The Dust of Death

Chapter 21

Phalen had gotten a good night's sleep. He woke up with the image of that broken doll and burning buildings clouding his memory. Had he dreamed about them? He could not remember.

Schuster.

That was the name marked on the doll's leg.

German.

It left a bad taste in Phalen's mouth.

Cupid had said that Schuster was the name of a hole-in-the-wall shop near the park. Phalen threw two eggs into a frying pan and scrambled them up. After breakfast, he got into his car and headed west.

He found the store easy enough. It was as Flix had described. Something about the tired building reminded Phalen of fingers clawing desperately at the edge of an open grave. The door squeaked in protest as he pushed it forward, and Phalen stood very still for a moment, allowing his eyes to adjust to the darkness.

The stock inside the giant room looked as if it had been shipped over on the ark. A rug parted from an opening in the back of the store and a shriveled old man tottered forward.

"Help you, sir?" he asked, his voice high and weak with age.

"Yes. I was wondering if you sell dolls?" Phalen said, feeling rather foolish.

There were only some dusty cans and a few handmade towels and handkerchiefs, yellow with age, on the dusty counters.

"Dolls?" the old man seemed puzzled.

"I did have a doll, not long ago. A beautiful thing she was. I hated to part with her for she belonged to my Elsa. I sold her to the holy man because my wife is sick and needed medicine. Little good it did me. Now, the doll is gone, just like Elsa, my only child. And so is my wife."

"I am sorry. I truly am.

You said you sold the doll to a holy man?

"Yes. The holy man, he gave me three times what I ask for the doll. I know I should not have taken his money. It was a fortune. But my dear wife, she was so ill. I thought the money from the holy man would bring me good luck. I asked him to say a prayer for my Greta, but I am not sure he heard me. I don't know.

Little good it did me. And only bad luck I got for my trouble. Greta sank low that same night and died. And I do not know why, but I return to this wretched store like always because it is all that I know. I have nothing else. No Elsa. No Greta. Nothing."

"I am sorry. I'm sorry. But I really need your help," Phalen said, "can you describe this man who bought the doll?"

"He dressed all in black. As tall as a mountain. A black mountain with that funny collar holy men wear," the old man said.

"Anything else you remember?" asked Phalen.

"He walks like a three-leg frog," the old man said, rubbing the stubble of his chin.

"Thanks, so much," Phalen said, quickly leaving the store.

The old man stood in the gloom, shaking his head and wondering what had just occurred.