Amanda Stevens - The Dollmaker

“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?”

Claire tried to answer, but she couldn’t speak. She could do nothing but stare up at the sky as raindrops splashed against her face.

Mignon Bujold had planned to close the shop early so that she could drive out to Jefferson Parish and surprise her little granddaughter with an early birthday present. The big day wasn’t until Sunday, but Mignon would be attending a huge doll show in Baton Rouge all weekend long, and if she didn’t see Piper today, the child would have to wait until Tuesday for her gift. And if past experience was any indication, the exhibition would be so hectic, Mignon might not even get the chance to call. She’d hate for Piper to worry that her grandmaman had forgotten her birthday entirely.

Thinking about the goodies she’d bought for her youngest granddaughter, Mignon smiled in anticipation. She loved both of Lily’s children dearly, but the oldest, MacKenzie, was such a tomboy that Mignon couldn’t spoil her with all the girlie things she so adored. But four-year-old Piper was a real little princess. She lived for her grandmother’s lavish gifts.

Mignon fingered the silver ribbon on the package. The Mori Lee dress and the Queen Tatiana doll were both extravagances, but at least she hadn’t succumbed to her initial temptation and given the child the Savannah Sweete doll. She might be a doting grandmother, but she was also a savvy businesswoman, and she’d recognized what a gold mine that doll would be the moment she first set eyes on her.

And Mignon’s instincts were dead-on, as usual. Not only had a bidding war erupted between two private collectors, but the electronic newsletter she’d hastily sent out to her mailing list had generated a steady stream of customers all afternoon. Business had been so brisk that she might not be able to close early, after all. But it couldn’t be helped. She was not one to turn away customers, especially with the shop just now starting to show a profit since the devastation of the flood.

When the store finally emptied just after five, Mignon headed for the door to lock up. But a commotion on the street drew her to the window, and she stood staring out at the revolving red and blue lights that reflected off the wet pavement. The area was suddenly crowded with policemen, paramedics and rubberneckers gawking at a woman who lay motionless on the street in front of a light blue sedan.

Good heavens, Mignon thought, and hastily crossed herself. First that ghastly murder only a few blocks away last night, and now this.

The woman had obviously been struck while crossing the intersection. Mignon could see one of the patrolmen taking a statement from the distraught driver of the vehicle, while another officer stood nearby, talking into a radio.

At least the poor woman hadn’t been the victim of a hit-and-run like the one that had put Savannah Sweete in a wheelchair all those years ago.

Ever since Mignon acquired the doll in the window, Savannah Sweete had been on her mind. She’d met the artist once, but it had been so long ago, she doubted that Savannah would even remember. However, for Mignon, the encounter had been the highlight of her career. She’d been a devoted fan for years and, along with the rest of the doll-collecting community, had been shocked and distressed to hear of Savannah’s accident.