Skinbound
Thank you for purchasing this publication of The Wild Rose Press, Inc.
by
Anna Kittrell
Tales of the Scrimshaw Doll
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
Skinbound
COPYRIGHT © 2012 by Anna Kittrell
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
Contact Information: [email protected]
Cover Art by
Kim Mendoza
The Wild Rose Press, Inc.
PO Box 708
Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708
Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com
Publishing History
First Crimson Miniature Rose Edition, 2012
Digital ISBN 978-1-61217-523-2
Part of the Tales of the Scrimshaw Doll Series
Published in the United States of America
This book is dedicated to my husband,
Tim,
the sexiest brainstorming partner on earth.
Chapter One
The old chair rocked in the speeding truck’s bed, as if her dead great-grandmother were still nestled within its arms. Darcy Vaughan turned in her mother’s bucket seat and watched the black pickup vanish into a cloud of red dust.
“It’s just stuff,” her mother said, checking her lipstick in the rearview mirror. “Gigi’s in a better place.”
Darcy could think of no better place than Gigi’s rocking chair.
They turned in beside the dented mailbox. More pickup trucks lined the grass on each side of the gravel drive, the yellow wildflowers Darcy used to pick for Gigi crushed beneath their wheels. After powdering her small, altered nose, her mother forced a grave smile and exited the vehicle. She strode around and tapped Darcy’s glass with a crimson tipped finger. “Come on,” she mouthed, examining the artificial nail for chips.
Darcy opened the door, scooted from the seat, then hopped onto the dry grass. She followed her mother’s high-heels up the driveway, around to the back, stopping twice to pluck pebbles from between her sandaled toes. Behind the house, more pickups waited with lowered tailgates to gobble up Gigi’s memories.
Darcy’s father stood among the swell of tobacco-spitting men in cowboy hats. Her twin sister, Scarlett, leaned against his legs. His hands rested on the puffed shoulders of her blue dress. Darcy’s mother joined them, gravel crunching beneath her heels, the wide brim of her hat pulled down to shield the morning sun. In a patch of grass, opposite her family, Darcy braced herself against Gigi’s apricot tree.
On the ground, half a dozen cardboard boxes held Gigi’s, “just things.” Darcy scanned the items protruding over the rims as a tall man with a stubbly chin sing-songed numbers in a rhythm she didn’t understand.
Tears slid over her cheeks as she watched a grinning, pot-bellied man hand the auctioneer a dollar bill before jostling away the rose-patterned teacups Gigi bought with green stamps. Darcy recalled how the mint paste tasted as she’d helped place the stamps into little books. She wondered what happened to the matching teapot.
Gigi’s boxed possessions swiftly dwindled away. Scarlett smirked as she reclined against their father, her eyes locked onto the only remaining box. Darcy, following her sister’s gaze, stepped closer to the box, peering inside.
“Going once...going twice...” The auctioneer warned. Darcy’s heart juddered against her ribs.
“Sold!”
She dove for the cardboard box as if it were home plate. Blood oozed from her skinned elbows as she thrust her hands into her great-grandmother’s belongings, rescuing her scrimshaw doll. Scarlett glowered, sharpening her emerald gaze against the doll’s yellowed bones.
Darcy held the doll close, nestling the smooth, carved face into her neck, stroking its hair against her throat.
“Give it here, child,” her mother scolded, tearing the doll from her grip. “You aren’t dragging any of this clutter home.” She shoved it back into the box, clattering it against Gigi’s Depression glass.
“But she’s mine,” Darcy cried. Gigi had embroidered Darcy’s name on a little white square, then guided her fingers, helping her stitch it inside the doll’s dress.
With an exasperated flap of her hand, her mother motioned to the man with the highest bid, pushing the box toward him with the toe of her high-heeled shoe. Darcy stood, bleeding in the gravel, stroking her neck, as if the doll were still nestled under her hair. The man looked back, his eyes apologetic as he loaded the box into his pickup truck.
****
“Darcy. Hello?” Liz waved a hand before Darcy’s eyes.
“Huh? Oh, sorry...” Darcy dropped her fingers from her throat and shook her head.
“Where were you?” Liz giggled, picking up a movie not yet released to DVD. “Is this in English?” she asked the man behind the folding table. He nodded.
“Liz, put that down. It’s a bootleg,” Darcy whispered, snatching the movie from her friend and placing it back on the table.
“So, anyway, what were you thinking about?” Liz pressed. “Anyone I know?” She bumped Darcy’s hip with her own.
“Actually, I was thinking about my great-grandmother, Gigi. The estate sale my parents held after she died. I guess the auctioneer jogged my memory.”
“The same great-grandmother who gave you the doll made from bones?” She shuddered.
“That’s exactly what I was thinking about. It was auctioned off in a box just like one of those…the day before my fifth birthday.” Darcy pointed to the row of bulging cardboard boxes over which the auctioneer was babbling. “Scarlett snuck it into one at Gigi’s estate sale.”
“Scarlett.” Liz shuddered again. “After the stories you’ve told, I’m not really jazzed about meeting her in person.”
Darcy smiled. “I’m sure she’s mellowed. I’m actually looking forward to spending time with her, maybe mending some fences.”
“Why the change of heart?”
Her heart
did
feel changed, warmer somehow, at the thought of finally building a real relationship with her twin sister. “She’s turned over a new leaf.”
“A-ha.” Liz gave a slow nod. “Let’s just hope it’s not poison ivy.”
“Scarlett wrote a letter when she was in treatment, some kind of purging exercise, to assist the healing process. It wasn’t supposed to be mailed, but I somehow received it. In the letter she called me a ‘parasite,’ accusing me of sucking everything good from her in the womb until there was nothing left but an ‘empty, unfeeling shell.’” Darcy shrugged. “I feel guilty.”
“Glad to see my tax dollars are hard at work, funding a therapeutic hate-mail program.” Liz rolled her eyes. “Wasn’t she suspected of killing one of the patients at that nut house she was in?”
Darcy flinched, unease trickling through her. She wouldn’t believe her sister could do something like that. “It’s a psychiatric hospital, not a ‘nut house.’ They ruled the death a suicide.”
Scarlett was the last person seen with the young woman before she’d been found hanging from the window of the fourth floor, a bed sheet wrapped around her neck. The windows weren’t supposed to open, but somehow the poor soul had managed. She must have been extremely determined to end her own life. Suspicion had centered around Scarlett, despite a suicide note found in the dead girl’s handwriting. After the investigation was completed, no evidence was found to connect Scarlett to the death.
Liz shaded her eyes from the sun. “Look, I’m sorry…I shouldn’t have said that. I just worry about you.” Her concerned gaze met Darcy’s.
“I know, and I appreciate it—I really do, but there’s no need to worry now that Scarlett’s completed treatment. She’s finally
well
. And I want to do everything within my power to keep her well. To make up for the lifetime of support I withheld from her.”
“She’s lucky to have you. And at least you got the doll back.”
Darcy nodded. “
Twenty-five years
later. God only knows where it traveled all those years in between. It’s a miracle the woman found me.”
“Yeah, the fact that your first and last name was stitched inside the doll’s dress, and you still live beside the lake here in Verden, Oklahoma, population seven hundred, had nothing to do with it.” Liz pointed to a row of plywood tables across the gravel lot. “Hey, let’s look at the vegetables before we go. I’d like some home grown tomatoes.” She guided Darcy by the arm.
****
Darcy tapped her foot as she succumbed to the school nurse’s examination, anxious to get back to the classroom. “It’s no big deal, really. I only came to you because it’s school policy.”
“Well, at least Jake’s immunizations are up to date,” Nurse Kobza said, sealing a printout into a manila envelope. “Take the shot record with you to the clinic for verification.”
“Clinic?” Darcy shook her head. “I don’t believe that’s necessary. The pain reliever kicked in. I can barely feel it now, and my tetanus vaccine is only a few years old.”
“You need another one. Human bites are serious. I’ve already made you a twelve o’clock appointment.” Nurse Kobza handed her the envelope.
“But my class... It’s almost their lunchtime.”
“Mrs. Lucas from the library is covering for you for the rest of the day. Now scoot along, or you’ll be late.” The nurse shooed her from the office.
Darcy glanced at her watch. Eleven forty-five. She crossed the parking lot, slid behind the wheel of her white compact, and winced as her injured bottom grazed the upholstery. Struggling to keep her right hip elevated, she flipped on the radio and made the ten minute drive to the clinic.
She parked in the crowded lot, and unbuckled her seatbelt, a story on the local radio station catching her attention as she reached for the key. Leaving the car running, she listened, a sick feeling winding through her stomach.
“Bessie Roberts, eighty-seven years old, was found dead in her home at Chickasha Lake by her granddaughter early this morning. Initial findings suggest Ms. Roberts died of natural causes. She was a lifetime resident of Verden, and will be missed by many.”
Bessie, dead? The elderly woman lived next door. Maybe if Darcy would have checked on her last night, she could have helped her. Of course, she had no way of knowing anything happened, but if she were the kind of neighbor she should be, she’d have checked on her daily.
Sadness weighting her heart, she brushed tears from her cheeks and gingerly climbed from the car, then headed into the clinic.
Nicole, the cute young woman behind the counter, pouted her lower lip at Darcy. “I’m sorry you’re not feeling well, Ms. Vaughan.” She slid a plastic yellow clipboard across the countertop. “Please fill these out. Dr. Creighton will be with you shortly.”
“I usually see Dr. Fourman.”
“I’m sorry. Dr. Fourman is out of the office this afternoon.” Nicole clacked her French-manicured nails over the keyboard. “Dr. Creighton’s filling in. I’m sure he’ll take good care of you.” Lowering her voice to a whisper, she raised her eyebrows. “I think you’ll like him.” She winked before returning her gaze to the keys. “Have a seat while you wait.”
“Thank you, I’ll stand.” Darcy leaned against the wall as she filled out the forms. After completing them, she returned the clipboard to the counter along with Jake’s shot records. Nicole nodded, chattering into the telephone.
In moments, the door next to the receptionist desk opened and a nurse with short brown hair and large square glasses emerged. “Darcy Vaughan?”
Darcy followed her to an industrial-looking scale. The nurse wrote down her weight, then guided her into an empty examination room where she took her blood pressure and asked a series of questions. When finished, she dryly informed Darcy that Dr. Creighton would be in shortly, and stepped out, pulling the door closed behind her.
“Okay, I’ll wait,” Darcy sighed into the empty space. Unsuccessfully, she tried to keep her mind off her poor, sweet neighbor, as well as the sting in her derriere.
The whole biting incident had been blown out of proportion. School had only been in session a couple of weeks, and the children were still adjusting. It was an accident. Who’s to say she wouldn’t react likewise, if awakened from a nap with someone’s rear-end hovering above her face? Anyway, she should’ve evaluated Jake’s proximity before leaning over Bethany’s mat. Then she wouldn’t be waiting for a stranger to inspect her bottom.
