The Dollmaker

He knew what she meant. “I’ve stopped drinking.” He paused and shrugged. “Let me rephrase that. I’m not drinking tonight.”

“One day at a time,” she said softly.

“Always.”

Someone laughed in the crowd behind her, and Claire turned to glance over her shoulder. When her gaze came back to Dave, she smiled, and the fist around his heart tightened. “I should go find Charlotte. She promised we wouldn’t stay long, and I’m going to hold her to it.”

“Good luck with that.”

She smiled again, not his smile, but one that still tightened his chest. She lingered for a split second before giving a little head shake as if she couldn’t quite believe that they were standing face-to- face. “It was good seeing you, Dave.”

“You, too, Claire.”

She wound her way through the crowd toward the French doors, and Dave came out of the shadows so that he could watch her until she was out of sight. She moved like the ghost she was, floating in front of him one moment, gone the next, an elusive specter banished back to the past.

Dave turned away, telling himself not to go there. What he and Claire had was over. Dead. Buried. Let it rest.

But some ghosts never went away. They lingered forever, existing on the fringes of his life, wandering in and out of his dreams, materializing now and then to remind him of what he’d lost and what he could never have again.

Some ghosts would never be exorcised no matter what he did. Especially when the ghost was the only woman he’d ever loved.

“Was that Dave I saw you with on the terrace?” Charlotte asked as she came up beside Claire. “What did he want?”

“He didn’t want anything,” she said a little defensively. “I glimpsed him through the crowd and I went over to say hello. And please don’t start with me. I’m not in the mood.”

Charlotte lifted a brow at her sister’s tone. “Believe it or not, I wasn’t going to say a word.”

“I find that hard to believe, knowing your opinion on Dave.”

“Maybe I’m feeling a little more charitable tonight,” Charlotte muttered, lifting her champagne glass. She looked off across the crowd. “Did he say anything?”

“About what?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know, about what he’s doing these days. What’s he up to?”

Claire turned. “He’s reopened his P.I. office over in Morgan City, but why in the world do you care? Since when have you become so interested in Dave Creasy?”

Charlotte’s gaze was still on the crowd. “I heard his name mentioned recently in conjunction with an NOPD homicide investigation. You know how territorial cops are. I wouldn’t want him getting in over his head, that’s all.”

Claire stared at her sister for a moment. “Never mind about Dave. He can take care of himself. I want to know what’s up with you.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“You’ve been acting strange all evening. You hardly said a word when you picked me up, and then you deserted me as soon as we walked through the door. And now you actually sound worried about Dave. What’s going on with you?”

Charlotte’s gaze darted away, but not before Claire glimpsed a sheen of tears in her green eyes. “I guess I’m just feeling a little guilty tonight.”

“About what?”

“I shouldn’t have tried to discourage you about finding that doll. And then I dragged you here, after you just got out of the hospital….” She turned to Claire. “I’m a terrible sister.”

“No, you’re not. You’ve always been very supportive, and I don’t blame you for having your doubts about the doll. I know how bizarre it sounds.”

“Don’t do that,” Charlotte said almost angrily.

“Do what?”

“Excuse my behavior. You and Mama have been doing that all my life. Maybe it’s time you both take off your rose-colored glasses. I’m not a good person, Claire. I’m selfish and ambitious, and when I see something I want, I go after it, without regard to the consequences.”

“I don’t believe that for a minute. That’s not the Charlotte I know.”

“That’s just it,” she said sadly. “You don’t know me at all. And you have no idea what I’m capable of.”

She walked off then, leaving Claire to stare after her. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Dave standing just inside the terrace doorway, and when she turned, their gazes met across the room. She wondered if she should go back over to him, warn him about Charlotte’s concerns. But before she could make up her mind, he turned and disappeared into the crowd.

Sixteen

After Dave left the Hotel Monteleone, he drove to a dive off Highway 90 and sat in the parking lot, watching the neon light flicker over the doorway as he tried to convince himself he could get through the night without a drink. Best thing he could do was go home and get a good night’s sleep.

But he knew it wasn’t going to be that easy, and when he finally pulled out of the parking lot and headed for home, he decided he’d better stop by and visit with Marsilius for a while. Dave had learned the hard way that it was never a good idea to be alone when the demons were riding him as hard as they were that night.

He drove with the window rolled down, and he could smell the sugarcane out in the fields. It was a calm, still night, with only a mild breeze to stir the willows that bowed low over the water.

Turning off the main highway, he took a back way home, past an old cemetery and a few houses perched on the edge of the bayou. Water oaks arched over the road, and the moonlight that shimmered through the heavy canopy turned the Spanish moss into silver lace.

The lights were off in his uncle’s house when Dave drove by, but he hadn’t heard Marsilius mention anything about taking the boat out. Like Dave, his uncle was a night owl, and even when he didn’t have a late charter out to the oil rigs, he was often up until dawn. But tonight it looked as if he’d turned in early.

Dave decided it was just as well. Marsilius was a good guy, but he could be like a dog with a bone when he sensed Dave was hiding something. And the last thing he wanted tonight was an inquisition. Seeing Claire had left him edgy and morose. For a long time now he’d tried to convince himself that his feelings for her were dead and buried, but he’d only been fooling himself. Claire was still a part of him. She always would be, no matter how many years went by or how much they hurt each other. Even if she was married to someone else, he would always think of her as his wife.

As he pulled into the drive, he thought about heading down to the dock to see if the boat was still there. It was going to be a long night, and he figured it might be a good idea to take the Sea Ray out a few miles from shore and drop anchor, sit in the dark until the craving eased enough for him to sleep.

But come morning, he’d be right back where he’d started. All he’d done by stumbling from one drunk to the next was postpone the inevitable. And now Titus was right. It was time to pay the piper. Dave couldn’t keep running away from his problems, because sooner or later he’d have no place left to go but the grave.

His truck tires crunched on the shale drive as he parked beneath an oak tree and got out. A mild breeze stirred the wind chimes on his screened-in porch, and Dave paused on the steps to stare out at the darkness.

Past the row of pecan trees in his yard, he could see the glint of the bayou. The water was dark and still, but the night was alive with the sounds of crickets and bullfrogs, and the bushes were aglow with lightning bugs.

He watched for a moment longer before letting the screen door close behind him. Unlocking the front door, he shoved it open, then leaned out slightly to toss the key back into the flowerpot. A floorboard creaked inside the