Page 56 of Pretty Stolen Dolls

I run my finger along a pleat in my skirt. “Hot in the summer—like sweat dripping, mind fuzzing heat. And then in the winter months, it was freezing. The pipes used to creak whenever a tap was turned on somewhere in the house.”

“So, it was a house you were kept in.”

Is she trying to trick me? What else would it be?

“They used to sound like wolves howling at the moon. I sometimes used to make up stories that he was a werewolf.” I laugh, lost in thought.

“He?”

Oh God, she really is terrible at her job.

“Times up,” I announce.

And hopefully it will be soon.

ICHECK THE CLOCK AGAIN, tapping at the dash to make sure it’s working correctly and then look down at my cell phone.

11:37.

Damn him. When he left me this morning, he said he would meet me at this craft fair at eleven instead of me meeting him at the precinct, so where the hell is he?

“I’ve waited long enough,” I mutter to myself before slipping from my car and making my way over to the bustling fair.

Booth after booth line the huge stretch of green. Finding the stall we looked up on Saturday night is going to be a task.

Stopping by the first booth selling all kinds of different cheeses, I hand them the printout of the booth name and banner they use, and he shakes his head no.

I repeat the process over and over until familiarity flashes in a fabric seller’s eyes.

“He’s set up four booths to the right. Jonny or something,” the seller tells me, scratching at his head like an ape.

“Thanks,” I tell him, snatching the flyer back.

“Benny!” he shouts, stopping me in my tracks and turning my insides to stone.

“What did you say?” My words are almost inaudible.

“Benny,” he says again—a single word that makes me shudder. “That’s his name. He named the stall after his wife he lost. I don’t know, maybe cancer. I didn’t ask.” He shrugs and I feel like I’m free falling without a parachute to stop me from hitting the ground and becoming human pulp.

“Hey, miss, you okay?”

The floor tilts and wobbles as I command my feet to move. Bending down, I bring my gun to my hand and hold it just out of sight inside my blazer.

“Move…move…out the way,” I snarl to the people standing between me and him.

It’s him. It’s him. It’s him.

Macy.

The name comes into view as people part like the sea.

Doll with the Jade Eyes.

Thud…thud…thud…

There’s one table, but nobody’s there. A lone, undressed doll lays upon it and my heart paces to a breakneck speed. It’s dark brown hair is matted and filthy. Smudges are smeared all over the doll’s face. Her cloth body has been torn and stuffing hangs out.

I jerk my head around, scanning the faces and nooks in hopes of seeing him hiding. My hand skitters over the table until my fingers find the doll. Bringing it up to my eyes, I scan over it. A tag hangs around its neck.

---