Ghost (The Halloween Boys #1) (62)

Mr. Moore padded into the kitchen. “Yes, don’t mind the girls. They like to jump off the shelves. Sometimes they sing, too.” He chuckled as I sat the wine on the round table. At the head of it sat a large doll with white hair, and next to that one, a smaller blonde doll in pigtails. I recognized it from the guest room. It was the same doll. Her glassy eyes and red-lipped smile sent unease trickling down my body.

“Um . . . Where’s Mrs. Moore?” I asked, steadying myself into a seat next to the pigtailed doll. It felt like a thousand eyes were on me. They were only toys, but they had that creepy antique look about them. These weren’t the Barbies I played with as a child. These were something you passed in a thrift shop and shuddered, unsure why they unsettled you so. What would possess someone to have a home filled with the creepy little things?

My host sat a plate of steaming pork chops, mashed potatoes, and corn upon my lacy placemat and took a seat across from me. He put a hand over the larger doll’s glass hand. “She’s right here, dear. See, honey? I told you Miss Blythe needed a home-cooked meal.”

Words stuck in my throat as my grip went clammy around my fork. Part of me wanted to laugh, but the earnest look in Mr. Moore’s gaze told me he wasn’t joking. I couldn’t very well run out the door, though I considered it. I’d have to suck it up and get through this weird as hell meal. Despite his . . . collection . . . and belief that the doll was his wife, Mr. Moore had always been kind to me. I’d always known he was eccentric but this—

“It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Moore,” I said to the . . . doll.

Taking a bite of pork, my elderly former landlord smiled. “Oh, yes, sorry, dear,” he said to the large doll. “And this is our daughter, Ellie May. She’s home for a week on a visit.”

I nodded, taking a bite of mashed potatoes, willing my face into neutrality. “Nice to meet you, Ellie . . .”

“Ellie talks so softly she’s hard to hear. She asked who you’ve made friends with in town. Maybe she knows them. Ellie’s quite the social butterfly.”

Is she?

Mr. Moore uncorked the wine and filled each of the four glasses on the table. I stared at my plate, feeling more and more unsettled. So many dolls. Mr. Moore clearly believed these toys at the table were real, and that was tragic. I guessed he didn’t have guests over often, or many friends. I didn’t want to make him feel judged or mocked, so I tried to pretend that this was all normal. Just a few more bites and I could pretend Yesenia called me back to the shop for emergency inventory . . . or something.

“I’ve met a few people . . . our age . . ." I said, looking at the smiling doll next to me. I took a gulp of cheap wine. “Of course, Yesenia at Magia, and someone you know, too. Dr. Cove.”

“Who?” my host asked, cutting his meat as if this were a perfectly ordinary night.

“Dr. Ames Cove? He says he’s a friend of yours. He’s lived here his whole life.”

“Never heard of him.”

What? Either he was misremembering or Ames had lied about knowing my old landlord. Why would he do that? The night he drove me home bounced through my brain. He knew where I lived.

He knew where I lived before I told him. Mr. Moore had to be mistaken about knowing him . . . But despite his odd decorations and dinner companions . . . he’d always seemed of sound mind. Well, except for sweeping the street every morning.

“Well, honey, she left so quick I didn’t have time to tell her,” he said quietly to . . . Mrs. Moore.

“Excuse me?” Four more bites left.

Mr. Moore shook his head. “Dear, you ruined the surprise. You shouldn’t have said anything. He said it was a secret.”

I paused my fork in midair.

“W-who?” I trembled. It couldn’t be.

My host sighed and smiled fondly at the white-haired doll. “Cat’s out of the bag. My bride never could hide a thing. You’re a jabber-jaw, yes you are.” He chuckled.

I wiped my mouth on the cloth napkin with shaking hands. “Tell me?” I urged gently.

“Your dad wanted to surprise you. He’s in town for a visit. Don’t tell him we spilled the beans, alright?”

My vision went hazy, and the air went thin. “My stepfather called here? You spoke to him?”

“No, no.” Mr. Moore leaned back after finishing his food. He took Mrs. Moore’s tiny glass hand in his. “He came by yesterday. Seems nice enough, little . . . peculiar, though, isn’t he?”

My heartbeat jumped into my throat. “My stepfather . . . was here?” There was no hiding my shaking.

“Dear, the fire’s going. It’s plenty warm in here. I don’t know why she’s shivering. Yes, Ellie, I’ll ask her. Ellie wants to know if you’d like one of her petticoats to keep warm. I can throw another log on the fire—”

I stood. “Inside this house, you’re sure he was here, Mr. Moore? It’s very important that you tell me exactly what you remember.”

He could have died. He could have been killed. Because of me.

“Are you okay, young lady? He was here, saw him with my own eyes. Simon’s his name, right? Big ol’ fella in overalls. Said he wanted to catch you when you least expected it. Says he’s got you a gift you’ll love.”

Thousands of eyes peered into me behind black glossy glass and blue ribbons. I knocked into the chair, and it fell over. “I’m sorry,” I stuttered. “I’m afraid I left the stove on at the shop. I need to—”