Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
After a successful hour of snooping, we make our way upstairs to wash up, find Asher something to wear and, hopefully, find a package of unopened toothbrushes under a vanity counter somewhere. My parents’ bedroom stands in a wash of sunlight streaming in through gauze curtains.
“Your dad looks pretty tall in the pictures. Hopefully, he’ll have something that works.” Asher opens the closet door, and his expression drops. “Or not.”
I laugh. “What’s wrong? Do things look too small?”
He frowns and pulls two handfuls of hangers free of the rod and then turns to face me. “Your dad is the farthest thing from metrosexual chic I’ve ever had the horror to witness. My stars, I think you’re the daughter of a lumberjack.”
I take in the assortment of flannel, plaid shirts and burst out laughing. “Yikes. Maybe you can think of it more like cold-weather hiking gear.”
He arches a brow. “Have you ever seen me hike?”
I laugh again and step in beside him. Everything smells faintly of cedar and something warm and masculine that makes my chest ache with longing for a memory I can’t quite grasp.
“What about this?” I pull a long-sleeved, collarless blue shirt off its hanger. “It’s practically a Henley and will look good with your eyes.”
Asher holds it up against his chest and arches a brow. “At least it doesn’t look like a checkerboard.”
I grab a pair of jeans off a shelf and shake them out. “Do you think these will fit?”
“There’s only one way to find out.”
I give him privacy, moving to the bookshelf over by the reading area. Mixed in with the books and collectibles are family photos: my parents at what looks like their wedding, my mother pregnant, the three of us girls at various ages. In every single photo, we’re laughing or smiling.
“Man, we look happy.”
Asher steps against my back and hugs me from behind. “Some people have happy childhoods. That wasn’t my experience, but I’m told it happens.”
Before I can say anything, the doorbell chimes.
Asher straightens. “Are we expecting company?”
“In the childhood home that I have no memory of? No. Do you think it’s Blue Eyes?”
The bell rings again, and we exchange glances.
“Maybe if we ignore them, they’ll go away.” Asher moves over to the window to look out, but I already know he won’t see anything because of the wide porch across the front of the house.
The bell rings a third time, followed by sharp knocking.
“It doesn’t sound like they’ll go away.” I head for the stairs. “Come on.”
We hurry downstairs, and I can see a woman’s silhouette through the stained-glass panels beside the front door.
I open the door to find a woman in her sixties with steel-gray hair pulled back in a tight bun and small, beady eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses. She’s wearing a floral housedress and cushioned flat shoes, and when she looks up at us, her smile doesn’t reach her eyes.
“Well, hello there.” Her gaze sweeps over us, taking in first me and then Asher towering behind me. “I’m Margaret Pinehurst from across the road. I saw lights on over here and thought I just better get over here and check things out.”
“You just better?” I repeat slowly.
“Oh yes, dear. This house has been empty for years. So when I saw lights on...” She cranes her neck, trying to see past us into the house. “Who are you exactly? And why are you here?”
Asher tenses beside me, but I don’t let the judgy edge to her voice bother me. We’ve been shunned and shamed by the best of them, and I’m immune. “We got in late last night. We’re here visiting for a bit.”
“Visiting.” Margaret’s eyebrows climb toward her hairline. “And you have permission to be here, I assume? Some sort of identification?”
My jaw tightens as I realize that even if I wanted to prove who we are to this woman, we have nothing with us. We were at a party in our own building. The only things we had with us were our phones.
But, in truth, I wouldn’t show her our identification even if we did have it. “Why would we need to show you identification? This isn’t a traffic stop. And you aren’t with the police.”
She stiffens. “Now, listen here, young lady. We have a nice, quiet street, and I do my best to look out for trouble. No one comes to Hallowind House for a casual visit. Especially not after what happened.”
I cross my arms over my chest and pull a breath into heavy lungs. “Why? What happened?”
Her gaze narrows. “That just proves you don’t belong here. Everyone knows what happened.” She takes a step back. “I think I will call the police, and I’ll let them straighten you out.”
I laugh in her face. “Go ahead. Tell them that Poppy Hallowind would like to speak to them about a nosy neighbor harassing her in her own home.” The words come out sharper than I intend, but I don’t care.
Margaret’s mouth opens and closes like a fish. “You’re one of the Hallowind girls?”
“That’s right.” Well, I’m assuming that’s right. I’m pretty sure.
The woman huffs, clearly flustered. “How could I have known who you are? No one’s been to this house since your parents blew themselves up. You can’t blame me for not realizing.”
The words hit me like a physical blow, and Asher’s hand immediately finds my shoulder. “Blew themselves up?”
“That’s what they say. Why wouldn’t you know what happened?”
“I, uh… blocked out everything about that time and was raised out of state. I’ve come back to find out about my past.”
She frowns as if considering that. “Well, no one knows the details, but I do know Zoe was odd. Into all sorts of strange things. People used to drop in, day and night. It wasn’t proper. Your father seemed normal enough, but that didn’t save him from being dragged into Hallowind drama.”
The world tilts sideways. All this time, some part of me had hoped I would find them, and we could be reunited as a family. But they were dead.
That’s why no one ever came for me. That’s why I’d been alone all these years.
Asher steps in close behind me. “Read the room, lady. If you don’t know what happened, you shouldn’t speak ill of the dead. Those are Poppy’s parents you’re badmouthing.”
The woman purses her lips. “I can’t help it if the truth is ugly. You asked what happened, and I told you what I know.”
My fingers ball into fists, my nails biting into the meaty flesh of my palms. “Where are they buried?”
The woman rolls her eyes. “Zoe was an Emberwood Elite. She’s buried in the Hallowind crypt in the Evergreen Cemetery, and your father—Grant, was it?—was cremated and placed in the mausoleum wall like all the husbands of Hallowind women. Strange tradition, if you ask me.”
A knot twists in my belly, making my breakfast churn. “And what about my sisters?”
Margaret shrugs, seemingly oblivious to the devastation she’s just delivered. “Right after it happened, someone came and took the three of you away. Child Protective Services, I believe. If you ask me, you were likely better off. I think Zoe was into the occult or something.”
Asher’s grip on my shoulder tightens, and I can feel the tension radiating from him. “How do we find out what happened to Poppy’s sisters for sure?”
Margaret adjusts her glasses, looking suddenly uncomfortable. “I suppose you could ask Miss Edna. Edna Lou Beauregard runs our community newsletter, the Weekly Whispers. Nothing happens in Emberwood without Miss Edna knowing about it.”
“And where can I find her?” I ask.
“She holds court at Biscuits and Banter most every day. Same booth, same cup of coffee, same notepad.” Margaret’s tone turns slightly bitter. “That woman has got her nose in everyone’s business. A real busybody that one.”
“The worst sort,” I say, giving her a droll stare.
“The absolute worst,” Asher agrees.
Margaret lingers on the porch, and I don’t know if she has more questions or is about to make yet another cutting observation, but she doesn’t get the chance. Asher tugs us back and swings the door closed.
“Have a blessed day,” he calls out with false cheer.
I lean against the inside of the closed door, my legs suddenly unsteady. The pendant around my neck feels warm against my skin, but it’s not enough to chase away the cold that’s settled in my bones.
“They’re dead.” The words fall into the silence like stones into still water. “They’ve been dead this whole time.”
Asher wraps his arms around me, and I let myself sink into his warmth. “I’m sorry, P. I’m so sorry. But the good news is, your sisters are out there. We’ll find them, and we’ll figure out what really happened.”
I nod against his chest. “Damn right we will.”
After Margaret’s visit, we spend the rest of the day exploring the house and processing what little we’ve learned. I cling to the hope that somewhere out there, my sisters are alive. My brain cycles through a hundred different scenarios, but the truth is, they could be anywhere, with anyone.
The house is waking up bit by bit, but it’s been asleep for five years, and not all systems are up and running just yet. We couldn’t get the furnace to come on, so the two of us are curled up on opposite ends of the couch, each with a mug of warm apple cider and heaped with a mound of blankets.
“I have sisters… we have to find them.”
He tips his mug back and swallows the last of his festive bevvy. “We will. It’ll just take time.”
“Do you think they’re together? Do you think they remember who they are or are they blank like me?”
Asher extracts himself from the cush of the couch and takes our dirty dishes and mugs over to the sink. “I think those questions and more will keep until tomorrow. But for tonight, we should get some sleep.”
He’s right. I know he is.
I extricate myself from the overstuffed cushions, fold up the blanket I had over me, and toss it over the back of the couch. As I pass the back doors of the kitchen, I stare at the standing stones, mesmerized.
“Wow, the stones look different in the moonlight tonight.”
Asher comes over and stares outside. “Different how? They look the same to me.”