Amanda Stevens - The Dollmaker

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?”