“It could be worse,” her brother had often reminded her growing up. It was true. She supposed Pippin was better than Elbereth, Tintalle, or Eowyn. And Grey was forever grateful their parents hadn’t named him Bilbo, Aragon, or Wormtongue.
For a while after Leo had disappeared, Pippin had imagined that maybe her father was on his own adventure, just like Bilbo had been, then Frodo. But now the image of the body crammed into the lowest hatch of the Cassandra had chased that lingering dream away. It would take time for the authorities to definitively determine the identity of the body, but she knew in her heart that it was her father.
The day after the discovery, Pippin left Grey to his shiplap. Overnight, the temperature had dropped nearly ten degrees. She lowered her head against the cool breeze that had picked up and walked the two blocks from Rum Runner’s Lane to the town’s quaint downtown. Her first stop was the library—a building she’d never stepped foot in. Walking up to the converted two-story house brought a déjà vu moment. She remembered wanting so badly to go inside, but her mother had always refused. They’d give both the library and the bookstore, which sat across the street at a diagonal, a wide berth, as if walking on the sidewalk next to either one would somehow hurt them.
She’d been so young when she last saw the building. She purposely avoided passing through this block since she and Grey had been back in Devil’s Cove. Now, staring at it, it was just as she remembered it in her mind’s eye. The clapboard house was painted a pale blue with white trim. A sign hung over the porch announcing this as the LIBRARY. Steps led to the porch, but there was also a wheelchair accessible ramp. She stopped at the government sign at the edge of the property showing a figure holding a book. She let the pads of her fingers lightly touch the cold metal. Despite the fact that she and Grey had defied their mother’s wishes, and their grandmother’s, by borrowing—and sometimes buying—books when they were teenagers, she still experienced a feeling of unease. They had kept Pippin and Grey away from books for a reason. Cassie had kept Pippin away from this building for a reason. The image of her mother falling to her knees in the middle of the road, an open book on the ground before her, flashed in her mind. It was the fear that came from that memory that had kept Pippin from reading and loving books the way she wanted to.
Now, however, she couldn’t turn her back.
She made her way up the paved walkway and climbed the steps but stopped at the door. She felt her heart pounding in her throat. In her temples. They were just books, for God’s sake. It wasn’t as if they were going to reveal some deep dark secret.
She shook loose her anxiety, grabbed the doorknob, and entered.
She was struck immediately by the musty smell—like old carpet mixed with the scent of decaying paper. Was it woody, or was it earthy? Both, she decided. She inhaled, letting the scent enter her body and permeate every cell. Almost instantly, the sense of foreboding she’d felt dissipated. If she didn’t know better, she’d say she belonged with books. Or that they belonged with her. She’d never felt this way before, but there it was.
Before she’d taken a full step inside, a woman behind the circulation desk beamed at her with a warmth that seeped all the way to Pippin’s chilled bones. The woman’s hair was somewhere between the darkest brown and black, but wasn’t quite either. It was cut short, but had a few long strands framing her delicately featured face. Combined with her olive skin, hoop earrings, eyelashes that fanned out to either side under pink-framed glasses, and her glossy nude lips, she looked like a pixie. She stood, leaning her head to one side as she looked at her, her smile never wavering. “I know you.”
Pippin mirrored the woman by tilting her own head. “I don’t think so. My brother and I, we just moved here six weeks ago.” She paused. “Moved back here, I mean.”
The young woman stood and came out from behind the counter to stand before Pippin. She was as petite as her features. Five feet two inches was Pippin’s guess. “I’m sure you don’t remember, and honestly, I don’t know how I do, but my mom and your mom were friends, and we used to play together.”
Pippin blinked. Then blinked again. Another memory began to surface. Two little girls, and Grey, splashing around in a hard plastic child’s swimming pool. Two women sitting on lawn chairs sipping icy drinks. A name tickled the tip of her tongue. She could picture it. Rose? Holly? Mmm, Jasmine? No, those weren’t right. It was on the tip of her tongue. D…Dai… “Daisy?”
The librarian’s face lit up. “That’s right! Daisy Santiago. You remember!”
Did she? “I remember swimming. And a playground. And playing dress up. Was that with you?”
“Yes!”
“How do you know for sure?” Pippin asked. Her own memories were fuzzy and incomplete.
“My mother is a scrapbooker! So many old photos. You look the same. Same strawberry blonde hair, though it’s longer now. Same jade green eyes. Same everything…just older.”
Pippin blew out the breath she found she’d been holding. Intellectually, she’d known she and Grey had lived in Devil’s Cove as kids, but it was as if her mind had blocked so much of it. But this…this was different. This woman, Daisy, was actually part of Pippin’s history.
“It’s so good to see y’all working on the old house,” Daisy said.
She was hearing that a lot. “It needs a lot of TLC.”
Daisy pushed her glasses up as she leaned back against the circulation desk and crossed one leg over the other. She wore leggings with bright orange Crocks on her feet and a lace-edged tunic. Adorable was the word that came to Pippin’s mind. This former childhood friend was adorable. “It’s been vacant for so long. I always wondered why it was never sold. I think everyone here wondered, actually,” Daisy said.
Pippin had wondered the same thing. Why hadn’t her parents wanted the house sold, the money put into a trust for Grey and her? She might never know the answer to that, but her father was explicit in his will. The house, intact, was to go to Pippin and Grey.
Daisy continued. “Of course it is a prime piece of property. I mean, on the beach? Come on! A great view from the widow’s walk.” She cocked her head and cupped her hand next to one side of her mouth like she was imparting a secret. “I confess, I sneaked in there to poke around when I was a teenager. It was kind of a rite of passage for kids around here. The quintessential haunted house.”
Pippin arched a brow. “Haunted?”
Daisy shrugged. “The stories grew, then ballooned until, you know, it was a full on spirit-run house complete with cold spots, hidden rooms, and ghostly sightings. Ridiculous, I know.”
“Kids,” Pippin said.
“Right. Kids.” Daisy clasped her hands and looked Pippin square in the eyes. “You really do look the same, you know. I’ll stop by sometime with my mom’s old photo album to show you, if you’d like?”
Oh, she’d like. She wanted to fill in the blanks. Surely old photos would help. “Definitely. I’ll show you the house. It’s looking a lot better now than it probably did when you last saw it.”
Daisy stood and made her way back behind the circulation desk. “So, Pippin Hawthorne. You came here for a reason, I presume. What can I help you with?”