The Dollmaker's Daughters (Bo Bradley Mysteries, Book Five)

by Abigail Padgett

  When Bo found him again, Andrew was questioning a ruddy, heavy set young man whose fangs failed to create the anemic aura necessary to vampirism.

  "Apparently Martin had to leave for some reason," she told the pediatrician, "or at least it was probably Martin. And Rombo and the girls have left. We can probably catch up with them if we hurry."

  The Goth singer's voice followed them into wads of fog and tentative splatters of rain that made pocks in the sand.

  "What ends when the symbols shatter?" the voice demanded. "What ends ..."

  "It's raining," Andrew noted miserably. "I don't know why we didn't run into them on our way over here."

  "They probably walked on the beach, Andy. Let's go that way. There's a set of steps from the tide pools past the pier. They're accessible during low tide and they lead right to my apartment building."

  "They wouldn't know that, Bo. They'd walk back on the street."

  "We would have seen them if they'd walked back on the street, Andy. Now let's go."

  "Bo, it's raining and you're being difficult. Please."

  Difficult A word used to describe uncooperative children and untidy pets. Bo looked at the handsome, distinguished figure standing beside her in a windswept rain and thought of dolls. The control-freak doctor doll, to be precise. Complete with dashing mustache and antiquated attitudes about women.

  "I'm walking on the beach," she said, and dived into a shelf of fog.

  He didn't follow.

  Bo headed toward the sea where receding water left the sand densely packed and less likely to slow her down. There were shallow footprints, she noticed, leading south. Three people, the heaviest walking between the other two, its heel impressions deeper and filmed with water. Those might be Rombo's footprints, she nodded. With Janny and Teless walking on either side. Pulling the plastic hood of her raincoat over her hair, she bent into the blowing rain and sprinted along the tracks. They were already dissolving as she ran. And then they stopped.

  Bo looked up to get her bearings. The fog was denser now and moving in horizontal cartwheels caused by the interaction of cold inland air with the warmer, water-saturated air blowing off the Pacific. Moving three yards to her right, she escaped a fog-wheel and could see the Ocean Beach Pier a city block ahead. Illuminated against the black water, it was deserted. Just an artwork pier, she thought, like the one on her Christmas cards. Unreal in the slanting rain.

  There had been a scuffle in the sand where the footprints stopped. Or something had happened to disrupt the orderly progress of three people south along the beach toward the pier and the barnacle-encrusted steps to her apartment building beyond. Bo stared at the wet, jumbled sand and then veered inland. There were no further tracks in the expanse of hard sand, so they must have moved upward into the littoral with its tangled kelp and difficult footing. She snagged her right toe in a nest of fishing line caught on a wet board from which three rusty nails protruded, shook the whole mess free, and hurried on. Beach crews cleaned the sand every day in summer, but only sporadically in winter when there were few tourists to impress. And the ocean's debris could be deadly.

  Ahead lay another obstacle, only momentarily visible and then obscured by a roulette wheel of spinning mist. Something limp and dark, lying atop a mass of kelp. A shark carcass, Bo thought. Not one of the little nurse sharks people caught daily off the pier, but a larger one. The size of a man.

  Sweating now inside the cheap plastic raincoat, Bo skirted the object but stayed close enough to see that it was no shark, nothing left on the beach by an ebbing tide. It was a man, moving groggily on a mound of ropy seaweed as if he'd been asleep and only just wakened. Bo thought of selkies, the seal people who took human form out of love but could never stay, so great was their need for the sea. The picture before her might be the birth of a selky, she imagined. That magic might happen on just such a night, and only then, safe from watching eyes. Except this selky looked oddly familiar. Too familiar.

  "Martin!" she yelled, scrambling over rubbery, squeaking kelp to reach his side. "What happened? Where are Rombo and the girls?"

  Martin St. John responded by vomiting into the kelp, his right hand pressed in a fist against the back of his skull where a thin stream of blood trickled onto his neck.

  'Told them ... run!" he answered, shuddering. "Just happened. Couldn't see. Somebody behind us—"

  Another spasm of retching curtailed his narrative as Bo ripped off her shoes. She could run faster that way. And she would have to run!

  "Martin, you've got a concussion," she said, peering through the fog ahead. "Someone will be back as soon as possible. Whatever you do, don't let yourself drift into sleep. Stay awake!"

  Far ahead Bo thought she saw two black-clad figures running through the shadows beneath the pier, toward the flat shale of the tide pool rocks with their web of eroded gutters and crab-filled sinkholes. And something else. Something lost in a spinning penumbra of fog, but something that left deep footprints. Something close behind the fleeing figures who were, Bo was certain, Janny and Teless.

  Willing her legs to move quickly through the soft sand, Bo peeled off her raincoat and ran. But every step seemed to drag at her body, pull it downward. There was a magnetic force, she decided, generated by the pull of salt water away from the land. She knew she was covering ground. The pier was closer now. But she felt as if she were running in place against an insistent dark velvet that wanted her to stay, to sink, to give up.

  "Janny!" she yelled as rain hit her teeth. "Keep going! Follow the rocks around the seawall to the steps!"

  But the words merely swirled about her own ears and then were lost in the wind. The girls had run into a trap. Beyond the pier the seawall rose sharply to protect the last few feet of land between the battering sea and a row of apartment buildings, the second of them Bo's own. Below the wall, the sand ran out at a cul-de-sac of mud-colored rocks submerged except at low tides. The flat rocks were visible now, but the wind blew a shifting film of water and foam over them from the sea farther out. No one unfamiliar with the area would know they could walk around the curl of the cul-de-sac on the barely submerged shale and climb the cliffs on the other side. To a stranger it would feel like walking out to sea.

  "Keep going, keep going!" Bo screamed at the distant figures as sand sucked at her ankles and another plate of fog swirled through her as if she, and not it, were insubstantial. "Dammit, run!"

  But Janny and Teless had stopped. Bo could only see their legs below the mist, jumping desperately against the patched stone wall some eight feet high where it met the rocks. And the footsteps, generated by something shrouded in fog massed against the rising seawall, continued.

  There was someone on the sidewalk above the seawall where the cul-de-sac began, she realized. Someone big. As she gasped and fell and pulled herself up again, whoever it was threw a leg over the metal railing and jumped the six feet to the tide pools below. Jumped between Janny and Teless and whatever was following them.

  The footsteps reversed, but by the time Bo realized what had happened the follower was gone, vanished into the pier's shadows and the fog-riddled beach.

  In seconds she felt the sand become rock under her feet, and broke through a tumble of mist to see Daniel Man Deer, rain dripping from the stone on a leather cord about his neck to run down his bare chest. Immobile, he faced the direction in which the follower had run from him. For a moment Bo saw him as part of the rock itself, as if he had been there long before seawalls and apartment buildings, before pavement and supermarkets and greed.

  "It wasn't Mary at all," he said as Bo approached. "I thought I had to protect her, but that wasn't it. Who was that chasing these children, Ms. Bradley? What's going on here?"

  "I don't know," Bo answered as Janny and Teless stumbled across the tide pools and clung instinctively to the big man. "But if you hadn't been here—"

  "I was here," he interrupted softly. "I saved the cat and the Old Ones showed the way. Mary will never understand."

&n
bsp; "Yes, she will," Bo said, not understanding, either. "I'll tell her."

  Chapter 23

  “Andy!" Bo yelled minutes later as she and the big Indian ushered Teless and Janny into her apartment. "Martin was hit by someone as they walked back from the club. He's still down on the beach and I think he has a concussion. Look near the pile of kelp just north of the pier."

  "I'll go with you," Daniel Man Deer said. "He may not be able to walk."

  Implicit in the Indian's statements was a danger that might still lurk on the darkened beach. Eva Broussard nodded her approval as she nudged the girls into Bo's bedroom for dry clothes. Janny, Bo noticed, had seized the old doll from its place on the end table and was clutching it to her side.

  "Kimmy," the girl whispered in that high, breathless child's voice, "Kimmy's gone."

  "Oh, shit," Bo breathed, wadding her raincoat into the kitchen sink.

  The girl couldn't take much more, that was obvious. And more was unquestionably on the way. Bo secured the deck doors and then pulled the drapes over them. No point in advertising Janny's presence to whoever might be outside, looking in. And a decision had to be made. Either let Janny in on the available truth about her life, or continue to hide it from her as her psychological resources crumbled under the weight of intolerable stress.

  "Eva?" Bo said softly from the bedroom door. "I think it's time Janny knew what's going on."

  "Risky," the psychiatrist answered, watching Teless drying Janny's hair with Bo's terrycloth bathrobe. "But it might work. Quickly, though. And no affect. Teless and I will be right here."

  Teless had heard the exchange, and nodded.

  " 'Affect’ in this case means drama," Bo told her. "You are about to hear a shocking story. Don't react as you normally would. Just help Janny by saying calm things, okay?"

  "Oui, sha," Teless whispered in affirmation, and then pulled the thick fabric from Janny's ears.

  "This is just a doll," Bo began, sitting beside Janny Malcolm on the bed and touching the bisque face the girl's grandfather had designed fifteen years in the past. "But there really was a Kimmy, and you're right, Kimmy is gone. It's a very sad story, but it's your story, Janny. I want you to know what it is."

  The girl's face, smudged with its ruined Goth makeup, watched Bo intently. "There was a Kimmy? I'm not crazy?" she asked.

  "No, dear, you are not," Eva Broussard said quietly. "You are hurt and confused and possibly aware of a recent death in some way, but you are not crazy. You're a healthy, bright young woman who needs to hear some painful truths so you can make sense of the things that have happened to you."

  "What things?" Janny asked, gripping Teless's hand.

  Bo listened to rain pelting the deck doors, then turned to Janny.

  "You had a twin sister," she began, "and her name was Kimberly. She was called Kimmy. When you and your sister were eighteen months old something terrible happened. Someone hit Kimmy's head, causing an injury to her brain from which she died only four days ago. In the thirteen years since it happened Kimmy has had no awareness. She has been in no pain. For all practical purposes, she's been in a kind of coma, cared for at a facility in Los Angeles. Then the time finally came for her to die. It happened the night you were at Goblin Market. And you may have felt her death in some way, but it's over now. Your twin sister is at peace and you are just fine. That's the way it is, Janny."

  "Then Kimmy is the roogaroo?" Janny said, turning wide-eyed to Teless.

  "No, sha," Teless smiled and wrapped an arm around the other girl. "Roogaroo's just a made-up thing mamas use to scare their kids, like 'Better behave or roogaroo's gonna get you.' This here thing Bo's told you is just the truth. Dead folk don't walk, 'cept in stories."

  "But somebody really is trying to get me!" Janny insisted. "Everybody thinks I made it up, but there was somebody outside my window at the Schroders'. I saw—"

  "There was somebody there, Janny," Bo agreed. "I checked it out and the ice plant was crushed all the way up the hill to the schoolyard. I don't know who it was, but there are sick men who sneak around looking at women through open windows. You know about Peeping Toms, right?"

  "Yeah," Janny sniffled, "but what about my parents? What happened to them? How could they just leave my sister in a place like that and leave me in all these shitty foster homes? Are they dead? Where are they?"

  Bo traced a small reindeer on one of her pillowcases. Janny couldn't handle everything at once. And Eva was exuding a force field that said, Stop. Bo rose and took the scapular Tamlin Lafferty had given her from the dresser drawer where she'd put it when she got home.

  "I'm afraid your mother has passed away, Janny. She lived in a convent until her death. These holy pictures are from that convent. I thought you might like to have them."

  "Hey, I had one of these when I was little," Teless said. "Father Donneaux made all us kids wear 'em. They're supposed to protect you, Janny."

  "My mother was Catholic?" Janny said, puzzled. "Does that mean I am?"

  Bo smiled at the rather ordinary struggle for identity taking place before her. The fact that it was ordinary made it a miracle. Janny would have a great deal to process before this was over, but her initial reactions were ego-centered and age-appropriate. Eva, also smiling, stretched and looked at her watch.

  "You will have many more questions later, but for now you have enough to digest," she told Janny. "And we do have something of a problem with which you may be able to help. First, why did your social worker, Mr. Perry, leave?"

  Janny hung the scapular over her shoulders and studied the picture in front, a pretty girl in a golden scarf, holding a lily and a Bible with a shamrock on the front.

  "Well, it was sort of strange, I guess. He called the hospital to let them know what time we'd be back. I mean, it was going to be a little bit later than we said, since going to Goblin Market and all. And then I heard him tell Mr. St. John that somebody had called the hospital and said there was an emergency, some kind of crisis thing, and they wanted Mr. Perry to come and nobody else. Except he told Mr. St. John he'd never heard of the people that called, or the address."

  "Psychiatric social workers sometimes go out on crisis intervention calls," Bo explained. "When one of their clients, somebody they know well, is hallucinating or having other problems at home, sometimes a familiar professional face can be reassuring. Rombo was called to do a crisis intervention. It's an emergency. Of course he would go immediately, assuming Janny would be safe with Martin."

  Eva Broussard had found a pair of sweatpants and a sweatshirt in Bo's dresser. "The other question we must ask both of you is this," she went on. "Did either of you see the person who attacked Martin St. John?"

  "No, ma'am, I didn't," Teless said. "Mr. St. John was singing, sort of making fun of the Goth songs, you know? He was singing this made-up song about a vampire decorating service, and we were really laughing, and then something happened and he yelled 'Run!' and we did."

  "Is that how you remember it, Janny?" Bo asked.

  "Yeah. I was so scared, I thought it was, you know, Kimmy. I just ran. I didn't even look back, but I felt like it was following us!"

  "Someone was following you," Bo confirmed. "Until Daniel Man Deer showed up. Then whoever it was ran away. You weren't imagining it Janny."

  "But who ..." Janny began.

  "We honestly don't know," Eva said, smoothing the girl's damp hair. "There are some strange things connected to your situation, but the police are handling them. What's important at the moment is that you and Teless are safe and that Martin is receiving medical care from Dr. LaMarche. It will be best for you to return to the hospital as quickly as possible tonight Janny. It's the safest place for you. And Bo," she added, taking the borrowed sweats into the bathroom to change, "I'll be staying here."

  "Good," Bo agreed as Andrew and Daniel led Martin St. John through her door, followed by an ashen Rombo Perry. The former boxer's hands were knotted in fists and Bo could see the shoulder muscles tensed beneath his wet s
hirt.

  "I was set up, Bo," he announced miserably. "I should have known it when I didn't recognize the name or address on that crisis intervention call. A wild goose chase, just to get me out of the way. It was a vacant lot in Pacific Beach. And now Martin—"

  "I'm going to live," Martin St. John smiled gamely as Andrew held a dishtowel full of ice against the lump on his head. "I just wish I'd seen it coming!"

  "Rombo, you'll need to keep an eye on this for the rest of the night," Andrew interrupted professionally. "Wake him up briefly every two or three hours, make sure his pupils aren't dilated, that he's oriented. If there's any more vomiting, take him to an emergency room."

  "I just wish I'd been there," Rombo sighed, taking a punch into thin air that made Bo wish he'd been there as well. Although a punch like that she thought, would probably have killed Jasper Malcolm. If the follower were Jasper Malcolm.

  “Teless and I are going back to Del Mar," Andrew told Bo without meeting her eyes. "You're welcome to come."

  "Thanks, Andy, but Eva's going to stay here with me. I'll talk to you tomorrow."

  "Of course," he answered crisply, and then ushered Teless into the night as though she were made of delicate crystal.

  "Nonk Andy..." Bo heard the girl begin what would unquestionably be a meaningful talk on "Attitudes Toward Women," but the closing door precluded any further enjoyment of the teenager's lecture.

  Rombo and Dan were right behind, urging Martin and Janny to stay close as they all hurried down Bo's apartment stairs to their cars. Eva and Bo watched until both sets of tail lights were lost in the rain.

  "You know, Eva," Bo said thoughtfully, "the footprints of whoever was down there on the beach will be gone by morning.”

  "They're gone now, Bo," the shrink replied, rubbing a hand through her cropped white hair. "And I'm quite tired. I hope you won't mind if I just turn off the lights and curl up on the couch. Do you have a blanket and extra pillow?"

  Bo procured the required items, smiling. Eva Broussard, she knew, existed on very little sleep and was no more tired than inclined to tap dance through the rain to an all-night diner where she'd sing show tunes to an assemblage of soggy winos. But the appeal to Bo's Boston-trained sense of courtesy would assure quiet now. Not for the wiry, energetic shrink, but for her patient. Bo wondered why Andrew LaMarche couldn't see how easily she could be constrained by her own set of values rather than his overbearing protectiveness. Or if he ever would see.