time I got back. I’m not taking a chance like that again.”
“What about dinner?”
Claire grabbed her purse and keys. “Save it for me. If I leave now, I can be back by dark.”
Charlotte followed her out to the porch. “You want me to come with you?”
“No, you stay. If Dave gets her message, he may call here. You can tell him that I’ve already gone down there to look at the picture.”
“Okay, but Claire…”
She turned at the bottom of the steps. Charlotte stood on the porch, staring down at her.
“Be careful, okay?”
“I’ll be fine. Savannah Sweete is a perfectly lovely woman. There’s really no need to worry about me at all.”
The phone rang while Charlotte was putting the spaghetti sauce away. She cradled the receiver against her shoulder as she sealed the lid on the storage container and opened the refrigerator door.
“Claire?”
“No, this is Charlotte. Who’s this?”
“Dave Creasy. Could I speak to Claire, please?”
Charlotte couldn’t blame him for his guarded tone. She hadn’t exactly been cordial the last few times she’d seen him. “Claire isn’t here, but she said you might call if you got Savannah Sweete’s message.”
“What message?”
“She phoned here earlier and said that she’d found a photo of Ruby. Or at least, she thinks it could be Ruby. I guess she tried to get in touch with you first. Anyway, Claire wanted you to know that she’s on her way down there to look at the photograph.”
“She’s on her way there
Charlotte frowned at his tone. “She left a few minutes ago. Is something wrong?”
Dave hesitated. “I’m not sure. I found out some things today that concern me a little. I don’t know yet if there’s a connection to Savannah Sweete, but I’d rather Claire not go down there alone.”
“What is going on?” Charlotte demanded. “You’re making me very nervous.”
His hesitation was slight, but enough to put her on alert. “It’s probably nothing. I’ll head down that way myself, but I just left Baton Rouge. I’m at least an hour and a half away, and that’s without traffic.”
“Claire just left fifteen minutes ago, determined to find out about that doll. If I can’t reach her by phone, I’ll try to catch up with her on the road. Do you have directions to this place?”
Charlotte grabbed a pen and jotted the information Dave gave her on the back of an envelope.
“Highway 53 from Houma, then a right just before I get to Tiber.”
“There’ll be a gas station on your right,” Dave said. “The road’s not marked so you’ll have to watch for it.”
“I don’t plan on having to go that far. As soon as I hit Highway 90, I’ll catch her.”
“If you do end up going all the way to the house and something doesn’t seem right, just get Claire out of there, okay?”
Charlotte bit her lip. “You’re worried about her, aren’t you? I can hear it in your voice.”
“I’m concerned,” Dave said. “Like I said, I’d feel a lot better if she wasn’t going down there alone.”
“She won’t be for long. I’m headed out right now. Here, let me give you my cell number in case you need to call me.”
They exchanged phone numbers and then Charlotte grabbed her purse and ran out the door. She wouldn’t let herself think about that note of anxiety in Dave’s voice.
Claire would be fine. She had to be. Because Charlotte couldn’t bear to think otherwise.
Twenty-Nine
The light was fading by the time Claire made the turn at Tiber and headed down the gravel road toward Savanna Sweete’s house. The sky was lavender, and the pink clouds in the west were gilded. The sun was setting, but the air was still hot. She’d run the air conditioner for most of the way, but now she rolled her window down and the wind that rushed in was thick with the scent of the honeysuckle that grew along the fencerows. She could smell the bayou, too, and as she pulled up outside the gates, mimosa and magnolia.
She tapped her horn, and the gates swung open so quickly she found herself wondering again if Savannah had been watching for her from an upstairs window.
Claire drove through, and as she glanced in her rearview mirror, she saw the gates slowly close behind her. She didn’t know why, but she suddenly felt a prickle of apprehension as she pulled up to the house and parked.
She climbed the porch steps, knocked on the door, and almost immediately the lock clicked open, just as it had earlier that day. Claire stepped inside and glanced around. As the sun sank behind the trees, the light through the windows in the parlor turned golden, but the foyer and stairs lay in deep shadow.
She stood at the bottom of the stairs and called up. “Ms. Sweete? It’s Claire Doucett. We spoke on the phone a little while ago.”
The house remained silent.
Claire climbed a couple of steps and called up again. “Ms. Sweete? Are you up there?”
When the woman still didn’t answer, Claire stepped back down into the foyer. She was expected. She had made it clear on the phone that she was on her way there, and it seemed doubtful that the older woman would have gone out after they’d spoken.
Claire started into the parlor, but a sound from upstairs stopped her cold. Her heart thudded as she slowly turned, her gaze going to the top of the steps.
“Hello? Is someone up there?”
The sound came again, a feral grunt that lifted the hair on Claire’s neck and sent a shiver down her spine.
“Hello?” Slowly, she climbed the stairs. “Ms. Sweete? Are you up here? It’s Claire Doucett. I’m coming up. I just want to make sure you’re okay.”
There was light at the top of the stairs from a window, and as Claire moved onto the landing, she saw her.
The woman lay on the floor, her back to the stairs, one clawlike hand extended toward the elevator. The animal sounds coming from her throat chilled Claire to her core, and she found herself hesitating for a moment before she rushed to the woman’s side and bent to touch her shoulder.
The sounds grew louder and more agitated, and Claire realized she’d frightened the poor woman. She quickly drew back her hand. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. I want to help you.”
She moved around to the other side so that Savannah could see her. The older woman’s face was so thin and drawn, her eyes sunken so far back into the sockets that she looked nearly skeletal. She smelled of vomit, urine and decay. Claire put a hand to her mouth, trying to stifle a gag.
“What happened to you?” she asked in shock.
The woman grunted in response, her eyes darting back and forth as if she couldn’t focus. She wasn’t Savannah Sweete. She was much older than the woman Claire had met that morning. But who was she? And what was wrong with her?
Claire was almost afraid to touch her again. Her limbs looked as if they might snap as easily as dried twigs with even the slightest of pressure. She wore only a thin cotton nightgown, and the legs protruding from the hem were bruised and mottled.
“My God,” Claire muttered.
She started to rise, but the woman seemed to grow even more frantic, and the hand outstretched toward the elevator lifted slightly off the floor and brushed against Claire’s leg.
A tremor shot through her. “It’s okay. I won’t leave you here alone. I’ll call for help and stay with you until someone comes.”
