The Doll Maker by Richard Montanari Read Free Book Online Page A

hour.’
    As Jessica and Byrne put on their coats, Jessica looked longingly at her pastry, on which the tiny candle had already burned down. She hoped this wasn’t an omen. She pointed at the paper plate. ‘Can I get that to go?’
    Byrne reached over to the roll of paper towels bolted to the side of one of the steel desks, pulled off a few sheets, removed the candle from the pastry and wrapped it up. ‘We’re a full-service unit here.’
    Jessica smiled. ‘Thanks, partner.’
    On the way to the elevators, Jessica had to ask. ‘By the way, where the hell did you find balloons that say “Knock ’em dead,” and “Break a leg”?’
    Byrne touched the elevator button. ‘I’m a detective,’ he said. ‘I’ve got connections.’
    While they waited, Jessica gave Byrne a soft nudge to the side. ‘Did you happen to buy them at that cute little gift shop on Second, by any chance?’
    Byrne had briefly dated a woman who ran a rather touristy gift shop at Second and Race. The relationship began, ostensibly, with Byrne going in there to buy Philadelphia maps. He said this with a straight face at the time, as if the PPD didn’t have enough maps of the city.
    They stepped into the elevator.
    ‘I’m done with relationships,’ Byrne said.
    ‘Here we go.’
    ‘I am. I’m a bay leaf.’
    The door closed. Jessica just stared. She knew Byrne well enough to know that something else was coming, but she had never quite figured out his timetable. When he didn’t continue, she asked.
    ‘Okay. I’m in,’ she said. ‘What do you mean?’
    Byrne looked at the scarred walls of the elevator, read the maximum occupancy sticker, stalled.
    ‘You know how, when you’re cooking, and the recipe calls for a bay leaf, and you—’
    Jessica held up a hand, stopping him. ‘Wait a minute,’ she said. ‘You cook ?’
    Byrne nodded.
    ‘Since when?’
    ‘I make a few things.’
    ‘Such as?’
    ‘I make a nice colcannon.’
    ‘That’s Irish food.’
    ‘What are you saying?’
    Busted. ‘I’m a huge fan of Irish food,’ Jessica said, trying to dig her way out. ‘Don’t I always get the shepherd’s pie at the Wake?’
    ‘I think that might technically be English, but yeah. You do.’
    ‘Right. See? So, go on.’
    Byrne let her spin for a few seconds, continued. ‘Anyway, in the recipe, at the end, they always say “discard the bay leaf.”’
    ‘Okay,’ Jessica said. ‘I’ve seen that.’
    ‘So that’s me. King of the ninety-day love affair. When women are done with me, they discard me. I’m the human bay leaf.’
    Jessica tried not to laugh, on the slightest chance it would hurt her partner’s feelings.
    She failed.

5
    The Shawmont train station was a former stop on SEPTA’s Manayunk/Norristown rail line, running north and south along the Schuylkill River, the de facto border between Northwest Philadelphia and West Philadelphia. Considered to be the oldest passenger train station house in the United States, the Shawmont station closed officially in 1996. Although SEPTA trains passed frequently, they no longer stopped at Shawmont.
    The two-story station house perched on the top of a rise that quickly descended to the bank of the Schuylkill River. Until recently, rumor had it that the small building housed a residential tenant – descendants of the original station master – but when Jessica and Byrne arrived, at just after nine a.m., the place looked sealed tight.
    Because it was a popular spot for joggers and cyclists, there was a Look Before Crossing sign attached to the building, even though the rail traffic on the Manayunk/Norristown line was not all that frequent.
    Byrne parked the car; he and Jessica got out, walked up the short path to the station. They crossed the tracks.
    As Jessica got closer, she could see that Dana Westbrook was right. This was a bad one.
    In fact, from a distance of fifty or so feet, it didn’t even look real. It looked like some sort of diorama or display in a store