They had found the other dolls with the same hidden compartments.
They had left there, gone to dinner, come back to Brown’s, and very nearly been massacred by a team of killers with submachine guns.
Again, cause and effect? And in both instances the cause perhaps had been conversations at the Dabney house.
Is the place bugged?
Maybe by whoever had ambushed Decker at Berkshire’s old house in the woods? And was the same force behind the hit team last night?
And then there were the dolls. How exactly did they come into play? As Ellie had said in defense of her husband, Walter Dabney had not walked around with dolls. He presumably hadn’t carried any to his office, stuffed them with secrets, and then handed them off to a third party, only to retrieve them so they could be returned to his daughters. That hardly made sense. A man walking around with dolls would have been noticed. You couldn’t exactly walk into the NSA carrying a doll.
But maybe he didn’t have to. Maybe that exchange was on the other end.
Decker suddenly whipped the wheel around and pointed his car in a new direction.
He parked across the street from Cecilia Randall’s home. The police had gone, but the door to her place was partially open. He got out of the car, hustled across the street as the rain pelted him, and knocked on the door.
No one answered. He took out his gun, edged the door open, and peered inside.
“FBI. Anybody here?”
Again, there was no answer. But he heard the creak of floorboards and looked up.
Someone was upstairs.
He quietly made his way up the stairs and took a quick look around. There were only two rooms up here. And only one had a light on.
He scuttled over to that door and was about to put his hand on the knob when it turned.
He stepped back, his gun aimed at the door.
The woman screamed when she saw him and dropped the box she was holding. “Oh my God, what do you want!” she yelled. “Please don’t hurt me.”
Decker dug into his pocket and pulled out his credentials. “I’m with the FBI. I’m not going to hurt you.”
The woman staggered sideways and gripped the doorjamb. “Oh, sweet Jesus, you nearly scared me to death.”
Decker put his gun away and studied her.
She was black, thin, and around forty, with short graying hair.
“Who are you?” asked Decker.
“I’m Rhonda Kaine.”
“What are you doing here?”
“This is my mother’s house.”
“Cecilia Randall was your mother?”
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry for your loss.”
She looked down at the box. “I just came by to pick up some things. Don’t know what I’m going to do with this place. Sell it, I guess.”
“Do you live in the area?”
“Baltimore, so not that far.” She gazed up at him with a stern expression. “You people find out who did this?”
“Not yet. But since you’re here, do you mind if I ask you some questions?”
“The police have already talked to me.”
“My questions might be different.”
“Look, as far as I know, Momma had no enemies. Nobody who’d want to hurt her. She worked hard, went to church, she raised me, and she was a good person. I think somebody came here to rob her. I’ve been begging her to get out of this neighborhood. This is the house where I grew up. The neighborhood was okay back then, but not now. There’re dudes around here who’ll kill you for a quarter.”
“I don’t disagree, but I don’t think that’s what happened to her.”
“Why not?”
“You just said your mother worked hard for a living. She worked for the Dabneys, correct?”
“That’s right. For well over thirty years.”
“So you must have known them too.”
“I did. When I was little I would go over there with her.”
“So you knew the daughters?”
“I’d play with them. I was a little older. Sometimes, I’d watch Jules or Samantha. When Natalie was a baby I’d change her diaper and feed her.”
“Nice of you to do that.”
“Oh, they paid me. They insisted on that. Mr. and Mrs. Dabney were very kind, Mrs. Dabney especially. I saw a lot more of her. Mr. Dabney was always working or traveling. Momma and I would be long gone before he got home from the office.”
“Do you know where Mr. Dabney traveled to?”
“Why?”
“We’re looking into his death as well.”
“I heard he killed himself.”
“He did. But we still have to figure out why.”
“Oh, well, I’m not really sure where he went. I think a lot of places in this country, different states. One time I was helping Momma put his luggage away after he came back from a trip and the airline baggage sticker was still on it.”
“Do you remember the initials of the airport on it?”
“No. But I do remember it wasn’t an American airline. I just can’t remember which one it was. But I remember Momma telling me that he traveled a lot overseas too.”
“How did she know that?”
Kaine smiled. “When she was little, Samantha got ahold of her daddy’s passport and hid it in the kitchen. They were looking all over for it. Momma found it in the sugar bin. She had to open it up to clean off the pages and get all the grains of sugar off it. And she said it was full up with stamps and stuff from all the countries he’d been to.”
“Did your mother ever tell you anything out of the ordinary about the Dabneys?”
“Out of the ordinary?” Kaine gave him a penetrating look. “Where is all this going?”
“To the truth, I hope.”
“The Dabneys are good people.”
“I’m sure they are, but Mr. Dabney did murder someone.”
Kaine’s expression changed to one of bewilderment and then sadness. “I still can’t believe he did it. He would have been the last person in the world I would have thought was capable of that. And him killing himself? And leaving Mrs. Dabney? They were so much in love. They were the perfect couple.”
“Well, looks can be deceiving.”
Decker glanced down at the box. “What’s in there?”
Kaine smiled. “This was my old bedroom. It was just Momma and me. I had a brother, but he died when he was a baby, and my daddy passed when I was four.”
“I’m sorry.”
“She kept some of my stuff. I’ve got two daughters, so I thought they might want it, but they’re getting a little old for some of it.”
“You mean toys?”
“Yeah.”
She stepped back and opened the door more fully. Decker saw a neatly made bed, a white chest of drawers, and two tall shelves packed with items.
“These days if you can’t hook up to the Internet kids don’t want it. Dr. Seuss books, Easy-Bake Oven, puzzles. And even dolls. Now it has to be that American Girl thing. Do you know how much those cost? Mine were way cheaper and just fine. All you had to do was use your imagination.”
Decker was only half listening. On one shelf he was staring at a series of dolls all lined up in a row.
“Are those your old dolls?”
“Yes.”
“Did you know that they’re exactly like the ones the Dabney daughters have?”
“Are they? Well, I guess that makes sense.”