Page 125 of The Dollmaker

Sharp had lost a sister. Roger a child. Both should have understood the other’s grief, but each was so wrapped up in misery, neither thought to reach out to the other.

Sharp climbed the center staircase, flipping on the upstairs lights as he moved. The carpet in the hallway had dulled, and the formerly colorful walls had faded.

With Tessa following silently, he paused at the first bedroom, which had been his. Turning the knob, he slowly opened the door to find it stripped bare.

He moved to the next room and hesitated.

“This was Kara’s room,” Tessa said. “I remember it.”

“Yes.” He turned the knob and switched on the light. The room remained furnished just as it had been the last time he’d seen her on the canopy bed, shooing him out so she could talk on the phone to one of her friends. Memories of that day flooded back.

“Dakota,” she’d growled at him as she sat up. “Would you butt out?”

He’d lingered, knowing it pissed her off more. Even at twenty-six he enjoyed riling her temper. “I thought you wanted to go running.”

“I do.”

He tapped his finger on his watch. “Daylight’s wasting.”

“I’m not a marine. Just go away. I’m talking to my friend Tessa.”

“You have five minutes.”

She’d tossed a pillow at him, but she would be downstairs in five minutes. They’d run for five miles, and though he’d slowed his pace for her sake, she did a fair job of keeping up with him.

Roger had not altered any detail in the room. Not a pillow, a picture, or the placement of her pens and papers on her desk. It was a memorial to the kid they’d both loved very much.

As Tessa hovered at the threshold, he moved to Kara’s desk and glanced at the notes she’d jotted over twelve years ago. He picked up a picture of the two of them taken on the dock at the local lake at sunset.

“Damn it.” He set the photo down.

Tessa approached and picked up the picture. “I’ve never seen this one before.”

“I never got a copy of the picture.”

Methodically he went through the drawers in the room as he would a crime scene.

“You should keep the picture.”

“It belongs here.”

“No, it belongs with you.”

He found a sketch pad in the drawer and thumbed through it. Most of the pictures were of landscapes. Sunsets. A bowl of fruit. No great artwork. And then toward the end he found the sketch of a doll. And next to the picture in Kara’s handwriting were the wordsVery funny.

“Have a look at this,” he said.

As she studied the image, a frown furrowed. “Someone she knew?”

“It had to be.” His gaze raked the room. “It never made sense to me that she would get in a car or leave the party with someone she didn’t know. She was too smart for that.”

“I agree.”

He searched the rest of the desk, but in the end, he found nothing that told him who would have killed his sister. His frustration growing, he saved the sketch pad for Andrews before slamming the drawer closed. “Let’s get out of here.”

He moved to take the picture from Tessa and place it back on the desk.

“You need to keep this,” she said.

---