Don't Say a Word - Barbara Freethy [132]
"I bet you were great when you did."
"I was all right," she said modestly. "I didn't really care about being great. I just wanted to dance. I loved the way it felt to be on the stage, to be lost in a world of make-believe, where the girls were pretty and the boys were handsome and the music lifted you up as if you were flying."
Julia was touched by her sister's words. She felt the same passion for the music that made the dancer soar. They were truly two halves of the same whole.
"Do you mind if I take a look at the doll?" Alex interrupted. "There were some numbers on Julia's set. I wonder if there are any on yours. Do you have a piece of paper?"
"Sure," Elena said, retrieving a notepad from a nearby table.
Alex took the dolls apart again, one at a time, jotting down a number after each one, until they had a string.
"Ten numbers," he mused.
"Maybe it's a serial number for the doll," Elena suggested.
"The numbers are scratched lightly into the surface of the wood. I think someone put them there after the dolls were made."
"Maybe our mother did," Julia said slowly, remembering the sharp knife by her mother's side the day she'd had the dolls open on the bed. "What could they possibly mean?"
"I don't know," Alex replied. "But we should try to find out. I can't believe I'm going to say this," he added heavily. "I'll call my father. He might know something."
Julia knew what a huge step that was for him, and she nodded gratefully. "Thank you."
Alex started to put the dolls back together, then paused. He shook the smallest one. "This is interesting. I hear a rattle." He shook it again. Julia leaned in, hearing the same small noise. The doll was one that had belonged to Elena's set.
"Did you ever notice that before?" Julia asked her sister.
"I haven't taken that doll apart in probably fifteen years. And the smallest one never opened."
"It looks like it was glued shut. There's a fine line," Alex said. He looked at Elena. "Do you mind if I try to open it, see what's inside? It could be important."
Elena shrugged her shoulders. "It's fine with me. I can't imagine what would be in there. What do you need? A knife? A screwdriver?"
"Either would be great." He pressed on the middle of the doll with his fingers.
"Do you really think there's something in there?" Julia asked.
"We know someone has been looking for something and that it's small." He took a paring knife from Elena's hand and ran the tip around the middle of the doll where there should have been an opening. After a moment, he was able to pull the two pieces apart.
Julia held her breath as he produced a silver key.
"Look at this," Alex murmured.
"Why would a key be in there?" Elena asked.
"I wonder what it goes to." Julia took the key from Alex's hand and twirled it around in her fingers. There's a number on it-423."
"I have a safe-deposit box key that looks a lot like that," Alex commented.
She met his eyes. "You think this goes to a safe-deposit box?"
"Perhaps that ten-digit number on the dolls is for a bank account." Alex rose. "I'm going to call my father now. Do you mind if I use the bedroom?"
"Go ahead," Elena said with a wave of her hand. "I don't think I made my bed, though. Neatness isn't one of my strengths."
"Mine, either," Alex said with a smile. "I'll feel right at home."
As he left the room, Julia handed Elena the key. "What do you think? Any other ideas?"
"I feel like I'm two steps behind you and Alex. I don't know what we're looking for.". "We don't know, either. We're just winging it."
An awkward silence fell between them. "This is weird, huh?" Julia said, understating the obvious. "You and me, after all these years."
"Really strange," Elena agreed. "I can't stop looking at you. I'm sorry if I'm staring."
"I feel the same way. I know you, and yet I don't."
"We were babies the last time we saw each other, three years old. It's no wonder it feels uncomfortable now."
"But it feels good, too," Julia said.
"Yes, it does. I've really missed