Chapter 9 #2
I could almost hear Beau gritting his teeth as he moved toward me, holding the doll with an outstretched hand and picking up a folded newspaper from a side table with the other.
When the doll was positioned over the opening in the backpack, he dropped the doll inside while using the newspaper as a barrier so that I could zip the backpack closed without suffering an attack from Zeus.
The bird, now apparently exhausted from what I could describe only as a demonic episode, collapsed on Honey’s extended arm and closed his eyes.
“What in the—” Beau began, then stopped himself before he offended any delicate sensibilities. “Is that what you meant when you said he wouldn’t hurt anyone?”
Joan and Honey had emerged from under the knit throw and were standing with their arms linked. Honey’s turban had slipped down the side of her head, but not a hair on Joan’s head was out of place. I made a mental note to ask her later what hair spray she used so I could tell Jolene.
“He’s never acted that way before. Not as long as we’ve had him, anyway,” Honey said as she softly stroked the bird’s side with a bent knuckle. “I don’t know what got into him.”
“What are you going to do with the doll?” Joan asked.
“Hang on to it,” Beau said.
“Toss it into Manchac Swamp,” I said at the same time.
Our eyes met over the backpack. It wasn’t moving, but I imagined little plastic fists beating at the canvas from inside.
“We’d like for my grandmother Mimi Ryan to take a look to determine if it’s valuable. We’ll let you know if it is, and give you first refusal, of course.”
“Thank you,” Joan said, her eyes not moving from the zipped backpack.
“We tried to solicit your grandmother’s help before.
We know about her psychometry. It’s why we were at the antique shop the first time we met.
It’s not something my sister and I are supposed to believe in, but we have reached the point where we will try just about anything to get answers.
And if Mark, Jessica, and Lynda are still alive, we want to see them again. We won’t be here forever.”
Zeus continued to sleep cradled against the soft fabric of Honey’s caftan as her fingers gently stroked his tiny head.
We returned to our seats, except for Beau, who began examining the framed photographs that filled the deep sill in front of the picture window, which was almost as wide as the room. “I’m not going to take the doll out again, but from what you could see, do you think that was Lynda’s doll?”
Joan and Honey exchanged a glance before they nodded in unison. “Yes,” Joan said. “Lynda cut off one of the curls on the doll’s forehead. I remember it because it made Mark so angry. And that doll”—she pointed to the backpack—“is missing the curl on the right side of her forehead.”
Beau nodded, then continued to pick up frames, study them, and then return them before moving on to the next. “Was the doll in the house when the crime was committed?”
Honey shrugged. “We’re not sure. Today is the first time we’ve seen it since…well, since it happened. But I do remember searching the house before we put it on the market, to make sure nothing valuable was left behind. I don’t know how we missed the doll.”
“It was in a locked cabinet inside an old armoire. Maybe that’s why?” I asked.
“No.” Joan shook her head adamantly. “That door has never had a key as long as I can remember, and it’s always remained locked. Neither Lynda nor anyone else would have been able to hide the doll there.”
Something about Beau’s body language made me watch him as Joan talked, so I saw when he picked up a frame and tucked it inside his shirt.
I stared at his back to get him to look at me and offer some kind of explanation, but he just continued looking at the photographs in frames and replacing them on the sill.
I turned back to Joan. “I’m surprised Lynda didn’t take her doll with her, since it was her favorite. Did she sleep with it at night?”
“Yes,” Joan answered. “She never went anywhere without it. Her Annabelle—that’s what she named her.
” Her lips turned up in a sad smile. “All this time we thought they were together, especially because it was nighttime when the intruder broke in, and she would have been in bed, with Annabelle tucked beneath her arm just the way she liked.”
“You’re sure it was an intruder?” Beau asked.
Joan nodded. “It’s all speculation, but that’s the scenario the police put together.
Mark was a very wealthy man and wasn’t shy about showing it.
He carried a lot of cash and enjoyed flashing it around town, which, naturally, made him a target for those looking for easy prey.
It’s thought that he was visiting the house on Esplanade and was followed to the house by one or two people intent on robbing them.
Sybil must have surprised the intruders, which led to the struggle and her violent death. ”
Honey shuddered. “The crime scene was…extensive. Sybil’s room was upstairs, but nothing was disturbed up there.
It seemed she surprised the intruder as she entered Jessica’s downstairs bedroom.
This meant that they had to pass through Lynda’s room first.” She closed her eyes.
“I’m just so grateful they didn’t hurt her.
Because when they entered the back bedroom—”
“The murder room,” Mrs. Wenzel clarified. “Where Sybil was butchered.”
“She means she was stabbed to death,” Honey said, her hands twisting nervously in her lap.
“Butchered,” Mrs. Wenzel repeated. “Lynda’s bedroom was supposed to be the one upstairs, but she was afraid to sleep up there. She said it was haunted.”
I made a point not to look at Beau, knowing we were both recalling the sound of disembodied little feet running through the house, and the armoire key that had seemingly dropped from an invisible hand.
“And no leads from the crime scene?” Beau asked.
“No. There was a lot of Sybil’s blood, of course, and also a small drop from Mark.
The detectives thought it may have been from a defensive wound.
But that’s all. When the police had finished their investigation, we boxed up pretty much everything except for the furniture and took it all to a dumpster.
I’m just not sure whether we should be happy you found Annabelle.
Because I don’t know what it means.” Honey dabbed at her eyes.
“We’d really appreciate it if you could let your grandmother hold the doll.
Maybe she’ll be able to answer our questions. ”
“I will,” Beau said. “I’ll let you know.” He turned to me. “We need to get going.”
I looked with longing at the tray of pastries, and at my pastry with only a single bite taken. “Yeah. We should. Thank you for the refreshments.” I slung my backpack over my shoulders.
“Would you like to take any of the pastries home with you?” Honey asked.
“If it’s not too much trouble,” I answered before she’d finished speaking.
Honey gently placed Zeus on his perch and left the room while Joan led the way to the front door. Beau paused in the doorway to give the diminutive bird a hard stare before following the older woman.
“You might not recall,” I said to Joan as I adjusted my backpack—I didn’t like the way I could feel the shape of the doll through the canvas—“but do you happen to remember if either your stepmother or your sister-in-law wore a particular perfume?”
“Oh, yes. I do remember. I’m not sure if Jessica did, but Sybil certainly did. She never went anywhere without a spritz or two. It always seemed as if Lynda was covered in it just from Sybil hugging her. It certainly took the guesswork out of what to get her for her birthday and Christmas.”
“Was it by any chance Youth-Dew by Estée Lauder?”
Her eyes widened. “Yes. Yes, it was. How did you know that?”
“There’s a bottle of it in the armoire where we found the doll.”
“You smell it at the house, don’t you?” Joan asked quietly.
“Yeah,” Beau answered. “We both do. We smelled it outside the house the first time we visited, and then again in the armoire where we found the bottle.”
She nodded before glancing behind her shoulder.
With a lowered voice, she said, “If you wouldn’t mind telling me first anything you might discover about the doll?
Honey is…a bit excitable. She’s always had delicate nerves, I’m afraid.
Ever since childhood. We were both traumatized by our mother’s death, but Honey more so because she was so young.
I’ve always protected her from anything unpleasant, and we’ve both grown used to our roles. ”
“Of course,” Beau said as we all turned to see Honey approaching with two brown lunch bags folded neatly at the top.
“I wrapped them individually in foil so you can freeze them if you like.”
“Thank you so much.” I took my bag, thankful for the foil if only because it would slow me down and keep me from eating them all at once.
“We’ll be in touch,” Beau said.
We’d said our good-byes and had almost reached the truck when Honey came running after us, waving the newspaper that Beau had used to protect us from Zeus. “I think you forgot this.”
“Actually, it’s yours. It was on a side table.”
She thrust it at him so he was forced to accept it.
“I know. But take it anyway. I don’t want Joan to know I’m talking about her.
” She glanced over her shoulder toward the picture window.
“She’s always been so sensitive, and I didn’t want to upset her further.
Talking about Lynda is very hard for both of us, but especially for Joan.
She’s always been such a mother hen, and I her dutiful chick.
” Honey smiled. “It’s because of our mother dying so young, and Joan just had a natural instinct when it came to nurturing.
It’s a shame she never had any children of her own, because she would have made an excellent mother.
Because I’m the artistic one, she thought I needed special handling, but sometimes I think it’s the other way around. ”