The Winter People(56)

“Who is it?” Fawn asked.

Ruthie only shook her head.

“And where did he come from?” her little sister asked.

There was no sign of a car. And this person wasn’t coming down the driveway—he was coming across the yard. He left a jagged trail through the snow behind him, a trail that seemed to lead out of the woods.

“Don’t know,” Ruthie mumbled.

Fawn squinted up at her sister, waiting expectantly to be told what they should do. Ruthie felt the overwhelming need to protect her sister. It hit her hard in the sternum: Save Fawn. Do not let this man near her.

The stranger had reached the front door. The first knock made Ruthie’s heart skip a beat. It was a loud and determined I’m-not-going-away kind of knock.

“Do you want me to get it?” Fawn asked. She was closer to the door.

“No.” Ruthie bit her lip. Think. What should she do? Her parents had always taught them never to open the door to a stranger. But her parents were gone now—her father dead, her mother missing. And what if this was a stranger with information, some kind of clue about where her mother might have gone?

But why had he come from the woods?

“Are we just gonna ignore him?” Fawn asked, hunkering down low, the way her parents had taught them to do when a stranger came. Ignore it. Stay down so they can’t see you. Eventually, they’ll go away.

And why, exactly, had her parents encouraged them to hide?

“If you ever see anyone you don’t know come out of those woods, you get inside, you lock the door, and you hide,” their mother had told them, again and again.

Never open the door. Even if it looks like someone nice, someone harmless, keep the door locked, and hide.

It was as if her mother had been expecting someone all along—someone dangerous and evil.

But the reality was, they’d had few visitors over the years: the occasional Mormon or Jehovah’s Witness, census takers, a man checking facts for the town assessor’s office.

Ruthie checked her watch. It was nearly six on a Saturday evening. No one with official business would be out now, not in this weather, not without a car.

She thought of Visitors from the Other Side, the idea that the dead could be awakened. Absurd, wasn’t it?

Maybe that’s what the man knocking on their door was—a sleeper from up in the woods. Maybe it was the ghost of Martin Shea, searching for his wife and daughter.

Stop it, Ruthie told herself. There’s no such thing as ghosts or sleepers.

“Maybe he’s lost?” Fawn whispered.

The man knocked harder, louder. Called out, “Hello in there!”

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’s your name?”

Fawn didn’t answer. She clutched Mimi tight against her, then slipped away back down the hall.

“Oh, she’s shy!” 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.