Only it wasn’t a man’s voice. It was a woman’s.
“Ruthie? It’s Candace O’Rourke.”
“Oh,shit,” Ruthie breathed.
“Should I get it?” Fawn asked, moving right up to the door, putting her hand on the deadbolt.
“No,” Ruthie whispered harshly. How had Candace found them?
“I think I might have an idea about what happened to your mother. I’ve come to help you find her.”
Before Ruthie could stop her, Fawn undid the deadbolt and yanked open the door.
A gust of cold wind slapped them in the face.
“Hi, Ruthie,” Candace said, flipping back her hood and unwrapping the scarf from her face. Her cheeks were bright pink. “It’s so good to see you again. May I come in?” Behind the shock of wind, Ruthie caught the scent of expensive perfume, cigarettes, and booze. Without waiting for an answer, Candace crossed the threshold and stepped into the hallway.
She looked down at Fawn, who had scuttled back. “Hello there,” Candace said with a huge smile. “What’syourname?”
Fawn didn’t answer. She clutched Mimi tight against her, then slipped away back down the hall.
“Oh, she’sshy!” Candace said with amusement.
Ruthie shrugged.Or she’s realizing that she just let a crazy person into our house, she thought.
“It’s freezing out there,” Candace said, shivering for emphasis. She looked around the hall. “No sign of your mother yet?”
Ruthie stood still, not answering.
“I see there’s a truck in the barn. Is that your family’s only vehicle?”
Ruthie was determined not to tell this woman anything. Not until she got some answers of her own.
“Where did you come from?” Ruthie asked. “How did you find us?”
Candace only smiled and unzipped her coat.
Ruthie tried again. “You said you had an idea what happened to my mom?”
Candace smiled an all-in-good-time smile and stepped farther inside, moving right past Ruthie. “This is so nice,” she said, going straight for the woodstove in the living room, peeling off her gloves to warm her hands. “Really cozy.” She looked all around the room. Ruthie tried to imagine how it must appear to someone like Candace—the rough-hewn floorboards, the faded rugs, the beat-up couch and coffee table.
“Look, however you found us, this really isn’t a good time,” Ruthie said, following her into the living room.
Candace had tracked in snow on her boots, leaving great puddles across the old pine floor. It was a house rule to take your shoes off in the hall. Ruthie’s mother would have a conniption if she were here.
“Hello again,” Candace said, as Fawn peeked at her from around the corner. “If you don’t want to tell me your name, that’s okay. But how about your dolly, she must have a name, right?”
Fawn only stared. Her cheeks were flushed from her fever, and she’d been in the same dirty red overalls for days. Her hair was in tangles. Ruthie realized she looked like a feral child, a little girl raised by wolves.
“I have a boy about your age,” Candace said. “His name is Luke. Let me guess, you’re six, right?”
Fawn gave a tentative nod.
“My Luke—you know what his favorite thing in the world is? He has a stuffed platypus. Can you guess what he named it?”
Fawn shook her head.
“Spike,” Candace said, laughing a little.
