The Dollmaker

“I’ll manage. My pieces are selling pretty well these days. Besides, if we find something special, Hugh’s agreed to chip in half. All you and I have to do is split the difference.”

Charlotte’s mouth dropped in astonishment. “How on earth did you talk Hugh Voorhies into coughing up that kind of cash? The man’s so tight he squeaks when he walks.”

“I know, but he’s crazy about Mama. He likes to complain about her dolls, but he’d do anything to keep her happy.”

“Ain’t that the damn truth? I’d really love to know that woman’s secret. I’m serious,” Charlotte said when Claire chuckled. “Think about it, Claire. She smokes like a furnace, cusses like a sailor, dresses like a cheap whore and yet she always has some man crazy over her. I can’t even get a date for my boss’s fund-raiser on Saturday night. How does she do it?”

“She’s Lucille.”

They waited for traffic to clear, then crossed the street and turned up Conti. Claire could smell the river behind them. The rain had cooled the air, and the lights coming on in the early twilight looked like a turn of the century French painting. It was the kind of soft, dreamy afternoon that made her glad she’d come back to New Orleans after the flood. Not that she would ever seriously consider living anywhere else. She was third generation. Her grandmother had been born and raised in the same house that Claire now owned.

“I’ve been giving the matter a lot of thought,” Charlotte said as she looped her arm through Claire’s. Her silk blouse clung damply to her small breasts, but she didn’t seem to care anymore. “I’m Lucille’s daughter. I must have inherited a little of…whatever it is that she’s got, so why am I still alone?”

“You’re asking me? The sister with two failed marriages?”

“Don’t say that. Your second divorce isn’t final yet.”

“Yes, but the waiting period is merely a formality.”

“It doesn’t have to be. Just say the word and Alex would move back home in a flash.”

Claire looked away, shook her head. “It’s too late for that.”

“It’s never too late. And a man like Alex Girard doesn’t come along every day. Take it from me, the world is full of losers, but then…I guess you already know that, don’t you? Having been married to the biggest asshole of all time.”

“Charlotte.”

Claire’s rebuke brought her sister’s chin up in defiance. “Well, I’m sorry. I know we’re not supposed to talk about Dave Creasy, but I can’t help it. I’m never going to forgive him for what he did to you. Never.”

“It’s ancient history. Let it go.”

Charlotte’s mouth thinned. “If only that were true. But he’s the reason you could never fully commit to Alex. Don’t even bother to deny it, because I know you better than you know yourself.”

“Then you must also know that I don’t want to talk about either of my ex-husbands,” Claire replied in exasperation. “I just want to spend the rest of the day shopping with my sister.”

“Okay, I’ll make you a deal then. I won’t mention he-who-shall-remain-nameless for at least, oh, another twenty-four hours if you’ll agree to come with me to the fund-raiser on Saturday night.”

“Why in the world would you even want me there? I’m terrible at parties.”

“I know you are, but that’s kind of the point. Now that you’re single, you need to get out more. You spend way too much time puttering around alone in that old house. It’s just not healthy. But…” Charlotte’s expression turned contrite. “I do have an ulterior motive. If I show up at the fund-raiser by myself, people will know I couldn’t get a date. If I bring you, they’ll think I’m a good sister trying to help you through a rough patch.”

“You’re shameless.”

“And desperate,” Charlotte freely admitted. “So what do you say? Will you go? Claire?”

But Claire barely heard her. Mignon’s Collectibles was just across the street, and her gaze was fixed on the doll in the front window. Attired in a pink ruffled dress and black patent leather Mary Janes, she was seated at a tiny table decorated with a miniature tea set.

The doll’s face was so cleverly sculpted and painted that Claire had to stare for several moments before convincing herself that she wasn’t seeing a beautiful child seated at the table.

A child who looked exactly like Ruby.

Claire’s heart started to race as she stared at the doll. She tried to tell herself that the sighting of the teenager earlier had triggered her imagination. Ruby was already on her mind.

But the golden hair. That sweet smile. The little ruffled dress…

She put a trembling hand to her mouth.

“Claire, are you all right? You’re as pale as a ghost. What happened? Are you sick? I knew we should have stopped for something to eat—”

“That doll,” Claire said hoarsely. She couldn’t look away from it.

Charlotte turned toward the store. “The one at the little table?”

“Charlotte, it’s her.”

“You mean the one you want to get Lucille?”

Claire grabbed her sister’s arm. “Don’t you see it?”

Charlotte frowned at Claire’s harsh tone. “For God’s sake, see what?”

“That doll looks just like Ruby.”

“Ruby? Oh, honey, no. It’s just the hair. All those blond curls—”

“It’s not the hair,” Claire whispered. “Look at her face. Her smile. Even the dress. It looks like the one Mama made Ruby for her birthday. She had it on the day she disappeared.”

Fear flickered in Charlotte’s eyes as she glanced back at the shop window. “It’s just a pink ruffled dress. They all look the same—”

“No, they don’t!” Claire said desperately. “Mama had that fabric special ordered. It can’t be a coincidence.”

Charlotte turned slowly toward her sister. “Claire, what are you saying?”

“I’m saying that doll is the spitting image of my missing daughter. That dress is identical to the one she had on when she disappeared.”

Charlotte bit her lip. “We both know that’s not possible. It’s just a doll. It’s not Ruby. Claire, wait!”

But Claire had already dashed into the street. Oblivious to the traffic, she kept her gaze fixed on the shop window. The closer she got, the harder her heart pounded. The doll did look like Ruby. It wasn’t her imagination.

“Claire!”

Behind her, she heard Charlotte scream her name at the exact moment she spotted the oncoming car out of the corner of her eye.

It happened so quickly, Claire didn’t have time to panic. The squeal of brakes barely registered a split second before the impact knocked her off her feet. She landed with a metallic thud on the hood and rolled off, hitting the pavement with such force the breath was knocked from her lungs.

She lay on her back, so stunned she couldn’t move, as a crowd began to gather around her. Charlotte reached her first and dropped to her knees beside her.

“Someone call 911!” She grabbed Claire’s hand. “Oh, God, Claire, are you all right?”