The Dollmaker

her, but he made sure he didn’t cramp her space as he watched her in the darkness. She’d changed clothes since she left the cabin earlier, and he thought he could smell her shampoo in the breeze. It was sweet, like honeysuckle.

“I went to see Alex tonight.” She turned, and their eyes met briefly before she glanced away.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

She lifted a hand to the back of her neck. “No. That’s not why I came all the way out here. I want you to tell me about Savannah Sweete.”

“I would have called you in the morning.”

“I know, but I didn’t want to wait. I don’t want to think about anything else right now. I just want to find that doll.”

“I’ll tell you what I know, but it’s not much. Like I said earlier, she lives about thirty miles south of Houma, near Tiber. I drove by her place yesterday, but I couldn’t get in to see her. The gate across the property was locked, so I went back to town and asked around about her. Your information seems to be pretty accurate. She’s an artist who specializes in portrait dolls, and they can run as high as two or three thousand dollars.”

“Is that all the information you could get?”

“Pretty much. You were right about the accident, too. She’s confined to a wheelchair and hardly ever leaves her house. The people I talked to seemed pretty protective of her, but when I explained the situation to the parish sheriff, he said he’d have a word with her nephew, see about getting us in to meet her. He even offered to drive out there with us if we need him to.”

Clare glanced up at him. “We?”

“I’d like to be there when you talk to her. If that’s okay with you.”

“I don’t know, Dave. I’m not so sure that’s a good idea anymore.”

“Isn’t that why you came to me in the first place? You wanted me to help you find the doll. What’s changed?”

She paused, glanced out at the darkness, and said softly, “We’ve changed.”

He looked at her standing there, and suddenly he couldn’t breathe.

She turned away, but he could still see her profile. Her face looked pale and fragile, but her backbone was ramrod straight as she gazed out at the trees. Her hair was pinned up in back and the moonlight glistened along her creamy skin. And at that moment, Dave would have cut off his arm with a butter knife for one brief touch of that smooth neck.

“I lied,” she said softly. “I didn’t come out here to talk about Savannah Sweete. The truth is, I don’t know why I came.”

He swallowed. “It doesn’t matter. I’m glad you’re here.”

“Dave…”

The way she said his name sent a shiver down his backbone. He stood silently, a strange humming inside him. It was as if every nerve ending in his body had suddenly come to life after years of lying dormant. He reached up, brushed the softness of her cheek with his fingertips, and she trembled.

Afterward, she went into the bathroom to dress. She came back out wearing only her shirt and panties, and as she perched on the edge of the bed, Dave reached out and drew his finger down her backbone. She was so beautiful to look at, and her skin was like warm silk. Her hair had fallen loose from the pins and hung in tangled curls about her shoulders.

She shivered at his touch and glanced at him over her shoulder. “Believe it or not, I didn’t come out here with that in mind.”

He sat up in bed and propped himself against a pillow. “Sadly, I do believe that.”

She smiled. “I should probably finish getting dressed and go home now.”

“It’s late and it’s a long drive back to New Orleans. You’re here now. You may as well spend the night.”

“I don’t think that’s such a good idea, do you?”

“It’s a fine idea. You crawl back into bed and I’ll go downstairs and sleep on the couch.”

“You’d do that for me?”

“After all the shit I’ve put you through, I’d say a good night’s sleep is the least I owe you.”

She lay down on the bed facing him. He brushed the hair from her shoulders and slid his hand down her arm. Her body had changed in seven years. She was thinner than he remembered, and her skin was so pale, as if she no longer spent any time in the sun. But her subtle curves fascinated him. She was an intriguing stranger who had once been his wife.

She watched him for a moment. “I feel as if I should say something.”

“There’s really no need.”

“Maybe there is. I don’t mean to be blunt, but I’m not looking to start anything back up with you, Dave.”

He tried not to wince. “I never thought you were.”

She pillowed her head on one arm. “I’ve been married more than half my life. I think it’s time I try being alone for a while.”

“Take it from me, being alone isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”

“You seem to be doing okay.”

“I’m always just one bad day away from another bender. We both know that.”

“Dave—”

“I put you through hell when we were married, Claire. I’m not delusional. I wouldn’t wish me on my worst enemy.”

“I guess I wouldn’t, either.” Her eyes were sober, and then she smiled and leaned over to kiss him gently on the mouth. “But you do have your moments.”

Twenty-Six

Matthew opened his bedroom door and crept into the hallway. The wooden floor in his aunt’s old house creaked beneath his bare feet, and he froze, breathless and terrified that she had heard him.

After a moment, when nothing happened, he continued down the corridor toward the stairway. Her bedroom was at the top of the stairs, and as he stole past her door, he heard the murmur of voices coming from inside.

That wasn’t unusual. In the weeks since Father had brought Matthew here to live with Savannah, she’d had a number of nighttime visitors. Matthew could always tell when company was on the way because she would make him go up to his room for the rest of the evening. He hadn’t minded at first. The house was old and creepy, and he had begun to think of his room as a haven. But he soon grew restless and bored with the few toys that Father had packed for him, and he longed for someone his own age to play with. But what he wanted more than anything was for Mama to come and take him away from here. He’d prayed every single night for that to happen, but he was beginning to lose faith. It had been so long now since she’d gone away.

The floor creaked and he paused again outside his aunt’s room. This time, he thought she surely must have heard him, but instead of coming to the door, she raised her voice in anger. Matthew thought at first she was yelling at him, but then he realized her rage was directed at someone in her room. The voices were so loud, he couldn’t help but overhear.

“…gives me the creeps the way he skulks around at all hours. How much longer do you expect me to keep him here?”

“Until I find a house and get settled in my new position. It won’t be that much longer. Where’s your compassion? He’s your sister’s child, your own flesh and blood.”

Matthew went completely still, his veins icing as he recognized the other voice. Father! He hadn’t been back since he’d dropped Matthew off weeks ago. That was the only good thing about being here. Father did not come home every night.