Page 25 of The Witch's Orchard
“Vaguely,” Shiloh says. “I was sixteen, you know? So busy with stuff that seemed so important at the time. I remember there being talk about a little girl going missing, but that’s all.”
“Right,” I say. “But then Olivia Jacobs was taken.”
“Exactly,” Shiloh says with a meaningful nod. “Once that happened, I think everyone sat up and paid attention. Worried there was some kind of crazy serial killer or pedophile lurking around. I mean, the applehead doll thingdidfeel sinister. God, it still does.”
She shivers, and I admit to myself that I was thinking the same thing. Serial killers leave trophies, tokens, evidence of their presence. No bodies were ever found, but most of the bodies of serial killer victims are still hidden, likely never to be uncovered.
“And then Olivia was returned,” I say, reminding myself that at least one girl escaped whatever dark fate someone had planned for her.
“That’s right,” Shiloh says. “The strangest thing, isn’t it? Olivia Jacobs taken away and then just… poof. Brought back. To be honest, once I got older, I suspected some kind of trafficking ring, but… the dolls? And what kind of trafficker actually returns a kid unharmed?”
“I saw Olivia this morning,” I say.
“Really?” Shiloh says, pausing for a moment. “I’m surprised Kathleen let you in the door.”
“She didn’t. Kathleen talked to me on the back porch.”
Shiloh snorts.
“Kathleen’s good people,” she says. “But she’s protective of Olivia. You can understand why. I don’t think I ever really understood what real fearwas until Lucy came along. Children change you in ways you just don’t expect.”
She finishes one rose, pauses to turn the cake and give it another look, then starts on another rose.
“Mama?” a little voice croaks from a doorway on the other side of the room, as if on cue. She’s carrying a stuffed pony with a purple-yarn mane and her hair is a mess of frizzy dark curls. She looks like she just got up from a nap.
“Hey there, Cupcake!” Shiloh says. “You finishPeppa?”
Lucy nods.
“You want some pumpkin bread?”
Lucy nods again, then seems to see me for the first time. Shiloh prepares a plate with pumpkin bread and butter and a glass of milk identical to mine and says, “This is one of Mister Max’s friends. She came to help him find something. Her name is Miss Annie. Can you say hello?”
“Hello, Miss Annie,” Lucy says. Like her mom, she’s tall, all arms and legs and big brown eyes.
“Can you tell Miss Annie how old you are?”
Lucy holds up four fingers with one hand while she uses a kid-sized fork in the other to hack into the orange bread.
My mouth stretches into a broad grin at the sight of this unkempt, hungry little girl, and I say, “Nice to meet you, Lucy. And you can call me Annie.”
“Annie,” Lucy repeats, and throws her full focus back onto the pumpkin bread.
“Anyway,” Shiloh says, piping another rose. “I think it’s really good you’re helping him out.”
“Well, he’s paying me.”
“I know. But I think it’s good for him to put this to rest. Max needs to have… He needs some kind of closure, I think.”
“I’m not sure I can help him there,” I say. “Like I told him, it’s unlikely I’ll turn up anything after all this time.”
Shiloh finishes the last rose and sets down the piping bag. She turnsthe cake again and again, then pushes it aside and rests her big fists on her hips.
“He saved up for this attempt you’re making. It’s all he’s wanted for years. And I think that he knows it’s all he can do. I think he just needs to know he did the best he could. I don’t think he can go on with his life until he’s tried. Finding his sister is all he wants.… He’s an amazing artist. Did you know that?”
“He told me he does prints.”
She nods.
