The Dollmaker(The Forgotten Files #2)(81)

Andrews didn’t speak.

“Let me think about it.”




The modest funeral home was located on the south side of town a block from the railroad tracks and six blocks from Terrance Dillon’s home. Sharp parked in the back of the lot and got out of his car.

Inside the funeral home, gentle music played over hidden speakers, which he supposed was intended to soothe the grieving. In an unseen room, wheels squeaked, and he imagined a casket being positioned. He thought about his sister. His mother. Roger.

Sharp shrugged his shoulders and tugged at the corners of his cuffs, already wishing he could leave this place. He hated the idea of digging up Kara’s coffin, but he couldn’t ignore Andrews’s logic. If she held the key to catching this killer in her coffin, he’d start proceedings today.

He followed the carpeted hallway to the placard marked “Office.” He knocked and found Norman DeLuca in a dark suit standing behind the receptionist desk, arranging name cards.

DeLuca looked up. “Agent Sharp. Good to see you. Still working on the Terrance Dillon case?”

“I’m looking into another case.”

“How may I help you, Agent Sharp?”

He fished around for the right words. “I came about my sister, Kara.”

“Kara Benson? She’s not been with us for a long time.”

Not with us. It sounded too polite. “I want to know about the final moments before her casket was sealed.”

“What do you mean?”

“Who was there? Did anyone put any item in the casket with her?” He thought about the dolls left at Diane’s and Elena’s homes.

“It’s been twelve years. I would have to check our files for any items inventoried.”

“Can you do that now?”

DeLuca glanced at his watch. “I’ve new clients arriving soon, but I think I can do this.” He motioned Sharp toward a computer, and he pressed a few keys before the name Benson came on the screen. “Her final clothing selection was a white lace dress. She wore a heart-shaped necklace and a bracelet with her name on it.”

Both pieces were favorites of hers. He’d given Kara both the necklace and bracelet. “Anything else in the casket?”

“There was a doll.”

“A doll?”

“Yes. I personally placed it beside her just before her funeral.”

“Who gave it to you?”

“After your parents left, a young girl came into the viewing room and gave it to me. She said your mother wanted it left with your sister. The doll apparently had been Kara’s.”

No. That wasn’t right. His sister wouldn’t have wanted anything like that. “Who was the girl?”

“A friend of the family, I suppose. I didn’t recognize her. I didn’t question the girl. I hope I didn’t offend your family,” Mr. DeLuca said.

It was the killer’s signature. He was likely at the funeral. “Do you have a list of the people who signed the guest book?”

“I have a scan of it in our computer files. Would you like a printout?”

“Yes.”

More keys tapped. The printer hummed.

DeLuca inspected the pages, then handed them to Sharp.

“Never pleasant when a young one leaves us. We try to help, but it’s never easy.”

“Thank you.”

“You didn’t say why the doll mattered.”

Because the fucking killer wanted it there. “I’m not sure it really does. Just struck me as odd.”

“Why?”

“Kara wasn’t a fan of dolls.”

“Maybe she was, and you didn’t know it.”

Sharp meticulously tucked the pages in his notebook. “You might be right. Thank you again, Mr. DeLuca.”

“Of course. Return any time you have a question.”

On the way out, he glanced at the upcoming services and caught the name Terrance Raymond Dillon. “The Dillon funeral is going to be held here?”

“Tomorrow at ten.”

Sharp moved to a side table and picked up a flyer. He stared at the paper, the feelings of regret and anger weighing heavy. “And the expenses were covered.”

“It’s all taken care of,” he said.

“By who?”

“The community. A crowdfunding account was set up, and it grew quickly. What it doesn’t cover, I will.”

“Do you do that often?”

“Sometimes. Mrs. Jones is asking in lieu of flowers that donations be made to the Terrance Dillon scholarship fund at his high school.”

“Good to know. Thank you.”

“Will you be attending tomorrow?”

“I will.”

“Would you like me to reserve a seat for you? It’s going to be crowded.”

“No.” He forced a smile. “Thank you. I can fend for myself.”

“See you tomorrow.”

In his car, he called McLean, his one friend who’d attended Kara’s funeral. McLean picked up on the second ring. “What’s up?”

Sharp reached for his cigarettes. “You attended Kara’s funeral.”

Silence hung heavy between them. “I did.”

Sharp cleared his throat. “Did you see her?”