Blue-Eyed Doll Read online

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  BLUE-EYED DOLL

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  Blue - Eyed

  Doll

  The Dead-End Drive-In Series

  Book Three

  By

  Carolyn Q. Hunter

  Copyright 2018 Summer Prescott Books

  All Rights Reserved. No part of this publication nor any of the information herein may be quoted from, nor reproduced, in any form, including but not limited to: printing, scanning, photocopying or any other printed, digital, or audio formats, without prior express written consent of the copyright holder.

  **This book is a work of fiction. Any similarities to persons, living or dead, places of business, or situations past or present, is completely unintentional.

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  BLUE - EYED

  DOLL

  The Dead-End Drive-In Series

  Book Three

  PROLOGUE

  * * *

  Coraline Danvers was a hoarder.

  Plain and simple.

  Her moderately sized plantation house was filled to the brim with items from the past. Antique furniture, chests, cardboard boxes, toys, dolls, and knick-knacks of every kind filled each room from floor to ceiling, leaving only small paths to navigate the labyrinth.

  The only livable rooms were the kitchen, the master bedroom and bath, and the study—where Coraline spent the bulk of her days watching soap operas and news broadcasts.

  Her daughter, Candy Danvers, had a habit of visiting once a year and trying to convince her mother to clean up and get rid of some of the junk that had turned their once beautiful home into an uncomfortable eyesore.

  However, these encounters always ended in arguments and tears. Residents of the small town were sure to spot Candy storming off three or four days earlier than planned, disappearing in her car with an angry red face and tears running down her cheeks.

  Afterwards, whenever anyone would ask Coraline why her daughter left, she would simply state that “I don’t have a daughter” and end the conversation at that.

  It was one family feud that, over the years, most residents of Sunken Grove had learned to steer clear of.

  On the other side of the coin, a more organized person would find the Danvers Plantation to be a treasure trove just waiting to be snatched up. Countless items, each individually worth a small fortune, were scattered through the mess like diamonds among the dirt.

  It was even whispered that she had possession of a rare doll that was worth at least thirty thousand dollars, if not more, depending on the item’s condition.

  It was that fact that brought Don Delta, the traveling antique salesman, to the plantation one late Friday night. A local source had informed him of the doll’s existence and he was prepared to pay the premium cost for the item if need be.

  Driving his clanking, clunking truck up the long circle driveway, he parked just outside the front door of the looming white building. His vehicle, which looked like it belonged in a circus roadshow, swayed uneasily as it came to a full stop.

  The side paneling of the truck was painted to look like a traditional New Orleans storefront. The inside of the truck looked like a miniature antique store with a red embroidered rug, hanging tapestries to cover the metal walls, and shelves of secured items for sale. Don wasn’t much into selling larger pieces like furniture. His specialty was in smaller items, including trinkets, mantle pieces, dinnerware, toys, and more.

  Basically, anything that could fit inside of his little cluttered “shop” was something he was interested in. In particular, he enjoyed truly rare or expensive finds like the legendary doll that was supposedly hidden away in the junk piles of the Danvers’s home.

  Shutting off the engine, the traveling salesman leaned forward and peered through his windshield at the large house in front of him.

  The building looked strange in the late evening shadows. Not a single hint of light escaped through any of the windows. Don supposed, if there was a light on at all, that it’s glow would be blocked by the mountains of stuff stacked up in each room.

  He shivered in his seat, trying to get up the courage to climb out and knock on the door.

  Only recently had he gotten up the nerve to drive around at night again. On another night much like this one, he had inadvertently stumbled upon a horrific scene while driving through the local bayou. He’d had a bit of car trouble and was forced to pull over to the side of the road. It was then that he’d spotted it . . . the body floating in the water.

  Even thinking about it made his knees shake.

  The last couple of weeks he had spent curled up in a local motel room with at least one light on while he tried to sleep. During the day, he attempted to get some purchases and sales in.

  He’d not had the best of luck and was looking to change his fate by buying this doll.

  Opening the door on the truck, Don slipped out and slammed it shut—the only way the rusty latch would lock properly. “Ow!” he exclaimed, swearing beneath his breath and gripping his right hand. There was a small gash on his palm, dripping with blood. “Shoot.”

  Examining the door, he realized that a piece of metal was sticking out at a jagged angle. It appeared that the handle had been broken, leaving a sharp edge on the corner.

  How’d that happen?

  Blood began running from his hand and dripping on the sidewalk.

  Walking around to the back of the truck, he opened the doors and pulled out a small first aid kit. Retrieving a large bandage, he wrapped it around his hand and secured it in place. Part of him took this as a bad omen, but the salesman inside of him refused to believe in such nonsense.

  He was already here, so he was at least going to knock on the door and ask the old woman if she had the doll.

  Taking a deep breath and puffing out his chest, Don headed for the door.

  * * *

  The knocking sound shook Coraline from her late evening daze. She was sitting on the plush red settee in the study, her feet soaking in a foot bath, and watching the latest episode of In This Dark House, a gothic themed soap opera
about an accomplished female writer and her relationship with a werewolf, a vampire, and a ghost. It was by far her favorite of the shows she watched, and she made sure to never miss an episode.

  This one she had recorded onto a VHS tape earlier that day so she could view it multiple times.

  The knocking came again from the front door, more earnest this time.

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake,” she groaned, pressing pause on the remote and removing her feet from the bath. “Could you pick a more inconvenient time?”

  Drying her bare feet on a nearby towel, she pulled herself up and walked down the skinny hallway—made even skinnier by the crowded walls of stuff—and came to the front door. Undoing the chain lock, the deadbolt, and the main latch she opened the door.

  To her surprise, she found a short, balding man in an unflattering tweed suit standing on her doorstep. “Can I help you?”

  “Mrs. Danvers, I presume?”

  “Yes, who are you?”

  “My name is Don Delta.”

  Her eyes scrunched up in confusion. She swore she had heard that name before.

  “Buyer and salesman of fine antique wares,” he announced, holding out a hand of greeting.

  “I’m not interested,” she snapped, going to shut the door.

  She instantly found a foot blocking her way.

  “Excuse me.”

  “Ma’am, just a minute. I’m not here to sell you anything. I’m interested in buying.”

  “Well, I doubt I have anything you would want,” she shot back quickly, wanting nothing more than to shut the door and get back to her soap opera.

  The ugly little man raised an eyebrow, looking at the piles of things behind her. “On the contrary. I heard a rumor that you own a very fine, very rare Victorian porcelain doll.”

  Twisting her lips to one side, she scowled. “I have no such thing. Now remove your foot before I break it.”

  “But, Mrs. Danvers.”

  “Beat it, buster,” she barked, swinging the door back, preparing to slam it on his foot. He moved just in time as the heavy oak slammed firmly shut in its frame.

  Resetting each of the three locks she turned with her back to the door. “Fool,” she spat.

  Stepping away from the entry hall, she headed toward the kitchen. Her show could wait another minute. Once inside the kitchen, she moved over to a tall shelf with various dry and canned foods on it, and pushed it aside. It moved easily thanks to the wheels she had installed years prior.

  Revealed behind the shelf was an old cellar door. Taking the small key from her pocket, she unlocked it. Creaking as it opened, the doorway revealed a narrow set of stairs leading downward. Carefully walking down the wooden steps, Coraline vanished into the inky darkness below.

  Once she reached the lower landing, she flipped the metal wall switch. The cellar was instantly bathed in a dim yellowish light which barely reached the corners.

  Unlike most of the other rooms in the house, this one was devoid of stuff. A single table sat against the far wall, decorated with a fine red cloth, candles, a small decorative skull, and a picture frame. The centerpiece of the table was the glass case.

  Inside of it was a doll.

  “Hello, my dear,” Coraline whispered, “people are asking questions, again.”

  * * *

  Don swore under his breath as he pulled away. His client wasn’t going to be happy about this whole situation. He had promised to locate the doll, buy it, and bring it in.

  The evening was dark and the bayou’s trees created a mask over any lights coming from downtown Sunken Grove. The horizon looked like someone spilled black ink across it, darkening it forever.

  The most he could make out was the trees as they came up.

  He would be lying if he didn’t admit that he hated working these stretches of open country. Unfortunately, as an antique salesman, all his best business was out in this area.

  “I really need a new job,” he grumbled to himself, knowing full well that changing professions was unlikely.

  Reaching the bridge at the edge of Coraline Danvers’s property, he drove carefully over, listening to the old wooden boards creak and groan under the weight of his monstrous truck.

  It was then that he heard it, the strange yet indistinguishable sound of a little girl laughing. Easing his foot off the gas, he slowed down and listened harder.

  The giggling came again, and if he was not mistaken, it sounded just like it was coming from inside the cab. However, that wasn’t possible, was it? How could a little girl have snuck aboard? Where would she even come from? It wasn’t like Coraline had any little children.

  Don pressed his foot on the brake and brought the truck to a halt. Sliding the gear into park, he unbuckled himself to get out.

  As he pulled the door handle, the cab light flickered on.

  Instantly, Don screamed, pushing the door open and tumbling out of the driver’s seat. He fell hard on the dirt road. His heart was racing its way up into his throat as he propped himself back up on his elbows.

  He could have sworn that he’d just seen a porcelain doll sitting in the passenger seat.

  He hesitated, afraid to look in the cab again.

  Eventually, crawling on hands and knees, he moved closer to the open driver’s door. Gripping the edge of the seat, he poked his head up and looked inside.

  There wasn’t any doll there. In the place where he swore he’d seen it, there was a dead crow.

  “Oh, gosh,” he grunted, grabbing his stomach. Leaning over, he threw up.

  CHAPTER 1

  * * *

  Anna-Lee sat bolt upright from where she’d been sleeping on the couch and let out a tiny yelp. Her forehead was covered in sweat and her breathing was quick and shallow.

  “Are you okay?” Sarah-Belle, Anna’s younger sister, asked. She was standing in the kitchen, grabbing the coffee canister off the top of the fridge.

  “I, uh, yeah,” she sighed, putting her head in her hands.

  “You were kind of moaning. Bad dream?” She scooped a rounded spoonful of coffee into the miniature French press.

  “Yeah, the worst.”

  Belle half-smiled. “Should I make a double batch?” she asked, scooping into the coffee can again.

  “Better make it a triple,” Anna told her, slipping out from under the covers. The couch was also a pull-out bed, but most of the time she didn’t want to bother with it. Making her way over to the kitchen, she sat at the table.

  “Do you want to tell me about it?” Belle pressed, keeping an eye on the boiling teapot she’d set on the stove.

  Anna groaned.

  “You don’t have to share. I was just asking.”

  Anna didn’t care for this dynamic. Belle was the younger sister. She wasn’t supposed to be the one offering comfort and support. That was Anna’s job as the older sister. She had always been the responsible one.

  Yet, somehow, Anna found herself sleeping on the couch in her sister’s apartment and working at the drive-in theater selling concessions.

  This was not her idea of the dream.

  Her nightmares had been getting worse, and the crazy voodoo stuff that always seemed to be happening around Sunken Grove was like fuel for the fire.

  “I don’t know. It was like I was stuck on an operating table and couldn’t move,” she admitted. She only hoped that by talking about it, the dream would somehow slip out of her mind forever.

  “Ugh, this already sounds horrible.” Belle grabbed the teapot, which had started whistling, and poured it over the coffee grounds. She set a timer for four minutes.

  “All these doctors were working on me and wouldn’t listen to my cries for them to stop.”

  “Ew.”

  “That’s not the worst part,” she said, hesitating on the next few words. “They all had doll faces.”

  Belle made a gagging noise. “Dolls? I hate dolls. They totally creep me out.” As a big fan of horror movies, Belle had to admit that dolls and puppets were her least fa
vorite.

  “They were so creepy.”

  “Oh, speaking of creepy things, guess what I overheard on Dan’s police radio late last night?”

  “You listen in on the police radio?”

  “Yeah, sometimes. It helps me fall asleep,” she admitted. She’d set up an old radio in her bedroom, but out in the boonies of Louisiana there weren’t a lot of great stations available late at night. So, she’d rigged it to patch in with Chief Bronson’s radio. It was mostly white noise, which helped her sleep, but occasionally reports came in.

  “Fine, what did you hear?” Anna gave in, unable to keep her sick curiosity at bay.

  “Supposedly, that traveling salesman, Don Delta, found a dead crow in his truck.”

  Anna paused, trying to figure out why exactly this constituted news. “So?”

  “According to Harlem, it’s some sort of voodoo thing. A warning or an omen.”

  “Oh goodness, don’t tell me that. I don’t want to hear about anymore ghosts, zombies, voodoo rituals, or murders.”

  “Well, there haven’t been any murders.”

  “Good. Let’s hope it stays that way.”

  Belle poured the coffee into two orange mugs. “I’m just saying, it could turn into a fun mystery, if you wanted.”

  “I don’t want to solve any more mysteries. If I had a choice, I would forget my involvement the last two times we ended up in a mystery. I didn’t move in here to help you snoop around on the latest gossip or weirdness in town.”

  “I know, but I enjoyed spending the time together.” Belle brought a cup over to her sister.

  “Thanks,” she whispered.

  “Okay, if you aren’t interested in dead birds or mysterious goings on, want to run an errand with me this morning?”

  She sipped the coffee. “Sure. What are we doing?”

  Belle smiled. “You’re going to love this.”

  * * *

  “Coraline? As in Mrs. Danvers?” Anna sat in the passenger seat of her sister’s small German car, fiddling with two small twisted pieces of metal—a mind-puzzle she had picked up from the convenience store the previous day. The two parts were interlocked and the goal was to find a way to get them apart.