up with a frown. “Which doll was it?”

“She had curly blond hair and beautiful turquoise eyes. She seemed so lifelike I had to look twice to make sure she wasn’t real.” Claire paused, fighting back her own rush of emotions. “This may sound strange, but she looks exactly like…my daughter.”

For the first time, Lily smiled. “It doesn’t sound strange to me at all. I had a twin doll when I was little. Mother still has her in her collection. You must have seen the Savannah Sweete doll. Mother only got her a few days ago and was over the moon about the purchase. If you know anything about doll collecting, you’ll understand why.”

Claire’s heart had started to beat an erratic tattoo inside her chest, but she tried to keep the excitement from her voice. She didn’t want to say or do anything that might alarm Lily Devereaux, because the poor woman had already been through enough. “The little I do know, I’ve picked up from my mother. I’ve heard her mention Savannah Sweete. I think she even took some classes from her at one time.”

“It’s quite possible. Savannah used to teach doll making classes here in New Orleans and in Houma, which is close to where she lives. But she had a terrible accident a few years ago that confined her to a wheelchair, and I understand she’s been almost a recluse since then. I don’t know much else about her except that she’s regarded as one of the finest doll artists in the country. That’s why Mother was so elated when a man brought one into the shop. As I said, portrait dolls rarely come on the market and you almost never see a Savannah Sweete.”

“Did your mother happen to mention the man’s name?”

“I don’t think she knew him. He wasn’t a collector or dealer, just someone who had a doll for sale. She said he mentioned that a child had died and the reminder was just too painful. That’s why he needed to get rid of the doll.”

Claire turned to the window, her own eyes filling with tears. A child had died and the reminder was just too painful.

Outside, the wind picked up, and she watched a paper cup roll across the street and into the gutter. In her mind she saw a bright yellow kite skim low over the surf as Ruby ran laughing behind it.

“Are you okay?”

The woman’s concerned voice drew Claire’s attention back to the table, and she had to swallow past a sudden knot in her throat. “I don’t want to bother you at a time like this, but…it’s very important to me that I find this doll. Do you have any idea what happened to her? Did your mother say anything about selling her?”

Curiosity sparked in Lily Devereaux’s eyes, but she shook her head. “The last time I talked to her was on Thursday morning. She said the doll had generated a lot of interest and she was anticipating a fairly heated bidding war. The piece was that spectacular.”

“Did you see the doll yourself?”

“No, but I feel as if I did after the way Mother went on and on about her. She said the attention to detail was extraordinary. The eyes, the mouth, the nose…everything exquisitely sculpted and painted. She even had a tiny strawberry birthmark on her left arm….”

Lily’s voice faded and everything inside Claire stilled as her mind slipped back in time. She could see Ruby so clearly. The two of them were sitting on the porch swing, waiting for Dave to come home.

“Why do I have this red bump on my arm, Mama?”

“It’s a birthmark, Ruby. You were born with it.”

“Maw-Maw says it’s where an angel kissed me. But Daddy has one just like it. Does that mean an angel kissed him, too?”

“Somehow I kind of doubt that, honey.”

Claire’s chest tightened, and for the longest time, she could hardly breathe.