She followed him into the parlor, where the different dollhouses were on display. He checked the receipt. “The first thing on here is a doll,” he said, reaching for an item on a wall hook. He took down a see-through plastic container with cardboard backing and a brown-haired man-doll inside.
“The dad,” Molly said.
“Actually, it says on here, ‘Teenage Son,’ ” the man corrected her. He read the back of the container. “They’re very specific about these things. Next we have something in the dining room section. . ” He glanced at the receipt again as he moved to a glass case, where miniature furniture pieces were displayed. He pointed to a tiny round table with four curved-back chairs. The set reminded Molly a bit of her own breakfast table — or rather, Angela’s.
“And she got a living-room piece as well,” he said, showing her to another glass case. “There it is — number four-hundredtwenty-nine. .” He pointed to a miniature grandfather clock.
Molly stared at the dollhouse clock. It was just like the one in her family room that didn’t work.
“And finally. .” The store clerk checked the receipt again and led her back to the doll display. “She got another member of the dollhouse family.” He plucked a blond doll from the hook, glanced at it for a moment, and then showed it to Molly.
She stared at it, and slowly shook her head.
“Isn’t that the damnedest thing?” she heard the man say. “That doll looks just like you, Mrs. Dennehy.”
And he was right.
“Hey, hey, hey, hey!” he heard someone yelling over a chorus of cheers.
Threading his way through the crowded market, Chris could tell he was getting close to the fish place. For one thing, he could smell the fish — and he saw the crowd of people ahead, most of them tourists, no doubt. “Coho Salmon!” someone yelled. “Hey, hey, hey!” For a second, the crowd parted and Chris caught a glimpse of one of the merchants. The guy — with thick suspenders holding up yellow wading trousers — grabbed a big fish from a bed of ice and hurled it through the air at one of the guys behind the counter. The crowd whistled and clapped.
Chris noticed among them a dad with his toddler son on his shoulders. The little boy wore a Mariners hat and was clapping with delight.
Watching them, Chris felt an awful pang in his gut, and tears clouded his eyes. His head down, he looped around the onlookers by the fish market and continued past the stores and the vendors. People bumped him and brushed past him, but he didn’t look up — not until he found a Kleenex in his pocket and blew his nose. He wiped his eyes with the cuff of his school jacket, the same cuff someone had cut a piece from when they’d broken into his locker. It was all frayed now.
He heard the crowd behind him, cheering on the fishthrowers. Some sidewalk musician nearby played “Moon River” on a harmonica. He started looking for the flower vendors. Felix had said it was the first dried-flowers stand by the fish place. Chris saw a stand with all sorts of fresh flowers in tin buckets. A thin Asian girl with a boy’s short haircut was at the register. Chris approached her. “Are you Roseann?”
She gazed at him curiously, and then nodded. “Yes, yes, we have roses.”
“No, I was asking if your name is Roseann,” he said loudly — to compete with another round of shouts and applause from the fish market fans. “I’m looking for Roseann!”
“I’m Roseann,” he heard someone say.
Chris turned and saw a display table of dried flower bouquets — in baskets and vases and wrapped in cellophane. The prices were posted beneath each arrangement. Sitting at the end of the table, a pretty Latino woman with big eyes and long black hair was busy at work. She wore pale blue rubber gloves while she strung together dried flowers into an arrangement. “Who are you?” she asked, giving him a wary look.
Chris could barely hear her over all the people. He sheepishly approached her, and then glanced around to make sure no one heard him. “Felix over at the Marriott said you might be able to help me,” he explained. “He said you waited on my father and some woman at the bar there on Friday.”
She frowned. “Yeah? Well, Felix has a big mouth, and I don’t know your father from a hole in the wall. So do me a favor and get lost.” She looked down at her work again.
After what Felix had told him about her being an illegal immigrant, Chris hadn’t expected her to speak English so well. “Um, my father’s the guy they found dead in one of the rooms on Saturday morning,” he said. “Felix told me you remembered him. I promise, I won’t cause any trouble for you. Felix already told me he’d kick the shit out of me if I went to the police or anything.”
She studied him for a few moments, and finally nodded. “I see it now,” she murmured. “You look a lot like your father. He was a very handsome guy. He drank a Wild Turkey with rocks on the side. I have a memory for these things. The woman, she had a Tom Collins. Your father paid — in cash, and he was a good tipper. What else do you want to know?”
He was at a loss for a second. “Well, the woman he was with, what did she look like?”
Roseann let out a little laugh. “Like trouble. I could see he was mad at her about something. They were arguing. Your father kept talking in a low voice. And I heard her say to him — like twice, ‘I just wanted to be close to you.’ Then she started crying, but I could tell she was faking the tears.”
“How could you tell?”
She shrugged. “With some women, you can just see when they’re working a guy. And this one was a real hustler.”
“So do you think she might have drugged my father or did something to make him overdose?”
Roseann shrugged. “I only saw them in the bar together. She left first, then your father paid the tab. But I wouldn’t be surprised if she talked him into meeting her in that room later.”
“Could you describe her — the way she looked?”
“Light brown hair, cute face, good figure,” Roseann said.
“Did my dad ever call her by name?” Chris asked. “Maybe Natalie?”
Frowning, she shook her head. “No, I don’t think I heard him call her anything. But you know, I just thought of something else. She ordered a Tom Collins, but hardly drank any of it. That’s the mark of a true hustler. She’ll get a guy drunk, while she just pretends to drink. That way, she keeps a clear head so she can work him later. Anyway, that’s my take on that lady. But don’t quote me, okay? I can’t get involved with any police. Felix wasn’t kidding. He’ll beat the shit out of you if you go to the cops with any of this. I’ll make sure he does, too. I don’t care how cute you are.” She sighed. “I hope you’re able to track down that bitch. But you can’t expect any more help from me. Understand?”
Chris just nodded.
Roseann put down the bouquet she was working on, then got to her feet and plucked an $11.99 dried flower bouquet from a vase. She wrapped some cellophane around it. “Take this—para su padre, for your father’s grave.”
Chris took the dried flowers. “Thank you,” he whispered. “Thank you very much.”
Sitting down again, Roseann solemnly went back to her work. “No worries,” she said.
Standing by her car, parked in front of Windmill Antiques & Miniatures, Molly spoke into her cell phone. “Yes, thanks, Peter, I’m feeling much better than I did yesterday,” she said to Jeff’s assistant. Her hair fluttered in the chilly, seaside breeze. “Anyway, the reason I’m calling is about a month ago, Jeff had something delivered to the office from an antique store in La Conner. I was wondering if you remember him forwarding it to someone else. . ”
“Let me check,” he said. “Just a sec, Molly. Can you hold on?”
“Sure, thanks, Pete.” While she waited, Molly glanced at her wristwatch: 11:55. She hadn’t heard from Rachel yet. It made her nervous to think Rachel was the only person home on the cul-de-sac.
“Molly?” Peter got back on the line.
“Yes, I’m here,” she said anxiously.
“There’s a UPS package in the closet in his office
. Windmill Antiques and Miniatures, is that the one?”
“Yes,” she said. “Could you — could you set it aside for me? I’d like to pick it up this afternoon.”
“They’ve got me running around all over the place today. So I’ll leave the package with the receptionist — just in case you miss me. And by the way, we should get together early next week so you can go through Jeff’s office. Jeff has a lot of his personal things here.”
“Of course,” she said. “Thanks, Pete.”
“Well, if I don’t catch you this afternoon, Molly, I know I told you this before, but I–I really liked working for Jeff.” His voice had a tremor in it. “I’m going to miss him. . ”
“Thanks, Pete,” she said again. “Don’t make me cry, okay? And don’t you start crying, either.”
She heard him blow his nose. “Too late,” he murmured. “Take care, Molly.”
When she clicked off the line, she reached into her purse for some Kleenex. She wiped her eyes and blew her nose. The bag from the antique store slipped out of her hand.
After having put that poor salesman through the paces, she couldn’t walk away without buying something. So she’d bought one of the same miniatures Jeff’s mistress had purchased.
The doll that looked like her had spilled out of the bag. Swiping it off the pavement, Molly stuffed it back in the bag, opened her car door, and set the bag on the passenger seat. It was strange the woman had bought dolls of her and Chris. And clearly, she picked the miniature grandfather clock and breakfast table set after the ones in the family room. That meant this woman had been inside the house.
Molly shuddered and buttoned the top of her pea jacket. Then she took out her cell phone and made another call, this time to Rachel.
But it rang and rang — until the machine clicked on. Molly impatiently listened to the greeting and waited for the beep.
“Rachel, are you there?” she said. “It’s me, Molly. Can you pick up? I thought for sure you’d be home. Now, I’m kind of worried. Rachel? Are you there?”
She opened the front door and heard Molly leaving a message on the answering machine. But there was another sound that stopped her just past the threshold. A strange, splintering noise came from down in the basement.
Molly was still talking, asking if she was home.
She quietly set her groceries down in the front hallway, and then crept toward the kitchen. She noticed the back door was ajar — and a few drawers had been left open. She went to the cabinet, and from behind a box of Frosted Flakes, she took out a handgun.
At last, Molly shut up and clicked off the line. The message machine let out a beep, signifying the message had been recorded. The splintering noise continued downstairs, and then she heard a snap, and something clattered. It sounded like a metal piece hitting the floor.
She edged toward the open basement door and saw the light on down there.
She set the gun on the counter and pried off her shoes. She wasn’t sure what to expect. Picking up the gun again, she started to tiptoe down the basement steps.
For a minute, Natalie had thought she’d heard the front door. But it must have been some background noise from wherever Molly Dennehy was leaving her message. Natalie paused for a few seconds, listened carefully, and then went back to manipulating the padlock with the crowbar.
She knew she was pushing her luck. Rachel could be back at any minute. It was risky to stay here. She’d gotten enough with the jewelry and the blank checks. And yet, she just had to see if there was something really valuable behind this basement door.
People on crystal meth could be pretty reckless at times.
She couldn’t help it. This was an addiction, a disease. It wasn’t her fault. She’d started out trying it to lose weight — and for a bit of a thrill. And now she’d gone through all her money, lost her job, and gotten kicked out of her apartment.
Todd hadn’t known her situation when she’d gone with him on one of the few occasions he actually checked the Nguyens’ house for them. They’d walked around the house, made sure no one had tried to break in, watered the houseplants, and cleaned up the yard a little. For months and months, he’d been giving the key to one friend or another and having them check the place for him. Natalie couldn’t believe none of the guys had ever ripped off the Nguyens. She’d volunteered to check the house for Todd every week on a semi-permanent basis. Then she’d had her own copy of the house key made. The stupid slacker, Todd, he didn’t even realize she’d moved in.
It had been a perfect setup. The house had been full of so many things she hocked for drug money. Her dealer stayed with her there for a while, and she even turned some tricks there — all on this squeaky-clean family block.
But the funny thing was that two of her neighbors’ husbands had gotten caught with drugs in hotel rooms, where they’d had illicit sexual trysts.
Natalie had kept to herself — mostly to discourage neighbors from dropping by. But yesterday, she’d let Jill from next door talk her into attending the Dennehy funeral. It had gone on and on, and after shaking Molly’s hand, she couldn’t wait to get the hell out of there. She’d driven up to Everett to party for the evening. Then she got the call from Todd.
He was wise to her now. That bitch Molly must have said something, because she’d left him a message at just about the same time Mrs. Nguyen had phoned, asking if a woman was living in her house.
So her plan for today had been to return to the Nguyens, quickly pack up her stuff, and then disappear. She was taking a big chance lingering here in Rachel’s. But she almost had the lock pried off the door. It was so loose that she could feel the screws wobbling. A crack in the wood had formed under the latch. With a grimace, she gave it one more forceful tug.
The latch mechanism suddenly flew off the edge of the door. It hit the basement floor with a clatter. Gasping, Natalie staggered back and laughed. The door creaked as she opened it. Setting the crowbar on the worktable, she stepped into the dark room and felt around by the door for a light switch. She found it and flicked it on. The bright, fluorescent overhead sputtered for a second, and then went on. It hummed quietly.
Natalie stared into the windowless room at what looked like a Ping-Pong table — covered with a huge white sheet. There seemed to be several different-sized boxes stacked and spaced about a foot from each other beneath the coverlet. Natalie carefully pulled off the sheet and gaped at a replica of Willow Tree Court, all made up of dollhouses and fake trees and foliage. The Nguyens’ house and Jill’s place were a bit smaller and not quite up to scale with the others. Walking around the table, she could see those two houses were just hollow facades — like the mock-ups of the unfinished houses on the cul-de-sac.
But this house, the Dennehys’ place, and the Hahns’ were all detailed and had certain rooms completely furnished. In the duplication of Rachel’s bedroom, a little blond doll about the size of a finger lay on a pale yellow carpet. A piece of lavender fabric was wrapped around it. A few globs of what looked like red nail polish were on the doll’s head, and it spilled over into the blond hair and onto the yellow carpet.
From earlier, when she’d peered through the glass doors at the Dennehys’ house, she knew the model accurately copied their family room — right down to the big-screen TV, sofa, coffee table, and grandfather clock. Two dolls — a brown-haired man and a blond woman — were leaning against a round breakfast table for four. It was almost as if they’d been set there temporarily — until Rachel found a better spot for them.
Natalie thought she heard something — a stair step or a floorboard creaking. She stood perfectly still and listened for a few moments. Nothing.
She moved over to yet another dollhouse, a two-story Colonial, set on a smaller table beside a bookcase against the wall. She didn’t recognize the house. But two bedrooms on the second floor, the kitchen, and the pantry were painstakingly furnished. There was a man doll in the open closet of the bigger bedroom and a woman doll in the closet of the smaller bedroom. Each one
had been dotted with that same crimson color polish. A third doll — it looked like it was supposed to be a girl — was on the pantry floor. It too was marked with red nail polish. Natalie couldn’t help thinking it looked like a replication of a cul-de-sac-killing crime scene. “This is weird as shit,” she murmured to herself.
On the bookcase, along with stacks of dollhouse furniture in their cartons, there was another little model. It looked like a mock-up some set designer might have created in preparation for a play. It resembled a hotel room with a queen bed, TV, table, and chairs — and another little doll on the floor. This one was of a man, and he was naked.
Natalie picked it up and studied it.
“Put that down,” someone whispered.
Startled, she swiveled around and saw Rachel standing in the doorway. She had a gun pointed at her.
A hand over her heart, Natalie stared at her. She started to say something, but when she opened her mouth to talk, the words wouldn’t come out. She just shook her head.
“I thought you were a prowler,” Rachel said. She took a step back, and then set the gun down on the worktable. “Are you deaf or something? I told you to put down the doll.”
“What is it?” Natalie asked.
“It’s for a special project. Put the doll back where you found it. How many times do I have to tell you?”
“Okay, okay, Jesus. .” Natalie set the doll back inside the little replica of a hotel room.
Rachel was still standing on the other side of the doorway. “Now, get away from my models. I don’t want them ruined. . ” She nodded toward the other corner of the room, where there was a tall cabinet.
Frowning, Natalie did what she was told. “I had no intention of ruining your stupid dollhouses,” she grumbled. “Now, just let me out of here, and I’ll—”
“But they would have been ruined,” Rachel interrupted. She reached back for something on the workbench behind her. “Your blood would have gotten all over them.”
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