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.
Fawn laughed, too, stepping into the living room, coming to join Candace and Ruthie near the woodstove.
“Silly, huh?” asked Candace. “Who names a platypus Spike?”
“Where is he now?” Fawn asked. “Luke?”
Candace’s smile faded. “He’s with his father. We’re divorced, you see, and Luke’s father, he’s one of those men who always get their own way. Luke lives with him now.” Candace ran a hand through her hair. “But, with any luck, that will be changing soon. He hasn’t heard the last from me. It isn’t right, is it, keeping a boy from his own mother?”
Fawn gave her a sympathetic look. “This is Mimi,” she said, holding the doll up for inspection. “And my name is Fawn. I’m six and a half.”
“Six and a half is very big indeed. I can tell you’re a big girl. And very smart. So let me ask you, where do you think your mother has gone?”
Fawn thought a minute. “Away. Far away.”
“Fawn,” Ruthie interrupted, “why don’t you go up to your room?”
“You poor thing,” Candace said to Fawn, ignoring Ruthie completely. “It must be hard to have your mother gone like this. You really have no idea where she might be?”
Fawn shook her head, looked down at her doll.
“I know you found Tom and Bridget’s wallets somewhere in the house. Tell me, Fawn, did you find anything else with them?”
Fawn’s eyes shot up to Ruthie’s, her look a question: Should we tell?
Ruthie gave the slightest little shake of her head, hoping it was enough. Ruthie didn’t know what the hidden wallets and gun meant, but she knew Buzz was right—they made it look like her mother might be involved in something dark, something criminal. She didn’t want Candace O’Rourke to know about any of that.
“There was nothing else,” Ruthie said, stepping forward.
But Candace continued to ignore Ruthie, keeping her eyes on Fawn.
“Sometimes big brothers and sisters and grown-ups, they don’t tell the truth. It doesn’t make them bad people—they’re just doing what they believe is right. But you, Fawn, you always tell the truth, I can tell. Was there anything else with the wallets? Any papers? Anything at all?”
“I told you, there was nothing else!” Ruthie had had enough. “I’m sorry, but you need to leave now.”
“And I’m sorry, Ruthie, but I simply don’t believe you,” Candace said. She looked up from Fawn finally, and stared coldly at Ruthie.
“Do I need to call the police?” Ruthie asked.
Candace shook her head with evident disappointment. Keeping her eyes on Ruthie, she opened up her coat to reveal a holster strapped to her chest. She pulled a handgun out of it, slowly, almost awkwardly. The gun was smaller and more square than the one they’d found upstairs; this barrel was silver, the grip black. Candace was clearly not a pro at this, more like an actress with a prop she hadn’t had much practice with.