The Dollmaker. Amanda StevensЧитать онлайн книгу.
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