The Dollmaker

Twenty-Five

Alex Girard swore at the persistent ring of the doorbell as he came out of the bedroom. Pulling on his shirt, he walked over and checked the peephole. Then he drew open the door in surprise.

“Claire? What are you doing here at this hour?”

“I need to talk to you.”

He glanced over his shoulder as he propped an arm against the door frame. “It’s late and I’ve had a long day. Whatever it is, can’t it wait until morning?”

“No, it can’t.” She brushed past him before he could stop her.

He closed the door and turned, noticing for the first time how agitated she seemed. She wore a denim skirt and white tank top, and her hair was damp, as if she’d just come from the shower.

Down the hallway, the bedroom door closed softly, but Alex didn’t think Claire heard it. She was too distracted.

“What’s wrong? You look upset.”

“I am upset. I found out something tonight that was very disturbing.”

Alex’s gaze shot to the bedroom door before he could stop himself. “And what might that be?”

Claire paused. “Does the name Renee Savaria mean anything to you?”

Outwardly, he managed to remain calm, but his lungs felt crushed all of a sudden, as if someone had placed a very heavy weight on his chest. He’d had an inkling something like this might be coming. Dave Creasy had been asking too many questions lately, and something was bound to surface. Whatever he’d dug up he’d evidently passed along to Claire. And now here she was.

He walked into the kitchen to fix himself a drink. “The name rings a faint bell,” he said over his shoulder. His voice sounded normal, but his hand trembled as he got out the glasses. “You want a drink?”

She shook her head.

He poured himself a whiskey, then came back into the living room and sat on the arm of the couch. “What’s this all about?”

“Renee Savaria was murdered by a cop seven years ago.”

He swirled the liquid in his glass as he thought about that for a minute. “I have a vague recollection of the case,” he said, “But I don’t remember anything about a cop. I think you got that part all wrong.”

“Don’t lie, Alex. You have more than a vague recollection. You were there the night she was murdered and you helped cover it up. You even used Ruby’s kidnapping to manipulate Dave into destroying incriminating evidence.” She pushed back her damp hair with a trembling hand. “How could you do such a thing? How could you marry me, knowing what you’d done? What kind of person are you?”

“Those are some ugly accusations.” His hand tightened around the glass as he forced himself to meet her gaze. “Who put you up to this?”

“Nobody. I came here on my own.”

“I don’t think so. This isn’t you talking. Somebody’s put a bug in your ear and I’ve a pretty good idea who it was.” He set the drink aside and slowly stood. “How long have you been seeing him?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure you do, Claire. Was it before we separated?” His mouth tightened. “For the life of me, I can’t figure out what you see in that guy. He’s had a serious sauce problem for years, and yet you still can’t get over him. I wish you would tell me what the fascination is because I would truly love to know.”

“Don’t change the subject. This is about you, Alex, and what you did seven years ago. I don’t know how you can stand there and look me in the eyes after what you’ve done.”

“So that’s it? You have me all tried and convicted on Dave Creasy’s word? You’re not even going to consider the possibility that he could be making the whole thing up just to make me look bad? It’s the kind of thing he’d do, Claire, and you know it.”

“You seem to be missing something here. Dave isn’t the one who told me about your involvement. I heard it from Clive Nettle.”

Alex felt his hands go cold, and for a moment, it was as if the earth had opened up beneath his feet. He sat down hard on the couch arm, the color draining from his face.

“I see that name does ring a bell,” she said softly.

Claire studied him, and what she saw in his eyes devastated her. She hadn’t realized until that moment how badly she’d wanted to believe it was all some terrible mistake. Their marriage was over, but she still cared about him, had once loved him. How could she not have known what he was capable of?

He said nothing for a long time, and then his gaze slowly lifted to hers. “Why are you doing this? What are you trying to prove?”

“It’s all true, isn’t it? I can see it in your eyes. Now I understand why you didn’t want to believe me about the doll and the connection to Mignon Bujold’s murder. You were afraid if Ruby’s case was reopened, all this would come out.”

“Claire, I didn’t have anything to do with her kidnapping. You have to believe that.”

“You didn’t take her. I believe that. But you weren’t above using her disappearance to cover up a murder. You made those calls to Dave, knowing that he would do anything to bring his daughter home. You used his grief and desperation to protect a cold-blooded killer, and now you’re going to have to pay for what you did. You won’t be able to lie or charm your way out of this. It’s all coming out. Nettle has already talked to the D.A., so you may as well admit to me what you did.”

He glanced down at his drink, seemed to consider for a moment what he wanted to say to her before he spoke. “Even if I was there the night Renee Savaria was killed, that doesn’t mean I had anything to do with her death. I would never lay a hand on a woman, Claire, you know that. But that wouldn’t have mattered to the press. Every cop there would have been crucified. What good would have come from wasting all those careers?”

Claire felt something inside her go dark as she looked at him. It was like turning the light off in a roomful of memories. The man before her was a complete stranger.

“Nothing I did changed anything,” he said. “Ruby was already dead. You know the statistics as well as I do. Twenty-four to forty-eight hours, Claire. I did everything I could to find her, but she was already dead.”

“You don’t know that! She could have still been alive when you placed those phone calls. Dave might have been able to find her if you hadn’t made him think her kidnapping was connected to Renee Savaria’s murder.”

“You still don’t see it, do you?” Alex’s smile was sad. “This isn’t about me. It’s about Dave. It’s always been about him.”

Claire shook her head. “You’re wrong.”

“You’re still trying to make him the good guy so it justifies your feelings for him. He is what he is, Claire, and one of these days you’re finally going to have to accept that Dave Creasy is your cross to bear. Just like Renee Savaria is mine.”

Claire didn’t slam the door behind her, but somehow the soft click of the latch seemed even more final to Alex. She hadn’t been angry when she left. There had been no emotion in her exit at all, just that one brief click and it was over. Done. Claire Doucett was no longer a part of his life.

He told himself to get up, finish dressing and plan a course of action. If Nettle had already talked to the D.A., then Alex probably had a day or two at the most to find a good attorney to get him out of this mess.

Instead, he remained on the arm of the couch, ice melting in his drink, as he stared out the window.

He sensed a presence in the hallway, and he turned to find Charlotte leaning against the door, arms folded, as she watched him. She was fully dressed, looking exactly the way she had when she’d walked through his door a few hours ago. Except for her hair. It was still mussed from the pillow.

“Is it true?”

He mustered up a vague denial as he drained his glass. “Don’t believe everything you hear. You know how Claire is. She has a vivid imagination.”

“I didn’t hear you deny her allegations.”

“You didn’t hear me admit to anything, either, did you?”

“I heard enough to draw some pretty damning conclusions.”

“Conclusions don’t mean much in court. And somehow I don’t think you want to get on that witness stand and subject yourself to a hostile cross-examination. Could get pretty nasty with Claire in the courtroom.”

“I doubt it will come to that.” Charlotte gave him a faint smile as she held up her cell phone. “I just spoke to Lee Elliot. He corroborated everything Claire said here tonight. You’d better find yourself a damn good lawyer, Alex, because you are in some serious trouble.”

“I wouldn’t be so quick to judge if I were you. Every story has two sides.”

“So I’ve been told.”

“What I told Claire was right, you know. Nothing I did changed anything.”

Now it was Charlotte who gave him a pitying smile. “You’re wrong about that. It changed you, Alex. It turned you into someone that Claire could never fall in love with. And somehow I think that might be the most fitting punishment of all for you.”

She left the apartment as silently as her sister had, and still Alex didn’t move. Through a break in the buildings outside his window, he could see the shimmer of lights on a barge on the river, and he listened for the foghorns that he could sometimes hear at night before he drifted off. The plaintive sound always left him lonely and longing for something that seemed just out of his reach. He’d always thought it was Claire he missed, but now he knew that what he’d really been searching for all these years was his soul.

When had he become one of the bad guys? Alex wondered. The transformation had been so subtle, he hadn’t seen it coming. One bribe, one payoff, the first time he’d agreed to look the other way. When had his ambition convinced him that in the scheme of things, none of that really mattered? The bigger picture was all that counted.

And then, as the years went by, it became about survival—covering his ass. One thing led to another until he hadn’t worried so much about right and wrong anymore, and somewhere along the way, he’d started to think of himself as immune, untouchable.

And now the sins of his past were all catching up with him.

The barge disappeared and the sounds of traffic outside his window faded. He got up to turn off the light, then went back to his place on the couch, a strange lightness in his limbs. The apartment was empty and silent, and for the first time in years, Alex Girard sat alone in the dark with his conscience.

Dave had been home for a long time, but he hadn’t felt like going up to bed yet. When he first got in, he’d fixed himself something to eat and turned on the television, watched a movie straight through and then the news. When he started nodding off, he carried his plate into the kitchen, rinsed it off in the sink, then went upstairs to shower.

Crawling into bed, he stretched out his legs, trying to relax, but it took a long time for the tension to drain out of him. He’d just managed to drift off when the sound of a car in his drive startled him awake. He got up and went over to the window to see who it was.

He recognized the car, and he watched as the door opened and Claire got out. She looked up at the house, but Dave didn’t think she could see him in the window. He hadn’t turned on the light. Pulling on a pair of jeans, he went downstairs to let her in.

She was still coming across the yard when he stepped out on the porch. She heard the door and faltered. “Dave?”

“Yeah, it’s me.”

Moonlight flooded the yard and a mild breeze drifted through the trees. He could see the gleam of her hair, hear the swish of her skirt as she started toward the porch.

He reached over and unlatched the screen, realizing suddenly that he was nervous. “Are you okay?”

“I guess so.” She climbed the steps and Dave held the door open for her, but she hesitated. “I got you out of bed, didn’t I? I’m sorry.”

“I wasn’t asleep. What brings you out here at this hour?”

She smiled apologetically as she stepped up on the porch. “I couldn’t sleep, either.”

It was a warm night, but Dave thought he could see her shiver. “You want to come inside?”

“Could we just sit out here for a while?”

“Sure.”

But she didn’t sit. Instead she walked to the end of the porch and stared out at the bayou. Dave was behind her, but he made sure he didn’t cramp her space as he watched her in the darkness. She’d changed clothes since she left the cabin earlier, and he thought he could smell her shampoo in the breeze. It was sweet, like honeysuckle.

“I went to see Alex tonight.” She turned, and their eyes met briefly before she glanced away.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

She lifted a hand to the back of her neck. “No. That’s not why I came all the way out here. I want you to tell me about Savannah Sweete.”

“I would have called you in the morning.”

“I know, but I didn’t want to wait. I don’t want to think about anything else right now. I just want to find that doll.”

“I’ll tell you what I know, but it’s not much. Like I said earlier, she lives about thirty miles south of Houma, near Tiber. I drove by her place yesterday, but I couldn’t get in to see her. The gate across the property was locked, so I went back to town and asked around about her. Your information seems to be pretty accurate. She’s an artist who specializes in portrait dolls, and they can run as high as two or three thousand dollars.”

“Is that all the information you could get?”

“Pretty much. You were right about the accident, too. She’s confined to a wheelchair and hardly ever leaves her house. The people I talked to seemed pretty protective of her, but when I explained the situation to the parish sheriff, he said he’d have a word with her nephew, see about getting us in to meet her. He even offered to drive out there with us if we need him to.”

Clare glanced up at him. “We?”

“I’d like to be there when you talk to her. If that’s okay with you.”

“I don’t know, Dave. I’m not so sure that’s a good idea anymore.”

“Isn’t that why you came to me in the first place? You wanted me to help you find the doll. What’s changed?”

She paused, glanced out at the darkness, and said softly, “We’ve changed.”

He looked at her standing there, and suddenly he couldn’t breathe.

She turned away, but he could still see her profile. Her face looked pale and fragile, but her backbone was ramrod straight as she gazed out at the trees. Her hair was pinned up in back and the moonlight glistened along her creamy skin. And at that moment, Dave would have cut off his arm with a butter knife for one brief touch of that smooth neck.

“I lied,” she said softly. “I didn’t come out here to talk about Savannah Sweete. The truth is, I don’t know why I came.”

He swallowed. “It doesn’t matter. I’m glad you’re here.”

“Dave…”

The way she said his name sent a shiver down his backbone. He stood silently, a strange humming inside him. It was as if every nerve ending in his body had suddenly come to life after years of lying dormant. He reached up, brushed the softness of her cheek with his fingertips, and she trembled.

Afterward, she went into the bathroom to dress. She came back out wearing only her shirt and panties, and as she perched on the edge of the bed, Dave reached out and drew his finger down her backbone. She was so beautiful to look at, and her skin was like warm silk. Her hair had fallen loose from the pins and hung in tangled curls about her shoulders.

She shivered at his touch and glanced at him over her shoulder. “Believe it or not, I didn’t come out here with that in mind.”

He sat up in bed and propped himself against a pillow. “Sadly, I do believe that.”

She smiled. “I should probably finish getting dressed and go home now.”

“It’s late and it’s a long drive back to New Orleans. You’re here now. You may as well spend the night.”

“I don’t think that’s such a good idea, do you?”

“It’s a fine idea. You crawl back into bed and I’ll go downstairs and sleep on the couch.”

“You’d do that for me?”

“After all the shit I’ve put you through, I’d say a good night’s sleep is the least I owe you.”

She lay down on the bed facing him. He brushed the hair from her shoulders and slid his hand down her arm. Her body had changed in seven years. She was thinner than he remembered, and her skin was so pale, as if she no longer spent any time in the sun. But her subtle curves fascinated him. She was an intriguing stranger who had once been his wife.

She watched him for a moment. “I feel as if I should say something.”

“There’s really no need.”

“Maybe there is. I don’t mean to be blunt, but I’m not looking to start anything back up with you, Dave.”

He tried not to wince. “I never thought you were.”

She pillowed her head on one arm. “I’ve been married more than half my life. I think it’s time I try being alone for a while.”

“Take it from me, being alone isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”

“You seem to be doing okay.”

“I’m always just one bad day away from another bender. We both know that.”

“Dave—”

“I put you through hell when we were married, Claire. I’m not delusional. I wouldn’t wish me on my worst enemy.”

“I guess I wouldn’t, either.” Her eyes were sober, and then she smiled and leaned over to kiss him gently on the mouth. “But you do have your moments.”