“What a lot of kids at the parade. How I’ve missed seeing children.”
“Better to miss them than to have them nearby. I always dread the children. Some of them are too young and know so little that they can instantly guess who we are. Closer to nature, they know our true nature. Children and dogs. Don’t get me started on dogs. Try being around dogs when you are made of sticks.”
“Still, it was like a memory from another life.”
“You should just try to forget that other life.”
Noisy springs from the passenger seats alerted them to the stirrings of the humans. The bus had turned onto the dark and bumpy side road to the farm. Lamps had been left on in the house, giving it a cheerful glow like the face of a waiting grandparent. The wheels crunched gravel as the bus slowed to a stop, and the van and the pickup soon followed and parked nearby. The night air was noticeably colder, and the smell of burning birch poured from the chimney. Weary now, the humans were much slower in reversing the day’s process, unloading the puppets from the vehicles and toting them back into the barn. The blond boy asked if they could wait till morning, and the Quatre Mains cuffed him softly on the back of the neck. “Never,” he said. “Never leave these puppets alone and out of the barn after dark.”
Chagrined, the boy went straight to work, hurrying to put the puppets away. He made sure to close the barn door after the last was safely inside. When he threw the bolt through the lock with a shudder, the sound echoed in the stillness, a note of finality to the day. Whistling a few bars of a wistful melody, the boy headed for the farmhouse, the notes trailing behind. The puppets were clustered in three groups, settled into a trough and two stalls, presided over by the Queen, who loomed against an outer wall. No more shows or appearances had been planned for the season, and the prospect of a long winter inside made the mood somber and bound them in the silence of their private thoughts.
He would come find me if only he knew where to look.
17
The red light blinked like a semaphore. Had Egon not taken notice and alerted him to the signal, Theo might have neglected the answering machine altogether. Most people reached him via his cell phone, and he had nearly forgotten about the landline that sat next to his computer. He pressed the button marked Play and flinched at the sound of a voice from the past.
“Theo, this is your mother-in-law. Dolores. Are you home? I saw Katharine on the TV. Kay. Or something like her. Please call when you get this message.”
He listened again. Echoes of a ghost.
“Are you going to call her?” Egon asked. “Or should I?”
Their suitcases sat next to the front door, and Theo had just sloughed off his jacket and draped it on the back of his desk chair. Road weary, he wanted nothing more than a long shower and a night’s rest. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes. “Maybe in the morning. It’s late, and she’s probably asleep by now.”
Egon threw his hands into the air. “Are you out of your mind? Talk to the woman.”
“You don’t understand. She doesn’t like me. Not to play the mother-in-law card. I think she still secretly suspects me in Kay’s disappearance.”
“She says she saw Kay on TV. I don’t care how crazy—”
“Not crazy,” Theo said, picking up the phone.
He pictured her on the other end making her way in the chair to answer the call. After the accident, her husband had installed a phone in every room, but at this late hour, she was probably in bed, watching one of those British mysteries she so adored. Kay had often complained that her mother would not interrupt one of her stories to pick up the phone. It rang and rang. Where could she be at this time of night?
“Hullo.” With one word, the memories returned. Her voice was the synthesis of flint and haw, an old-fashioned patrician accent like the distaff child of Cary Grant and Katharine Hepburn.
“Hello, Dolores. I got your call—”
“Theo, dear boy. I have seen the most peculiar thing. On the television. The six o’clock news last night. They were doing a story about a Halloween parade, what passes for local color these days. Children in costumes lined up on the sidewalks. Would you know, these giant effigies are carried down the middle of the street. Positively Catholic. Like they were carrying icons in a procession. And that’s when I saw her. Kay. She was one of those…”
“Puppets?”
“Yes, a puppet, a great big puppet. I just caught a glimpse of her, but I would recognize her anywhere. The dead spit. How could they have known what she looks like without seeing her? Mind, it was a very stylized face, but I could tell by her eyes. Like I was looking at my own girl again. You must think me an old fool, but I had to call someone. Where have you been?”
“You miss her,” Theo said. “I miss her, too. I see her face everywhere.”