Chapter Eight
They hadn’t driven far before he saw headlights from a car pulled to the side of the road. As he neared, he recognized Roxanne’s white rental. She got out of the car and stood beside it as first the SUV, then Dalton’s Jeep, parked behind her.
Deputy Shane Ellis—tall, blond, with the muscular legs of the professional baseball pitcher he had once been, stepped out of the SUV and sent Dalton a questioning look.
“Roxanne called me,” Dalton said before Shane could ask why he was there.
He moved past Shane to Roxanne. “Are you okay?” he asked.
“I’m fine.” She hugged her arms across her chest, shoulders hunched. She didn’t look fine, but he was smart enough not to say so.
“Ms. Byrne?” Shane moved toward them. “I’m Deputy Ellis.”
“Thank you for coming,” she said.
“I understand you believe someone broke into your house,” Shane said.
“Yes. I came home and the front door was open. The lock had been broken.”
“Did you go inside?”
“No. I got back in my car and called 911.”
“Did you see anyone? Or any other vehicle, near the house?”
“No. But I didn’t stay there long. And it was dark.”
“All right. I’ll go and check it out in a bit. Where were you before you came home?”
“I was having dinner.” She glanced at Dalton. “With Dalton’s family.”
“How long were you away from home?”
She frowned. “About four hours,” Dalton said.
“Yes, that sounds right,” she agreed.
“You two wait here and I’ll go check it out,” Shane said.
When they were alone, Dalton put his arm around her. “Thanks for coming,” she said. “I feel silly now, dragging you out of the house. I’m fine. It just . . .shook me a little bit.”
“I’m glad you called,” he said. “I’m happy to help any way I can.
” He had plenty of questions, but none of them had answers at this point—did she think this was the same person whose footprints she had seen in her flower beds?
Did she think it was William Ledger? But if she wanted to talk about such things, he’d let her bring them up. He didn’t want to upset her further.
“I meant to ask you, are you in the wedding party?” she asked. “For your sister’s wedding, I mean.”
The abrupt change of subject startled him. But she was probably trying to distract herself, so he would do his part. “Uh, no. I think they’re just having a couple of attendants each. Ian has asked a couple of climbing buddies, and Bethany has two friends she grew up with to stand up with her.”
“That’s nice. The wedding sounds like it’s going to be beautiful. And Carter and Aaron are engaged, too? Have they set wedding dates?”
“Aaron and Willa are getting married in December but I haven’t heard many details. Carter and Mira are waiting until next summer. I’m pretty sure they’re going to be married in Santa Fe. That’s where Mira is from.”
“I’ve never been to Santa Fe, but I hear it’s beautiful.”
“Yes.” It was the kind of casual conversation he could have with anyone, but maybe that was the point—to keep any kind of real emotion at bay.
They fell silent, and he was grateful to see Shane’s SUV returning. “There’s no one at the house now,” Shane said. “Could you come with me? There’s something you need to see.”
They both returned to their vehicles and followed Shane back to the tiny house.
Light glowed from every window of the house, and strings of white lights illuminated the trees around the dwelling.
As soon as they were out of their vehicles, Roxanne’s neighbor, Kara, emerged from the house across the drive and hurried over.
“What is going on?” she asked. “I saw the sheriff’s car over here and got really worried. ”
“Someone broke into my house,” Roxanne said.
“Oh no!” Kara put her hand on Roxanne’s shoulder. “Are you all right? Did they take anything?”
“I’m a little shook up, but physically, I’m fine,” Roxanne said. “I don’t know yet if anything is missing.”
“Are you a neighbor?” Shane asked.
“Yes, I live over there.” Kara pointed to the blue house across the drive. “I’m so sorry this happened, Roxanne. That’s so upsetting.”
“Did you see anyone over here this afternoon or evening?” Shane asked.
“No. I was in Junction,” Kara said. “Doing some shopping.”
“What time did you get home?” Shane asked.
“Maybe twenty minutes ago?” She turned to Roxanne. “I saw your car pull in, then leave again. And then the sheriff’s deputy arrived.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” Shane said. “If you think of anything else that might be relevant, give me a call.” He handed her a business card. “Right now, I need you to return to your home.”
Kara leaned close to Roxanne. “We’ll talk later,” she said, then left.
“Let’s take a look around,” Shane said to Roxanne.
To Dalton, the place looked undisturbed. He had to look closely to see that the lock had been smashed. They followed Shane into the house. “Don’t touch anything, but just looking around, can you tell me if anything is missing?” he said.
Roxanne turned a slow circle, eyes scanning the room.
From their spot in the middle of the room, Dalton thought he could see almost every part of the structure.
“There’s nothing obviously missing,” she said after a moment.
“My laptop is still here. Someone who wanted to rob me would take that, I’d think. ”
Shane nodded. “I’d like you to take a look upstairs,” he said. “There’s something upstairs that seems out of place to me, but I’d like your take on it.”
Roxanne hung back. “If it’s a dead animal or something like that, I don’t want to look.”
“It’s nothing like that,” Shane said. “It’s just . . .confusing.”
She took Dalton’s hand. “You come, too,” she said.
“Do you want me to go first?” Dalton asked.
“No, I can do it.” She straightened her shoulders and started up the narrow staircase. He followed closely, heart pounding in anticipation.
“Don’t touch anything,” Shane called up after them. “Just look.”
She stopped at the top of the stairs and gasped.
Dalton squeezed in beside her. There, in the middle of the queen-size bed, sat a large doll with blond pigtails in a pink dress.
Bethany had had a similar doll when she was little, with all kinds of clothes and accessories, and even a book that told the doll’s story.
But someone had painted over this doll’s features with garish makeup—a slash of red lipstick outside the lines of the plastic lips, and bright blue eye shadow and heavy eyeliner and false eyelashes.
A note was propped against the doll, the bold lettering, written with a black marker, visible from the doorway: “Mary, won’t you come home and play with me?”
Roxanne stared at the doll and swayed slightly.
Dalton’s hand on her back steadied her, but she couldn’t shake the dizzying feeling of being pulled back in time.
Back into a nightmare. She was breathing hard—not quite hyperventilating but close—and she bit the inside of her cheek, tasting blood.
Dalton’s grip on her tightened, then his breath brushed her ear as he spoke. “Let’s go back downstairs,” he said.
She let him guide her down the stairs, though all of her awareness was still on the threshold of the bedroom—the image of the doll, and the note with it, flashing in her head like an old film strip.
Shane was waiting by the front door. “Who is Mary?” he asked.
Roxanne walked past him, out the door. The two men followed and she led the way to a wooden picnic table situated under a tall pine tree a short distance from the tiny home, beneath the glow of a string of white lights.
She sat at one end of the table and Shane sat at the other. Dalton went to stand behind Roxanne.
“You saw the doll?” Shane asked.
“Yes.”
“Does the doll belong to you?”
“No.”
Shane’s eyes met Dalton’s as if to ask if Roxanne was always this terse or this was her reaction to shock.
She didn’t miss the exchange, but didn’t comment on it.
She was in shock, but she was going to push past that.
Dalton put one hand on her shoulder, a solid weight that made her feel more connected to her body, less floating on waves of fear.
“Do you think whoever broke into the house left that and the note behind?” Dalton asked Shane.
“I don’t—” Shane began.
“Mary was the name William Ledger gave me after he kidnapped me,” Roxanne said, interrupting him. “You know who William Ledger is?”
“Yes.” Shane’s expression was grim. “You think he was the person who ran you off the road ten days ago?”
“Yes.”
“What about the doll?” he asked. “What’s the significance of that?”
She closed her eyes briefly, the image of that horrible doll imprinted there like a scene from a horror movie.
She opened them again and met Shane’s direct gaze.
He had blue eyes, and a boyish face, though there was nothing boyish about the way he looked at her now—all serious intensity.
“William Ledger gave me a doll like that when I was with him,” she said.
“Did it have the makeup like that?” Shane asked.
“Yes. It’s a cheap knockoff of those collector dolls with the historical costumes and books and accessories and stuff.
Ledger gave it to me when I had been with him about a month.
He . . .he said it was a reward because I’d been so good.
” She looked down at her hands, knotted in her lap.
“I was terrified of it. At night I would put it in a corner and pile blankets over it so I didn’t have to look at it.
” And so the doll couldn’t see her. Her ten-year-old mind had been sure something evil looked out of that doll’s eyes.
“Do you think this is the same doll or just a similar one?” Shane asked.
His question pulled her back to the present, out of the pit of the nightmare past. “I don’t see how it could be the same,” she said. “I’m sure the one he gave me was taken as evidence after Ledger was arrested. I never saw it again.”
“Who else knew about the doll—besides Ledger?”
“The police knew. And Alice.”