The Dollmaker. Amanda Stevens

stiffly to the bathroom and washed her face with cold water, then took stock of the damage. A bandage covered the cut on her hand, and when she tugged up her hospital gown, she discovered a bruise the size of a basketball on her left hip and thigh where the car had struck her.

      In spite of how she looked and felt, she would have checked herself out of the hospital, no matter how vehemently Charlotte and the nurses argued, if she thought she could even make it to the elevators. But considering the way her legs trembled from the short walk to the bathroom, the prospect of escape tonight seemed doubtful. By the time she made it back to her bed, she was shaking all over and perspiring.

      Sitting on the edge of the bed, she eased herself under the covers and collapsed against the pillow just as the door opened and a nurse came bustling into the room, her dark eyes striking against her pale skin.

      “You should have pushed the call button for help,” she scolded.

      “I’m okay.”

      “Your family is in the waiting room just down the hall.” The nurse picked up Claire’s wrist and timed her pulse. “They asked me to let them know when I’m finished so they can come back in. But if you’d rather, I can tell them you need your rest.”

      “Have you met my mother? She doesn’t discourage so easily.”

      “Oh, I’ve met her all right.” The nurse strapped the blood pressure cuff around Claire’s arm and pumped it up. “Everyone on this floor has met her by now. She’s a real pistol, that one.”

      “To say the least.”

      The nurse noted Claire’s vitals on the chart, then looked up with a smile. “Anything I can get for you? Do you need something for pain?”

      “I don’t want to take anything else just yet.”

      “That’s up to you. But if you get too uncomfortable, let me know. And if you need help getting up to go to the bathroom, push the call button. I don’t want to come in here and find you collapsed on the floor.”

      Claire nodded.

      “You’ve missed dinner, but I could find you a tray if you’re hungry.”

      “No, thanks, I couldn’t eat a bite.”

      “Okay. I’ll be back in a little while to check on you.” The nurse paused at the door. “What’s the verdict? Shall I send your mother back in?”

      “If you must.”

      The nurse grinned. “To tell you the truth, I’d be afraid not to.”

      “There’s no point in you two staying here all night,” Claire told her mother and sister a little while later. “You should just go home and get some sleep.”

      “I’m not going anywhere.” Charlotte folded her arms as she stared down at Claire. “I have a feeling the minute my back is turned, you’ll try to get up out of that bed. You heard what the doctor said. You have a concussion. You need to rest quietly for at least twenty-four hours.”

      “I can rest at home.”

      “Claire, listen to your sister.” Her mother bent over the bed and tucked the sheet around Claire’s shoulders. “We’re not going anywhere, so you just lie there and let us take care of you.”

      “But you know I don’t like to be fussed over.”

      “Like it or not, that’s what happens when you get hit by a car.” Lucille Doucett patted the nest of blond curls piled on top of her head, then her hand came down to rest on a hip bone sharp enough to slice meat.

      After Charlotte had called her from the emergency room, Lucille had dropped everything to rush straight over to the hospital, barely taking the time to smear on lipstick and slide her feet into the three-inch high heels she always favored. But her hair and clothes were a mess. The neck of her T-shirt was stretched out of shape and her jeans were a size too small even on her slight frame. She hadn’t gained weight since she’d bought them; she wore them that way on purpose, with the legs rolled up to show off the gator tooth that hung on a gold chain around her left ankle.

      “You’re still trembling, honey. Are you cold?” She unfolded the blanket at the foot of the bed and pulled it up.

      Claire sighed in resignation. “No, Mama, I’m fine. I just want to get out of here so I can go back to the shop and find out about that doll.”

      Lucille and Charlotte exchanged a glance over Claire’s bed, and she frowned. “Please don’t look at each other like that. I’m not crazy.”

      “No one said anything about you being crazy, hon.”

      “No, but you’re both thinking it.” Claire turned to Charlotte. “I never should have let you talk me into getting into that ambulance.”

      “Well, it’s not like you had a choice in the matter. You weren’t even conscious when the paramedics arrived. You’re hurt, Claire. A lot worse than you want to admit.”

      “But what if something happens to the doll before I can get back to the store? What if she’s sold—”

      “Hush now.” Lucille rubbed Claire’s arm. “Don’t worry about that tonight. You just do as the doctor said and get some rest.”

      Claire turned her head toward the window and watched the lightning. “You don’t believe me, do you, Mama?”

      “What a thing to say. Of course I believe you.”

      “Then why are you and Charlotte still here? Why haven’t you gone to that shop to see the doll for yourself?”

      “Because my main concern at the moment is you, baby girl.”

      “But if you really believed me, you’d be moving heaven and earth to find out where that doll came from.”

      “Claire, honey—”

      “I’m not crazy, Mama, and I’m not imagining things. The doll in that window was the spitting image of Ruby. Charlotte saw her, too.”

      Her sister’s gaze wavered and she looked away.

      Claire said angrily, “Why are you acting this way, Charlotte? Just tell Mama what you saw.”

      “I can’t.” Charlotte’s cheeks were flushed with emotion. “I can’t tell her what you want me to because I didn’t get a good look. And I don’t see how you did, either. All I could tell was that the doll had curly blond hair. She wore a pink ruffled dress. She might have looked a little like Ruby, but even if she was the spitting image as you claim, it doesn’t mean—”

      “That Ruby’s still alive? I know that. But it has to mean something.”

      Charlotte let out a long breath. “Maybe it does, I don’t know. But I hate seeing you get your hopes up like this. It’s been seven years.”

      Claire glanced back out at the rain. “I know how long it’s been. Right down to the day, the hour, the very minute that I first noticed her missing.”

      “I know you do.” Charlotte bit her lip. Tears shone in her eyes. “I know how much you still miss her. I miss her, too. Not a day goes by that I don’t think about her.”

      “Then stop fighting me on this. There’s a doll out there that looks like my missing daughter. Help me find out why.”

      When Charlotte didn’t answer right away, Lucille rushed to fill the silence. “Claire, you know we’d do anything for you, don’t you?”

      “Will you go look at the doll with me?” Claire clutched her mother’s hand. “Mama, you have to see her. She looks exactly like Ruby, right down to that little pink dress you made for her seventh birthday. You remember it, don’t you? The one with the little white flowers?”

      “Of course I remember it. I worked my fingers to the bone on all that embroidery.”

      “She