The Dollmaker

After Charlotte had called her from the emergency room, Lucille had dropped everything to rush straight over to the hospital, barely taking the time to smear on lipstick and slide her feet into the three-inch high heels she always favored. But her hair and clothes were a mess. The neck of her T-shirt was stretched out of shape and her jeans were a size too small even on her slight frame. She hadn’t gained weight since she’d bought them; she wore them that way on purpose, with the legs rolled up to show off the gator tooth that hung on a gold chain around her left ankle.

“You’re still trembling, honey. Are you cold?” She unfolded the blanket at the foot of the bed and pulled it up.

Claire sighed in resignation. “No, Mama, I’m fine. I just want to get out of here so I can go back to the shop and find out about that doll.”

Lucille and Charlotte exchanged a glance over Claire’s bed, and she frowned. “Please don’t look at each other like that. I’m not crazy.”

“No one said anything about you being crazy, hon.”

“No, but you’re both thinking it.” Claire turned to Charlotte. “I never should have let you talk me into getting into that ambulance.”

“Well, it’s not like you had a choice in the matter. You weren’t even conscious when the paramedics arrived. You’re hurt, Claire. A lot worse than you want to admit.”

“But what if something happens to the doll before I can get back to the store? What if she’s sold—”

“Hush now.” Lucille rubbed Claire’s arm. “Don’t worry about that tonight. You just do as the doctor said and get some rest.”

Claire turned her head toward the window and watched the lightning. “You don’t believe me, do you, Mama?”

“What a thing to say. Of course I believe you.”

“Then why are you and Charlotte still here? Why haven’t you gone to that shop to see the doll for yourself?”

“Because my main concern at the moment is you, baby girl.”

“But if you really believed me, you’d be moving heaven and earth to find out where that doll came from.”

“Claire, honey—”

“I’m not crazy, Mama, and I’m not imagining things. The doll in that window was the spitting image of Ruby. Charlotte saw her, too.”

Her sister’s gaze wavered and she looked away.

Claire said angrily, “Why are you acting this way, Charlotte? Just tell Mama what you saw.”

“I can’t.” Charlotte’s cheeks were flushed with emotion. “I can’t tell her what you want me to because I didn’t get a good look. And I don’t see how you did, either. All I could tell was that the doll had curly blond hair. She wore a pink ruffled dress. She might have looked a little like Ruby, but even if she was the spitting image as you claim, it doesn’t mean—”

“That Ruby’s still alive? I know that. But it has to mean something.”

Charlotte let out a long breath. “Maybe it does, I don’t know. But I hate seeing you get your hopes up like this. It’s been seven years.”

Claire glanced back out at the rain. “I know how long it’s been. Right down to the day, the hour, the very minute that I first noticed her missing.”

“I know you do.” Charlotte bit her lip. Tears shone in her eyes. “I know how much you still miss her. I miss her, too. Not a day goes by that I don’t think about her.”

“Then stop fighting me on this. There’s a doll out there that looks like my missing daughter. Help me find out why.”

When Charlotte didn’t answer right away, Lucille rushed to fill the silence. “Claire, you know we’d do anything for you, don’t you?”

“Will you go look at the doll with me?” Claire clutched her mother’s hand. “Mama, you have to see her. She looks exactly like Ruby, right down to that little pink dress you made for her seventh birthday. You remember it, don’t you? The one with the little white flowers?”

“Of course I remember it. I worked my fingers to the bone on all that embroidery.”

“She loved it so much. I couldn’t get her out of it.”

Lucille sniffed. “She called it her twirly dress. We had to go out and get her a new pair of shoes to go with it. Man, was that kid headstrong when she set her mind to something.”

Claire laughed softly.

A deep voice said from the doorway, “Is this a private party or can anyone join in?”

The room went still as Claire’s gaze connected with Alex Girard’s. He stood at the door, one hand propped on the frame as a lazy smile encompassed all three women. He looked lean and tanned, like someone who might belong to a country club. His suit was charcoal, his tie silver and his tasseled loafers were polished and buffed. That was one thing about Alex. Even on a cop’s salary, he always made sure he was well put together. He didn’t leave the house if he wasn’t.

Claire found herself staring at him almost as if he were a stranger. They’d been married for nearly six years, but somehow she always found something about him that she hadn’t noticed before. He was an attractive man, but his dark eyes made her think of one of those fun house mirrors that didn’t always reflect reality. He was in his late thirties and already starting to look a little like his father.

He wouldn’t want to hear that, Claire thought. Nor would he believe it. Like every other cop she’d ever known, he had a formidable ego.

“What are you doing here, Alex?”

He straightened from the doorway and came to stand at the foot of her bed. “My wife gets herself hit by a car, where else am I going to be?”

Claire was on the verge of reminding him that, for all intents and purposes, she was no longer his wife, but she didn’t want to start an argument in front of her mother and sister, so she said instead, “How did you know I was here?”

He grinned. “I’m a cop. I know everything.”

One look at Charlotte’s guilty face, however, confirmed Claire’s suspicion. “You didn’t have to come all the way over here. I’m fine.”

“I wanted to see that for myself.” He nodded to her mother. “Hello, Lucille.”

“Alex.”

“Haven’t seen you in a while. How’ve you been?”

“Can’t complain. And you?”

“Same old same old. Stabbings, shootings, a sliced-up tweaker in the Quarter. Just a routine week in the Big Easy.”

“If you’re that busy maybe we shouldn’t keep you.”

Anger flashed like quicksilver in Alex’s gray eyes. For some reason, his charm had never worked on Claire’s mother, and he couldn’t understand why. “Maybe you wouldn’t mind giving me and Claire a moment alone.”

“That’s up to Claire.”

“It’s okay, Mama.”

Charlotte came over and took Lucille’s arm. “You could use a cigarette anyway, couldn’t you, Mama? And I wouldn’t mind having another cup of coffee.”

Lucille said something under her breath, but she gathered up her purse and followed Charlotte to the door.