скачать книгу бесплатно
“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?”
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.
Four
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.
Mignon remembered the doll maker as beautiful and gregarious, but from everything she’d heard, the accident had turned her into a recluse. And even though her dolls were still exquisitely sculpted and painted and remained highly coveted, the artistry in her creations had never been quite the same. Mignon would bet her teacher’s retirement fund that the doll in the window had been sculpted before the accident. She was that perfect.
Turning away from the sirens and flashing lights, Mignon sent up a prayer for the victim as she reached for the sign in the window. Before she could flip it to Closed, however, the bells over the door tinkled, and she chided herself for not being quicker. She could always turn the customer away, of course, but that wouldn’t be good business. So instead, she shrugged off her impatience and plastered a welcoming smile on her face.
Most of her regulars were women, but there were enough male collectors in the area that she wasn’t too surprised to see a man walk through the door. What did take her aback was his appearance. She’d rarely encountered anyone so…arresting.
The round, wire-rimmed glasses perched on a rather delicate nose gave him a scholarly appearance, even as the full lips hinted at an unexpected sexuality. Blondish-brown curls fell across a high forehead, and a white orchid adorned the lapel of his dark jacket. But rather than detracting from his subtle masculinity, the exotic flower somehow suited him.
He gave a courteous little bow as their gazes met, and Mignon’s grandmotherly heart fluttered with awareness.
“Hello,” she said with an indrawn breath. “Can I help you?”
“Yes, I hope so. I’m interested in one of your dolls.”
His cultured voice sent another shiver up her spine. “Let me guess, you’ve come to see the latest Queen Tatiana collection.”
“No, as a matter of fact, I’m interested in the Savannah Sweete in the window.”
Ah, a collector. And one who knew his stuff. “She’s a beauty, isn’t she? Savannah Sweete is undoubtedly the most talented doll artist working today, but I suppose I could be a bit biased. She’s a native Louisianan and we do tend to brag on our own.”
“How much is she?”
“I’m sorry, she’s already sold.”
One brow lifted. “Really? I would have assumed since you have her so prominently displayed—”
“I haven’t had a chance to remove her from the window yet.”
He sighed. “I don’t suppose you would consider another offer.”
“No, I’m sorry. A deal is a deal. But I could show you something else. The Queen Tatiana—”
“I’m only interested in the one doll.”
Mignon gave him another apologetic smile. “Then I can’t help you.”
She expected him to turn and leave, but instead he took a step toward her. Mignon saw something in his eyes then that the glasses had previously masked. A coldness that made her shiver.
“You’ll have to excuse me,” she said. “I was just about to close up.”
“I won’t keep you. If you could just tell me from whom you acquired the doll…?”
Mignon frowned. “I’m afraid I can’t divulge that information. Now if you’ll please excuse me—”
“Then perhaps you’d rather talk to the police.”
The police? Oh, dear Lord…
Her hand flew to her chest. “What do you mean?”
“The doll was recently stolen from my private collection.”
Mignon’s heart sank. She’d known something was fishy about the doll when the other man couldn’t produce the certificate of authenticity. She should have listened to her gut, because her greed and carelessness had brought this strange man to her shop. And now Mignon’s instincts were warning her again. But she wouldn’t let him see her fear. She somehow knew that would be a mistake.
Her voice sharpened. “You can prove ownership? You have the certificate of authenticity or a receipt of some kind?”
“I have something better than that.” He reached in his pocket and pulled out a photograph of a child who bore a striking resemblance to the doll.
Mignon’s eyes fastened on the picture. For a moment she couldn’t tear her gaze away, and her uneasiness faded. “What a beautiful child. Your daughter?”
“A childhood friend.” His lips curled grotesquely, in a smile that made Mignon’s skin crawl. And his eyes…they were so…empty. They didn’t even look real.
“I’m sorry,” she said, and was annoyed when she heard her voice tremble. “If the doll really does belong to you, then perhaps this is a matter for the police….”
She trailed off when he whirled and headed for the door. He’d forgotten his picture, but Mignon didn’t call him back. She slipped the photograph into her pocket and kept silent, glad to be rid of him.
But instead of leaving, he locked the door, drew the shade over the window and slowly turned back to face her.
He was still smiling.
Mignon backed away from him, but when she saw what he held in his hand, she spun and tried to run. He was so much younger and so much quicker, however. He grabbed her and pulled her roughly to him. She started to whimper.
“Stop it! Stop that racket this instant, do you hear me?”
Mignon nodded and swallowed a sob. “Don’t hurt me. Take the doll and whatever else you want, but please don’t hurt me.”
“Hush, now,” he crooned as one hand feathered over her hair. “It’s okay.”
