The Dollmaker. Amanda Stevens

deep voice said from the doorway, “Is this a private party or can anyone join in?”

      The room went still as Claire’s gaze connected with Alex Girard’s. He stood at the door, one hand propped on the frame as a lazy smile encompassed all three women. He looked lean and tanned, like someone who might belong to a country club. His suit was charcoal, his tie silver and his tasseled loafers were polished and buffed. That was one thing about Alex. Even on a cop’s salary, he always made sure he was well put together. He didn’t leave the house if he wasn’t.

      Claire found herself staring at him almost as if he were a stranger. They’d been married for nearly six years, but somehow she always found something about him that she hadn’t noticed before. He was an attractive man, but his dark eyes made her think of one of those fun house mirrors that didn’t always reflect reality. He was in his late thirties and already starting to look a little like his father.

      He wouldn’t want to hear that, Claire thought. Nor would he believe it. Like every other cop she’d ever known, he had a formidable ego.

      “What are you doing here, Alex?”

      He straightened from the doorway and came to stand at the foot of her bed. “My wife gets herself hit by a car, where else am I going to be?”

      Claire was on the verge of reminding him that, for all intents and purposes, she was no longer his wife, but she didn’t want to start an argument in front of her mother and sister, so she said instead, “How did you know I was here?”

      He grinned. “I’m a cop. I know everything.”

      One look at Charlotte’s guilty face, however, confirmed Claire’s suspicion. “You didn’t have to come all the way over here. I’m fine.”

      “I wanted to see that for myself.” He nodded to her mother. “Hello, Lucille.”

      “Alex.”

      “Haven’t seen you in a while. How’ve you been?”

      “Can’t complain. And you?”

      “Same old same old. Stabbings, shootings, a sliced-up tweaker in the Quarter. Just a routine week in the Big Easy.”

      “If you’re that busy maybe we shouldn’t keep you.”

      Anger flashed like quicksilver in Alex’s gray eyes. For some reason, his charm had never worked on Claire’s mother, and he couldn’t understand why. “Maybe you wouldn’t mind giving me and Claire a moment alone.”

      “That’s up to Claire.”

      “It’s okay, Mama.”

      Charlotte came over and took Lucille’s arm. “You could use a cigarette anyway, couldn’t you, Mama? And I wouldn’t mind having another cup of coffee.”

      Lucille said something under her breath, but she gathered up her purse and followed Charlotte to the door.

      Before she stepped out, she glanced over her shoulder. “I won’t go far, Claire. You need anything, you holler, hear?”

      “I will.”

      After she and Charlotte disappeared into the hallway, Alex came around to stand at the side of Claire’s bed. “What was that all about?” He jerked his head toward the door. “Lucille acts like she’s afraid to leave you alone with me.”

      “It’s not that. She’s just worried about me.”

      “Well, I’m glad to hear it.” He sat on the edge of the bed. “I know she’s never been my biggest fan, but I’d hate her to think that you’re afraid of me.”

      “She doesn’t think anything of the sort. But I still don’t understand why you’re here, Alex. You could have called to find out how I’m doing.”

      His amiable smile faltered. “Like I said, I wanted to see for myself that you’re okay.”

      “I appreciate your concern, but I’m not your responsibility anymore.”

      “Not my responsibility?” His lips pinched together as he stared down at her. “You think I can just turn off my feelings because you want me to? You think I’ll stop caring just because you’re divorcing me?”

      “We both agreed to the divorce.”

      “Because you left me no other choice. It’s not what I want and you know it.”

      Claire stared at the ceiling. Why was she letting him get to her like this? Their marriage was over. The decision had been made and it was time to move on. Time to pull the plug on all her guilt. “I don’t want to do this. Not now.”

      “I don’t want to do this, either. I didn’t come down here to fight with you, Claire. It scared the hell out of me when I heard what happened to you.”

      “I’m sorry you were worried.”

      “Nothing to be sorry about. I’m just glad you weren’t seriously hurt.” He took her hand and squeezed it. “Why don’t you tell me what happened?”

      “Are you asking as a cop?”

      “Just humor me, Claire.”

      She slipped her hand from his. “Didn’t Charlotte fill you in on the details?”

      “Her account was pretty sketchy. She said you stepped in front of a car, but I have to believe there’s more to the story than that.”

      “Not really. It was an accident. I wasn’t looking where I was going and I ran out in front of a car. It was my fault.”

      “What about the doll she said you saw in a shop window?”

      Claire heard the edge in his voice and turned her head to the window so that she wouldn’t have to see his face. Raindrops ran down the glass in tiny rivers. She watched one of the streams split in two and slide off in separate directions. “You don’t really want to hear about the doll,” she said quietly.

      He sighed. “No, I probably don’t, but why don’t you tell me about it anyway?”

      Claire kept her gaze focused on the window. “She looks exactly like Ruby.”

      “Claire.” He said her name so tenderly her eyes welled with tears. “Why are you doing this?”

      “I’m not doing anything.” Her voice trembled in spite of her resolve. “You asked about the doll and I’m telling you what I saw.”

      “You can’t keep tormenting yourself this way.”

      “That’s not what I’m doing, and even if I am, it’s no longer your concern. Just forget it, Alex.”

      “Like hell I will.” He got up from the bed and strode over to close the door. When he turned back, Claire could see the anger and frustration on his face. “Let me ask you something. When was the last time you spotted a kid that you thought looked like Ruby?”

      Claire remembered the girl she’d seen on the street earlier, and lifted her chin. “This is different.”

      “Different than what? The one you saw on the playground that you took pictures of? Different than the time you followed another little girl and her mother home from the mall? You thought she looked exactly like Ruby, too. So you got out of your car and beat on their front door until the poor woman became so frightened she called the cops. If I hadn’t gotten wind of the situation, you would have been hauled in and booked.”

      Claire listened to everything he said, and then she shrugged. “I don’t care what you think, this is different. I know what I saw.”

      He shook his head, at a loss. “I don’t know what to do anymore. I don’t know how to help you.”

      “You could try believing me.”

      “That’s the one thing I can’t do. I can’t feed this obsession of yours, Claire. I won’t. Because