The Doll Maker (35 page)

Paddy shook his head. ‘I was wordstruck. She was way out of my league, boyo – as you probably know –and, believe it or not, I didn’t have the gift then.’

‘Hard to believe.’

‘For the next three months I wore out the sidewalk in front of that dress shop, trying to work up the nerve to talk to her. Finally, I did.’

‘Did she say yes the first time you asked her out?’

Paddy smiled. ‘She did. She said she’d wondered when the crazy man walking up and down the block was going to walk in and get it over with. She also told me she was beginning to wonder whether putting on her lipstick right in front of me that first time had been a bad idea.’

Byrne smiled, glanced out his front window.

There were two times a year, somewhere in spring and somewhere in late fall, when the gloaming light in Philadelphia was perfect. This was one of those times. Or maybe it was the lager, and this moment with his father.

‘I see her face sometimes,’ Paddy said.

Byrne expected his father to continue. He did not. ‘What do you mean?’

‘When I look at you. I see your mother’s face. Not always, but sometimes.’

Byrne said nothing.

‘You have this look, when something isn’t quite the way you thought it was going to be,’ Paddy said. ‘Your ma used to do that. Every time I saw that look I knew I was in trouble.’

‘As I recall, you were in trouble a lot.’

‘I was,’ Paddy said. He sipped his beer. ‘Do you see Donna’s face when you look at Colleen?’

All the time
, Byrne thought. ‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘I do.’

‘Funny, that, isn’t it?’

It occurred to Byrne, and not for the first time, that he and his father had to be the only two Irish Catholic men in Philly – maybe the world, for that matter – with one child each. Paddy Byrne still harbored the notion that his son would one day meet a woman, get married, and have a few more children. Paddy Byrne still thought of him as if he were twenty-five years old.

Byrne stood up. ‘Go for a wee dram, Da?’

‘Okay,’ Paddy said. ‘Maybe a short one.’

Byrne went for the bottle of Black Bush he kept in the small broom closet off the pantry. When he opened the door he

didn’t mean to break the vase with the yellow flowers in it
 

knew that this small space was once a place of confinement.

He touched the brass key in his pocket.

It felt like an amulet.

Valerie sat at the kitchen table, a cup of chamomile tea in front of her. She’d made a tray of brownies for the next day’s dessert, but her mind had been elsewhere, and she’d left out the sugar. The kitchen still smelled of chocolate.
 

At just after midnight she stepped into the pantry, took out the brass key, and opened the broom closet.
 

‘You can come out now,’ she said.
 

A full minute later Thaddeus emerged from the darkness. Valerie helped him onto a chair in the kitchen, sat across from him.
 

‘Do you have anything to say?’ she asked.
 

The boy looked at his hands.
 

‘I’m sorry,’ he said softly. ‘I didn’t mean to spill the water on the floor.’
 

‘And what about the vase?’
 

Thaddeus glanced at the sideboard, where the crystal flower vase had once stood, filled with daffodils. Now the flowers were in an old ceramic water pitcher, a chipped jug with a missing handle.
 

The boy looked back at Valerie, his eyes red from crying. She had locked him in the small closet off the pantry before supper. None of the other children had asked where he was.
 

‘I’m sorry,’ he repeated.
 

Valerie gave the apology the proper amount of time to settle. ‘Okay,’ she said. ‘You are forgiven.’
 

The boy didn’t move.
 

‘You didn’t have any supper,’ Valerie said. ‘I kept a plate warm for you. Are you hungry?’
 

Thaddeus shook his head.
 

‘Are you sure? It’s fried chicken. Your favorite.’
 

‘No thank you.’
 

Valerie waited a few moments. Children were always changing their minds. Thaddeus did not.
 

‘I have something for you,’ Valerie said. ‘A present. Do you want to see?’
 

He brightened a little. ‘Yes.’
 

Valerie walked across the kitchen, into the dining room. When she returned she had in her hands a Macy’s bag. From it she pulled out a pair of new pajamas, handed them to the boy.
 

‘Do you like them?’ she asked.
 

‘Very much.’
 

‘They are dark blue. Just like your eyes.’
 

Thaddeus held the package tightly to his chest, but didn’t open it.
 

‘Okay,’ she said. ‘Off to bed with you, young man.’
 

Thaddeus slipped off the chair, and all but ran to the steps. Seconds later, Valerie heard him reach the top.
 

She turned off the oven, took out the boy’s plate, wrapped it in foil. Before heading off to bed herself, she crossed the pantry, opened the door to the broom closet. The ceiling light in the pantry shone inside.
 

The mop and duster were hanging from eightpenny nails, as always, but the broom was leaning against the wall. Next to it, in the corner, was a small pile of dust.
 

While he was locked in the closet, Thaddeus Woodman had swept up.
 

Andi looked at her watch for what had to be the twentieth time in the last hour.

How long could one friggin’ day last
?

When she’d gotten the job at American Apparel at King of Prussia Mall – the massive shopping center in Upper Merion Township, anchored by Lord & Taylor, Neiman Marcus, Bloomingdale’s and Nordstrom – she’d taken on a thirty-hour week because she thought she could pull it, along with schoolwork, and save up some money for a trip to New York next summer.

Saturday was her only full day, and she had figured that hanging around a mall all day – something she’d done anyway since she was about thirteen – would be kind of cool. Fun, even.

As it turned out, not so much.

She’d applied at a number of places in the mall, places she’d really
wanted
to work: Armani Exchange, Diesel, J. Crew, Lacoste, even Gucci, Hermès, and Burberry. No dice at any of them. Either they weren’t hiring, or thought Andi didn’t have ‘the look,’ whatever the hell that was. She’d browsed at all those stores many times and, yes, everyone who worked there was well dressed, everyone there was well groomed, but none of them were all that. Not a Jennifer Lawrence or Selena Gomez among them.

In the end, American Apparel was an okay fit.

Except today. Today it was a graveyard.

Andi stepped out from behind the counter, trying to look busy. She folded and refolded some crewneck sweaters at the front table, straightened some purses on the two end caps, straightened sleeves on the rack of skater dresses which, Andi had to admit, were pretty cool. She got a pretty good employee discount. Maybe she’d get one.

Of course, she’d probably have to lose five pounds first.

She was just about to head to the back of the store to unbox some new stretch denim pencil pants – also cool, a seven-pound loss required – when she heard the soft tone that sounded when someone entered the store.

She turned to greet the customer, but the words froze on her lips.

He was that good-looking.

‘Hi,’ Andi finally managed. ‘Welcome to American Apparel.’

He smiled. Andi’s knees went a little watery.

‘Thank you,’ he said.

He wore a navy blue suit, white spread collar shirt, and a deep burgundy tie. The shirt was a French cuff. He wore tasteful sterling silver cufflinks in the shape of the letter
M
. Or maybe it was a
W
.

Andi was pretty good at spotting designers, but his suit looked to be a bespoke.

‘I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve been watching you,’ he said. He pointed to the benches by the fountain, just outside the entrance. ‘I’ve been sitting just there most of the morning.’

Try as she did to stop herself, Andi blushed. ‘I don’t mind.’

‘I’m wondering if you’d like to sit and chat with me,’ he said. ‘Perhaps after work, or whenever you get a break.’

Andi glanced at her watch. ‘I get a break around two.’

‘Wonderful. I noticed that there is a small court near the entrance to Nordstrom. Will you meet me there?’

‘Uh, sure,’ Andi said. ‘Okay.’

He once again smiled. ‘Two o’clock it is.’

Andi turned and almost walked into the front table.

When Andi entered the Café Court, she saw him sitting at a table. He wasn’t reading a magazine, he wasn’t looking at a cell phone, he wasn’t drinking coffee or eating some crap food available at the food court. He was just sitting there, legs crossed, hands folded on the table, his bright white cuffs pulled a perfect inch from the cuff of his dark suit.

Just sitting there.

When he saw her approach he stood, held a chair for her.

‘I’m so pleased you came.’

Andi sat. Since he came into the store she had been rehearsing things she might say. Being this close to him, however, it all left her head, as if someone opened one side of her brain, and walked across it with a Swiffer.

‘Tell me about you,’ he said. ‘I want to know everything.’

Andi tried to think of something clever to say. Instead she said: ‘There’s really not much to tell.’

‘I’m sure there is.’

Andi took the next few minutes to give her brief life story: mom and dad, school, work, her favorite music, her favorite movies, her favorite foods. It all sounded so boring, like some suburban nightmare compared to whatever and whoever this boy was.

‘By the way, I really like your suit,’ she added.

‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘I think it is important to always look your best.’

‘Most of the boys I know dress like slobs. I hate all that saggy-pants crap.’

‘As do I.’

‘They come in the store and they never buy anything. Half the time my manager just kicks them out. I can’t tell you how many times she’s had to call mall security.’

He touched the lapel of his suit, flicking away a spot of lint. ‘The boys are probably just trying to impress you.’

‘Why would they want to do that?’

‘Because you are beautiful.’

Andi almost choked. ‘You think I’m
beautiful
?’

He reached out a well-manicured finger, gently moved a strand of hair from her face. ‘You are the smile of Garbo and the scent of roses.’

‘Wow,’ she said. ‘What’s that from?’

‘Just an old song.’

None of this seemed real. But Andi decided to just go with it. ‘I don’t even know your name.’

‘I am Marseille.’

So the cufflinks were an M, not a W, she thought. ‘That’s a
very
cool name.’

Andi wanted to ask him if that was his first name or his last name, but she didn’t want to pry. She didn’t want to give this guy any reason to end this conversation, either. Even though she had to get back to the store. Amazing how a day that was dragging could speed up and fly by.

‘And you are Andrea,’ he added.

Andi was surprised. ‘How do you know my name?’

He smiled, held her gaze. A few seconds later it hit her.

Andi closed her eyes, realizing she’d just said the dumbest thing she’d ever said. Seventeen years – seventeen and two months, thank you – and she’d chosen this moment to utter the dumbest words of all time.

Great
, Andi.

She lifted up her nametag. ‘I’m so stupid.’

‘Not at all,’ he said. He leaned forward. ‘When are you through for the day?’

Andi looked at her watch. She knew she was off at four o’clock, so whatever time it was now didn’t matter. She just needed something to look at. She glanced back up.

‘I’m off at four.’

‘Do you have plans for after work?’

She didn’t. She never did. ‘No.’

‘I’d like to invite you to tea.’

Of all the things she expected him to say, an invitation to tea was probably last. ‘Tea?’

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Every Saturday we have a tea dance – a
dansant
, if you’ll allow. It is quite the formal affair. You’ll love my friends. They are quite a lively and eccentric lot.’

‘It’s a dance?’

‘Yes.’

This was a first, Andi thought. But why not?

‘Sure,’ she said. ‘It sounds like fun.’

‘Wonderful,’ he said. ‘Where shall we meet?’

Andi was going to get a ride from her friend Tacy, who worked at the men’s fragrance counter at Nordstrom. This was way better.

‘I’ll meet you by the south entrance to Saks,’ she said.

He looked deeply into her eyes for a few moments, then said: ‘I shall count the moments.’

It was Saturday. The Homicide Unit was on tenterhooks.

Every time the phone rang, the six detectives working the task force expected it to be news of another body, another invitation to die.

Byrne had worked the phones all morning and early afternoon, trying to track the history of the two children who went into the Philadelphia County welfare system – specifically into a long-shuttered foster care home in the Nicetown section of Philadelphia, a group home called Vista House.

At two he found a direction. He spoke to a woman, Dr Meredith Allen, who had done some work with Vista House when the eight children were transferred from Pittsburgh more than twelve years ago. She agreed to meet him.

Meredith Allen was an attractive, dark-haired woman in her late thirties. Her office was on Tenth and Spruce, a converted double row home on a fully restored block.

Twelve years earlier Dr Allen had been a psychology fellow, and told Byrne that there had been a program in place at that time, one that served to document the psychological status of children who became residents of Vista House, as well as a number of other foster care homes in the tri-county area.