Page 56 of Stay Buried

Her skin went cold and the breath got stuck in her chest.

The dark hair, the long tan coat.

She was watching. Following them.

She’s not real, Ash reminded herself, turning away.

Malcolm pointed to the old, faded sign just beneath the house number:DR. THOMAS ENDICOTT, PHYSICIAN AND SURGEON. “Wow, look at that.” He was almost giddy.

He knocked; his knuckles had barely made contact with the door when it was whisked open, as if they were expected.

The smell of lily-of-the-valley perfume—sweet and cloying, but underneath it a bitter tang—wafted through the front door the old woman held open. The scent reminded Ash of something, a spice Gram had used from time to time. All at once, the smell brought a memory back:

Gram sewing her a little stuffed cat when she was a girl, made from red calico fabric with button eyes and stitched-on whiskers. When Ash put the stuffed cat to her face to give it a kiss, she’d smelledbitter, pungent herbs and wrinkled her nose. “She’s a magic cat,” Gram had told her. “She’s here to watch over you, to keep you safe.” Ash blinked the memory away, wondering what had happened to that little cat, if it was packed away in a box somewhere.

“Yes?” the old woman asked now, pulling Ash back to the present, one wrinkled hand on the door as she eyed them suspiciously. Her eyes moved from Ash to Malcolm and stayed there. She took a step back as though frightened by this strange man who’d suddenly turned up at her door.

Ash would put her close to Gram’s age. She was a tiny woman, all sunken in. She wore cat’s-eye glasses with heavy black frames and glittering rhinestones at the corners. Draped over her tiny body was a heavy pea-green cardigan with tissues tucked into the sleeves (an old-lady habit Gram had too—just the sight of it made Ash’s throat tight).

“Hi there, I’m Ashley Flanders,” Ash began. “Charlotte Demer’s granddaughter,” she added, hoping the name would be the key that would let them inside. “This is my brother, Malcolm. We’re looking for Josephine Banks?”

This got a warm smile that showed a full, perfect set of pearly white dentures that looked far too big for her tiny face. “Oh my goodness, yes! I’m Josephine, of course! Did Charlie send you?”

Charlie?Ashley had never heard her grandmother called Charlie. Everyone back home called her Charlotte or Mrs. Demer. No one would dream of calling her Charlie. She and Malcolm shared a puzzled look.

“Not exactly,” Ashley said. “But we have some news. May we come in?”

“Of course, dear. Of course! Mind you, I wasn’t expecting visitors, so the place isn’t all that tidy.”

“We don’t mind at all,” Ashley assured her as she stepped inside.

To the right, an open door revealed a room full of furniture: a desk, a glass-fronted cabinet, some chairs, and what looked to be an old exam table. Was it possible that some of their great-grandfather’sthings were still in the house? She looked back at Malcolm to see him peering into the room, eyes wide.

They turned left into a crowded sitting room stuffed with old furniture—and dolls. Hundreds of the little dolls she’d seen at Lorelei’s house and at the pub. They covered shelves, tables, and even the arms of chairs. Any available space had been taken over. Ashley could feel all the tiny, unblinking eyes watching them. She thought of Gulliver surrounded by Lilliputians.

Ash reflexively picked one up. Upon closer inspection, she realized that each doll was made from a wooden clothespin, the old-fashioned kind carved from one piece of wood with a round knob on top, no metal or springs. The two wooden prongs at the bottom formed the dolls’ legs, their faces were painted onto the little knob, and their arms were made from bits of wire wrapped around their bodies. Each wore a tiny cloth outfit. Some had yarn hair, some had hair painted on.

“Please sit,” Josephine said, looking down at the doll in Ash’s hand. “Can I get you anything? Lemonade? Tea?”

“No thank you,” Ashley said.

“Perhaps you’d like a bit of brandy?” the old woman said with a smile, looking at Malcolm.

“That’s very kind, but we’ve just come from the pub,” Mal told her.

Ashley and Malcolm sat together on a love seat while Josephine took a rocking chair across from them.

“Did you make all of these dolls?” Ashley asked, setting down the one she was holding to trade for another. A woman with dark hair and eyes, a green felt coat with a tiny button. The detail was impressive: round pink cheeks, tiny painted lips, blue eyes with delicate lashes. Ash couldn’t believe Josephine had such good eyes and a steady hand.

“Oh yes,” she said proudly. “It’s my tribute to those who are gone.”

“Gone?” Mal asked.

“I’ve made a doll here after each person in town who haspassed on.”

“You’re kidding.” Malcolm stood up, started inspecting the rows of dolls on the shelves.

“I’ve got figures going back for generations. They’re all grouped according to family. It’s sort of a town museum, in a way.”