Amanda Stevens - The Dollmaker

“What do you do with the questionnaires once the doll is finished?” Dave asked.

“I have a file for each project. Everything goes into a folder.”

“Including the photographs?”

“Unless the client requests they be returned.”

“Where do you keep your files?”

“My nephew helps me out with the paperwork. I used to keep everything in the attic, but he was afraid all those boxes might catch fire and I would be trapped in the house. So he rented a storage place in town and keeps everything there.”

“Would it be possible for us to go through some of those files?” Dave asked.

“I’m sure that could be arranged, but I would need to speak to Matthew about it first. We’re very close. He lived with me for a while as a child, and he’s still very protective of me. If he thought you were trying to somehow implicate me in a kidnapping, I’m afraid he wouldn’t be very cooperative. So I think it’s best if I smooth the way. Besides, I don’t even have a key to the place. And I should probably warn you that without a name or a date, you’ll be searching for a needle in a haystack.”

“It’s still worth a try,” Claire said.

Savannah nodded. “I can see how important this is to you, so I’ll speak to my nephew as soon as possible. I don’t know if the sheriff told you or not, but Matthew is the town doctor. He’s cut back on his office hours, though, so he may even have time to go through some of the boxes himself.”

Claire stood. “We’ll appreciate anything you can do. Thank you so much for agreeing to see us this morning.”

“Oh, my dear, there’s no need to thank me. As I mentioned, I rarely receive visitors, but when I heard a missing child was involved…what else could I do?”

She followed them into the foyer. “I do hope you find out something soon. And I must say, you’ve aroused my curiosity about that doll.”

Dave handed her his card. “As soon as you hear from your nephew, please give me a call at that number so we can set up a time to meet.”

Claire scribbled her home number on the back of one of the gallery’s cards and gave it to Savannah, as well. “In case you can’t get in touch with one of us right away, you can leave a message and we’ll call you back.”

The woman took both cards and rolled to the door to see them out.

At the bottom of the steps, Clare glanced back. Savannah Sweete was still in the doorway and lifted her hand to wave goodbye. She stared after them for a long time, then closed the door.

A little while later, Dave stood on his porch steps as Claire drove away. The car disappeared around a bend, the sound of the engine faded through the trees, but he remained motionless as the dust settled on the dirt road. Then he turned and went inside the house, fixed a glass of soda over ice and carried it into his office.

He hadn’t talked to Titus since the night before, and now he was anxious to find out how news of Clive Nettle’s arrest was hitting the police department. He picked up the phone, then set it back down when he heard a car pull up in his driveway.

Thinking it might be Claire returning for some reason, he got up and went out to the porch. But the rusted-out Camaro parked beneath the oak tree wasn’t her car, and the scrawny woman who climbed out was most definitely not Claire. She strode across the yard, cigarette dangling from her mouth and flip-flops slapping against her feet.

She wore jeans and a blue tank top that dipped low over a sunken chest. Her skin was deeply tanned and she wore no makeup on a face that was too hard, too thin and too grim. Her hair was straight and dirty blond, and she wore it parted in the middle and tucked behind her ears.

Dave opened the screen door and stepped out. “Can I help you?”

She took the cigarette out of her mouth and Dave noticed she was missing a tooth. “Are you Dave Creasy?”

“Yeah, that’s me. Who are you?”

She flicked ashes into the dirt. “My name’s Desiree Choate. Are you the guy that’s been asking around about a doll?”

“Yeah, that’s right.”

“My cousin owns the gas station in Tiber. He said you came by the other day and left your card. That’s how I knew where to find you.”

“What can I do for you, Ms. Choate?”

“Desiree.” She brushed a strand of hair from her face. She was probably no more than thirty, but she had the haggard demeanor and defeated eyes of a woman who had never caught a decent break. Dave had known women like her all his life. “It said on your card that you’re a private investigator.”

“That’s right.”

“The way I heard it, you’re trying to locate a doll that looks like a missing kid.” She paused, her gaze meeting his. “Do you look for people, too?”

He smiled. “Most of the time, yeah.”

She exhaled smoke into the light that spangled down through the oak trees. “You’re trying to find a doll. I’m trying to track down my old man. Maybe we can help each other out.”

“You know something about the doll I’m looking for?”

“I’ve seen it. But that’s all I’m saying until you agree to help me.”

“Maybe you’d better come inside then.” Dave opened the screen door and moved back so that she could step up on the porch. She followed him into the house and he motioned toward the office. “Go in and take a seat. Would you like something to drink?”

She looked hot and thirsty, but she shook her head. The cigarette still smoldered between her fingers, and she looked around for a place to put it out. Dave shoved an ashtray in front of her. She ground out the butt, then tried to wave away the smoke with her hand. “Sorry about that.”

“No problem.” He sat down behind the desk. “Where did you see the doll and how do you know it’s the one I’m looking for?”

“I’ll tell you everything just as soon as I’m satisfied you’ll help me out with Travis.”

“Who’s Travis?”

“The guy I live with.”

“Is he missing?”

“I don’t know if he’s missing or just laid up drunk somewhere. That’s what I need you to find out for me.”

Dave nodded. “All right. I’ll do what I can. I’ll need to ask you some questions, but first you tell me what you know about the doll.”

“Like I said before, I think I’ve seen the one you’re looking for. Curly blond hair. Blue eyes. Looks damn near like a real kid.”

“Where did you see it?”

“One night last week. I worked a double shift at the nursing home, and when I got off, Travis kept asking me if I knew anything about dolls, the kind people collect and pay a lot of money for. I told him the only doll I ever owned was an old Barbie that my mama bought for me at a yard sale one time. So Travis gets on the Internet and starts looking up some stuff. People don’t give him much credit, but he’s pretty smart that way. Anyway, he copies down all these names and addresses of shops in New Orleans where he thinks he can sell this doll.”

“Did he say where he got the doll?”

“No, but knowing Travis the way I do, I’m pretty sure how he got it. He’s real bad to steal. It’s like he can’t help himself or something. I’m not making excuses for him, that’s just the way he is.”

“What did he do with the doll after he showed it to you?”

“He shoved it under the bed, and you know what? After a while, I got to thinking that I could hear that damn thing’s heartbeat, that’s how bad it creeped me out. I can’t explain it except that it was just so real-looking. After a while, it started getting to Travis, too. Kind of took the wind out of his sails that night, if you know what I mean. By the time he left for New Orleans the next day, we were both jumpy as all get-out.”