The Bone Bride

by Tamrie Foxtail

  A bud of unease unfurled in Daira’s stomach. Maybe Lucky wasn’t too happy about being ignored.

  “Call your neighbors and all the friends you can think of. I’ll call Lucky and look through my address book for any ideas. Whoever finishes first calls the other one back.”

  Lucky claimed he hadn’t seen or talked to Misti in two or three days. But could she trust him?

  She called a few of Misti’s old friends from high school. No luck there.

  When her house phone rang, she reached for it.

  “Julie? Have you—”

  “I want the doll,” an unfamiliar voice said, enunciating each word clearly. “I get the doll. You get your sister.”

  “I…” A thousand words jammed in her throat. Tiny, inarticulate sounds were the only things that emerged.

  “Give me your cell number,” the woman said.

  Daira stuttered through the digits.

  “Start driving toward Cache. Take your cell phone. I’ll call you with further directions. If you call the police, your sister is dead. Don’t forget the doll.”

  “Let me talk to—”

  Silence.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Daira had the doll—still wrapped in a towel and tossed in a Wal-Mart bag—in one hand and her keys in the other. She ran down the driveway, ignoring the thump of the bag against her thigh. She was just a few feet from her car when Rory pulled up behind it.

  “Move!” she screamed as he opened his door and climbed out.

  “What’s wrong?” He grabbed her shoulders and gave her a little shake.

  The words that had jammed in her throat earlier poured out. He listened, his forehead creased and eyes narrowed as she told him about the search for Misti and the call from the strange woman.

  “We have to call the police,” he said when she stopped to catch her breath.

  “And tell them what? That someone I don’t know wants me to trade a cursed doll, made of human bone, for my sister? By the time I explain everything to them Misti could be dead. Besides, the woman said she’d kill Misti if I called the police. I can’t risk Misti’s life. She’s all I have, Rory.”

  “You have me.” He pointed to the SUV. “Get in. We’ll get your sister back.”

  She climbed into the passenger seat. “Go to 281.”

  The SUV swung out of the driveway.

  “Why does this woman want the doll? How does she even know about it, let alone that you have it?”

  “She knows about the doll because of the website. There’s a woman who signs her posts ‘Numbers Lady.’ I think that’s the woman on the phone. She kept asking me questions about the doll and offering to buy it. When I said I wouldn’t pass the curse along to anyone else, she called me a selfish bitch.”

  “I’m confused,” Rory said. “I know the doll’s supposed to be cursed. I just skimmed the site. What is the curse? Why would she think you’re selfish for not passing it on?”

  “According to the curse, anyone who is unfaithful to the owner of the doll will suffer. There are stories on the website about people who owned the doll in the past. It’s credited with everything from plumbing disasters to death. The only thing that breaks the curse is true love.”

  “Sounds like a Grimm’s fairy tale, or that movie with the ogre.”

  Trees passed by in a blur.

  “My mother bought the doll. A month later, her unfaithful fiancé died. After my mother’s death, I was stupid enough to keep the doll. My unfaithful fiancé died. Notice a pattern here? I’m betting Numbers Lady has been cheated on and she thinks the doll will weed out anyone who doesn’t treat her right, helping her find true love by default.”

  “There’s a sick sort of logic to that.”

  She shot him an angry glance.

  He held up one hand. “I’m not agreeing with her actions, just saying I can understand how she’s twisted her thinking to make the doll into some sort of love charm.”

  “She can have the doll and the curse. Good riddance to both. I just want my sister.”

  ****

  They were passing the Fort Sill Army base when Daira’s phone chimed, indicating a text. She checked and found a picture of Misti with duct tape over her mouth. Her sister’s eyes were huge with fear, but she didn’t appear to be hurt.

  Before she could show the picture to Rory, her cell phone rang.

  The woman gave Daira directions to a path into a wooded area. “When you get there, park your car and start walking north.”

  “Please let me talk to my sister.”

  “You can talk to her all you want as soon as I get the doll.”

  Daira closed the phone slowly, keeping it in her hand. She relayed the woman’s instructions to Rory.

  “Do you have a gun?” she asked him.

  “Yes, but not on me.”

  “I thought all ex-military carried guns.” She didn’t really expect an answer, and Rory didn’t give her one.

  She closed her eyes and said a silent prayer for her sister. Her eyes opened a moment later when she felt the SUV slow down and pull off the road.

  “Is this the place?” she asked as she slid her cell into the pocket of her jeans.

  Rory motioned with his chin to a small red car parked a few feet away. There was no driver.

  “I’m guessing that car belongs to Numbers Lady.” He gestured toward a narrow break in the trees. “There’s the path.” He laid a hand on her shoulder. “This is your last chance to involve the police.”

  She shook her head. “There isn’t time, now. And what if we did call the police? We already know this woman isn’t playing with a full deck. What if she sees the police and kills Misti? I can’t take that chance.”

  “Let’s get moving.” He opened the door.

  “Just me.”

  “No way.”

  “I have to go alone. I can’t risk anything happening to Misti.”

  “This woman kidnapped your sister because she wants a doll. Do you honestly believe she’s going to let you and Misti walk away?”

  He grabbed her by the waist, pulling her close. His mouth crushed hers. When he finally pulled back, his hands cupped her face, thumbs brushing away tears she hadn’t known were there.

  “I love you. I walked away from you once. I won’t do it again.”

  “Rory, I—”

  His fingers pressed her lips closed. “We can waste time arguing or we can start walking.”

  ****

  Janet Mabel made a slow circle around the tree. The young blonde’s hair had tangled, her mascara—blue of all things—left inky tracks down her pretty face. Her green eyes were red and puffy.

  A flare of satisfaction surfaced. The young woman, barely out of her teens, was just the type she’d always despised. Her sister probably looked just like her. What need did they have for the doll? They probably had all the men they could handle. She debated killing her now. It wasn’t like she could let the sisters live. Daira G. would want the doll back. They’d go to the police.

  No. She’d better keep little sister alive until she had the doll in her hands. It would make Daira more cooperative.

  Janet had taped the girl’s hands in front of her, the better to keep an eye on her. She’d watched too many movies where someone had worked their bound hands free.

  Thick silver duct tape bound the girl to the tree. She had finally stopped her struggles and now half-stood, half-slumped against the silver bonds.

  “Not much longer,” Janet whispered.

  The girl didn’t respond.

  Janet slid from the path into the trees.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Daira looked over her shoulder. The trees, thin and scraggly as they were, seemed to blend together. The highway, close enough she could still hear the cars as they passed, was no longer visible.

  Rory’s grip on her hand loosened. Her fingers closed tight in response. He drew to a halt and whispered in her ear.

  “You see that bend in the road?”

  She no
dded.

  “If I were Numbers Lady, that’s where I’d be. Not on the trail, but close enough to see it. She’ll have the advantage there.”

  He crossed to the opposite side of the dirt path. She shifted her gaze between the narrow track and Rory. He was different now, morphed from the teasing lover into the Marine. He moved with the quiet ease of a big cat. She could almost feel the tension in his muscles, every sense alert.

  She glanced at the plastic bag in her hand. With every step, it grew heavier. Before the day ended, would the doll demand Rory’s life, too?

  Rory began to slow, motioning with a lifted hand for her to slow as well. Tiny hairs on the back of her neck rose as her shoulders became so tense, they hurt.

  They turned the bend together. Misti appeared before them, bound to a tree like an ancient sacrifice. A scene from Braveheart flashed through her mind: Wallace’s wife bound, throat slit, head bowed.

  Daira’s own throat was made of sandpaper. Each attempt to swallow brought pain. Her lips formed Misti’s name, but no sound emerged.

  A dark-haired woman in her thirties stepped from the trees, blocking Daira’s view of Misti. The woman’s nostrils flared, and her upper lip rose in a half-snarl. “I knew I shouldn’t trust you. I said no cops.” The gun in her right hand swung toward Misti.

  Rory raised his hands, shoulder high, palms out. “I’m not a cop. I’m not armed. You can pat me down if you like.”

  “You think I’m stupid? If I get that close, you’ll go for the gun.”

  “I’m not a cop,” he repeated. “I’m Daira’s fiancé. The doll brought us together.”

  Her face became almost radiant. “I knew it!” She used the gun to motion toward the bag. “Take it out. I want to see it.”

  Daira pulled the doll from the bag, unwrapped it, and tossed the towel on the ground. It was the first time she’d touched the doll since learning it was made from human bone. She held it up for the other woman to see.

  “It’s smaller than I expected,” the woman said. “It’s so beautiful. Do you have any idea how many women have been helped throughout the years by this doll? Set it down, then walk backwards until I tell you to stop.”

  Daira placed the doll on the ground and took a small step back, her eyes locked on Misti. Her sister raised her head.

  Misti’s eyes half-opened. A thin line of blood, leading from her temple to the corner of one eye, had dried. Tears and mascara merged to form a watery abstract beneath her eyes. A swatch of duct tape covered her mouth.

  “You can have the doll,” Daira said. “Just give me back my sister.”

  Numbers Lady tilted her head to one side as if considering the idea. “You’ll follow me and take the doll back.”

  “You can tape me up,” Rory offered. “Take my car keys. By the time Daira gets us free, you’ll be long gone, and we won’t have the means to follow you.”

  Daira held her breath. Would she go for it? If she got close enough to Rory to wrap him in duct tape, he could take the gun from her. Couldn’t he?

  Numbers Lady laughed. “Do I look stupid? How am I supposed to hold a gun on the two of you and immobilize you at the same time? Although I could have Daira tape you up.”

  Rory shifted his weight. The barrel of the gun swung toward his chest.

  “Stop!”

  “I thought you wanted us to move back,” he said.

  “You weren’t moving back. You were moving to the side. I know what you’re thinking. You’re going to move away from her so I can’t keep the gun on both of you.” She smiled. “If I shoot you, I don’t have to worry about you.”

  Daira didn’t know how much longer her legs would hold her up. The crazy woman’s eyes were fever bright, her thin mouth curved in a malevolent smile. She had the feeling the woman might actually enjoy shooting Rory.

  “Please let my sister go.” She held back a sigh of relief when the gun moved from Rory to her.

  The woman shook her head. Misti made a garbled sound as she began struggling to free herself.

  Numbers Lady shouted without turning around. “Stop it. If you keep fighting, I’ll shoot Daira.” Misti’s struggles came to a halt.

  The woman moved the gun to Rory’s chest.

  “Why are you doing this?” Daira asked. “I’ll give you the doll.”

  She kept the gun pointed at Rory, although her eyes shifted to Daira for a brief moment.

  “I was always the homely girl,” she said. “The one no one asked out. My sisters always had boyfriends. They got married. My friends got married. I’m tired of being alone.”

  Daira thought the woman’s single status probably had little to do with her looks. She was attractive. The men had most likely sensed her mental instability.

  “I thought David loved me,” the woman said. “He told me he did. Then I caught him with that whore.” Her voice lowered with a sneaky-sounding pride. She smiled at Rory.

  “He’ll never cheat on a woman again, and his whore won’t be stealing any more boyfriends.”

  “Did you kill them?” Daira asked. If she had killed before, how much easier would it be to pull the trigger this time?

  Her voice grew angry again. “Don’t be feeling sorry for them. They got what they deserved.” She used the gun to motion to the doll, still in the bag. “The doll will make sure it never happens again.”

  “The doll’s made of human bone,” Daira said. “It’s cursed.”

  The gun moved back to Daira. “Not cursed. Blessed.” She steadied her aim. “It’s a shame to do this when you’ve just found true love, but if I don’t kill you, you’ll tell the police. They’ll take the doll from me, and I’ll never—”

  Rory lunged to his left. Numbers Lady whipped the gun toward him.

  The roar of a gunshot merged with Daira’s scream.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Rage shot through Daira. She had lost Rory for twenty years. She couldn’t bear to lose him again.

  She launched before she had time to think. The heels of both hands slammed into the woman’s chest. An explosion sounded near her left ear.

  She grabbed the woman’s shoulders and dashed her hard against the ground. Another shot sounded. She continued banging the woman’s head against the ground. The gun dropped from her hand. Her mouth was open, her eyes closed.

  Daira sat on her opponent’s stomach, stunned by her own actions.

  “Dare.” Pain laced Rory voice, but it was still the most beautiful sound she’d ever heard. She climbed off the dead woman and ran to him, kneeling at his side. Blood bubbled from a wound in his chest.

  “Thirty-eight,” he mumbled. “Not a round I ever expected to get hit with.”

  She pressed both hands against the injury. “Don’t die,” she begged. Tears blurred her vision as she tried to focus on his eyes. “I love you. I’ve always loved you. All these years I compared every man to you. None of them could come close.”

  “Love you,” he whispered, a bloody smear on his lips.

  Keeping the heel of one hand pressed against the hole in his chest, she fished her cell phone from her pocket. Her hand was slippery with blood, and it took her two tries to open the phone. Crimson smeared the numbers as she dialed.

  Epilogue

  One month later

  Daira stood on a flat rock, looking out over Mount Scott. Faint laughter traveled from the other side where the observation platform was located. She watched a man of about sixty guide a little girl, keeping her from wandering too close to the edge.

  Rory’s hands were on her shoulders, grounding her. Together they watched as the man and child headed toward the parking lot.

  “Now?” Rory asked. “It’ll be dark soon.”

  She pulled the scrimshaw doll from the plastic bag. The little face seemed less ugly somehow, as if the breaking of the curse, at least as it applied to her, had removed some of the ugliness.

  “I still don’t like you,” she said to the doll. There was no way she would even consider passing the doll, and t
he curse, on to someone else.

  “Do you want me to do it?” Rory asked.

  She looked up at him. Janet Mable’s bullet had managed to do quite a bit of damage. His left lung had been punctured, and there was injury to muscles that would take months of physical therapy to overcome. She’d almost lost him.

  “Daira?”

  They’d wasted so many years. She’d been without love—without him—for much too long. “I’m thirty-seven,” she said. “My biological clock is ticking. Loudly.”

  She almost laughed as the expression on his face moved from surprise to a slow grin.

  “We’ll have to do something about that.”

  “Yes, we will.” She pressed the empty plastic bag into his hand.

  “Do you want me to do it?” he asked again.

  “No. I think I have to be the one.” She walked to the edge, pulled her arm back and threw the doll as hard as she could. It tumbled through the air like a bird with a broken wing.

  She watched as the doll, still dressed in a wedding gown, fell to the road below. “If the landing didn’t crush it, maybe a car’ll run over it,” she said.

  Rory wrapped his arms around her from behind. She rested her hands over his. The late summer sun made the diamond ring on her left hand sparkle.

  “Let’s go home,” Rory said. “We’ll see what we can do about that clock of yours.”

  They held hands as they walked to the parking lot and his SUV.

  Daira turned back for one last look. Rory gave her hand a gentle tug.

  “Let go of what’s gone,” he said.

  And so she did.

  A word from the author...

  I lived on both the Pacific West Coast and the Gulf Coast before following my husband to Oklahoma. I attended Florida State University when I lived in Tallahassee. I've been blessed with a mother who taught me to love reading and a husband who's a real-life romance hero. I find it difficult to sleep if there are not books close enough to touch.

  Thank you for purchasing this publication of The Wild Rose Press, Inc.