No matter how many drops of Dreamtime Oil I put in the diffuser, I couldn’t find respite from the nightmares.

  Finn is just fine, I reasoned as I told my racing heart to calm the f down.

  Roy could have been right, after all… The missing kids could have just been acting out, trying to punish their parents for their less than happy home lives. It could have been as simple as that, with nothing suspicious or malevolent going on behind the scenes.

  One summer, when I was twelve or thereabouts, I had a fight with my mother. Afterwards, I ran away from home with just an orange and a water bottle in a backpack. Two hours later, I’d made it about four miles before my father found me and took me home. I hadn’t fought him, because by that time, I’d been too hungry, scared and lonely to argue.

  Of course, I’d tried to run away again. Children weren’t renowned for their long-term planning. Even though I tried to reason that the girls and Zane were fine, I couldn’t convince myself. I just… felt something that told me otherwise, something deep in the center of my being that warned me something was very wrong. I could sense it.

  Marty tapped his chin thoughtfully. “I don’t think we’re going to get far with Ophelia.”

  “Neither do I.”

  “So should we even bother with her?” he asked as he turned to face me from the passenger seat.

  “I mean… maybe not?”

  Marty nodded and took a sip of the chocolate coffee in his mug. “I say we go pay a visit to my cousin, Cain Morgan. He’s the Chief of Police of Haven Hollow.”

  “The Chief of Police?” I repeated, sounding impressed.

  Marty chuckled. “That makes it seem like he’s way more important than he actually is. He’s chief of a whopping three officers, most of whom play solitaire or Candy Crush all day when they’re not loitering near speed traps, looking for speeders.” I laughed as Marty continued. “The most exciting thing that happened in this town was a few years ago when there was a candy heist at Sweeter Haunts.”

  “A candy heist?”

  Marty nodded. “A couple of kids broke in and stole four pounds of fudge. It really wasn’t a big deal. Their parents ended up having to pay for damage to the window they used to break in, but that wasn’t much. The kids ended up doing a few weeks of community service, but no one got hurt.”

  Marty brought his mug to his lips again, sipping his coffee thoughtfully.

  I steered slowly down Main Street, and my thoughts ran away with me. Truth be told, I was nervous to go to the police. I was well aware that Marty and I would be breaking the oath we took (signed in blood) to Ophelia, and I was sure Roy would be very angry when he found out. In fact, it might cost me my relationship with him.

  It doesn’t matter, I argued with myself. All that does matter is that the children are found. And if that means getting the human police involved, so be it.

  I knew I was right, but it didn’t change the fact that it felt like an anvil was sitting in my stomach. I could tell Marty was concerned with breaking the contract, as well, because he was uncharacteristically quiet as we drove down Main Street.

  Main Street wasn’t so much a street as a long cul-de-sac, bordered on each side by cute shops. The architecture reminded me of what you’d see in New England. A lot of brick and colonial buildings. The brick on the nearest shop had faded to a rusty brown and a white, yellow, and orange awning stretched over a pair of double doors and a wide shop window. The sign read: Sweeter Haunts.

  Just beyond Sweeter Haunts was Stomper’s Creamery. It was Stanley’s ice cream store. It looked like it once had been a two-horse modular stable, but had since been converted into an ice cream stand.

  As I drove past it, I noticed it was closed. I couldn’t say I was surprised: of course Stanley’s shop wouldn’t be open when his daughters were missing… There was something even heavier that settled into my gut.

  Poor Stanley.

  My shop was situated in the middle of the lane, right across from Wanda’s. It was a one story, brown brick square. The frosted glass windows dominated the majority of the shop front, with a small, hand-carved mahogany door between them. A green awning sheltered the doorway, above a small set of stairs that led up from the sloping sidewalk. The name of my store was spelled out in bronze cast letters above the door.

  It was small, a little quaint, but it was very me.

  And Wanda’s shop was very her. Her store was a two-story affair that towered over everything else on the street. The siding was black; the windows tinted, so you couldn’t easily see inside. The only thing you could see was an obnoxious neon sign, proclaiming the place to be “open”. The windows were draped in dark velvet curtains, with a few mannequins revealing the newest in designer fashion. Overall, the store appeared closed off, and a little grim.

  And, just like her shop, it was hard not to feel like Wanda was towering over me, trying to choke me out of Haven Hollow. She might be able to put up with me for the time being (we’d had a nice, little moment at her Christmas Eve party), but that could change. Witches were notoriously temperamental and impulsive.

  I drove in silence, taking turns where Marty directed. Though I’d been in Haven Hollow for a couple of months now, I still hadn’t explored the town in its entirety. And until now, I hadn’t had any need to visit the police station.

  I ended up driving past the building twice because it was so nondescript—simply a one story, plain brick outbuilding, completely unremarkable in all ways. I wouldn’t have been able to pick it out from any of its other unremarkable neighbors if Marty hadn’t pointed out the nearby post office as a landmark. The lot was all but empty, with only one patrol car parked near the entrance.

  “Looks like Bobby and Rachel are out and about because their patrol cars aren’t in the lot,” Marty said as he examined the lot. “Which only leaves Cain manning the station. Perfect.”

  “Is it?” I asked, and couldn’t keep a note of doubt from my voice.

  From the few tales I’d heard from Marty about his cousin, Cain Morgan wasn’t a particularly pleasant man. Marty had described him as prickly, stingy, and more attached to his job than his wife, even though in a town like this there was barely a job to cling to. He’d been kicked off the force in Portland and tucked tail to live a relatively quiet life in Haven Hollow. And, apparently, his second marriage was disintegrating like cotton candy in a downpour.

  According to Marty, Cain and his wife were separated and hadn’t seen or spoken to each other for a long time. Apparently, his wife was still living in Portland. I could only wonder if my relationship with Roy was headed down the same road.

  “I’d rather Cain keep this case on the DL so we don’t risk upsetting Ophelia more than we already will,” Marty said. “But, dealing with Cain is like mud-wrestling a feral pig.”

  I paused, turning the next question over in my mind before I spoke. I tried to keep my tone light, but it came out suspicious, all the same. “You don’t talk about your family much. You’ve mentioned Cain a couple times, but that’s pretty much all I do know about you and your background.”

  “There’s really not much more to tell.”

  I bit my lip and wondered if I should really press the issue. “Not a big deal, I guess.”

  “You guess?” he asked.

  I shrugged. “I just wondered if I’d ever get to meet any of your family. I mean, you’ve met my uncles now, and Finn, of course. And you also know far more than you should about all my awkward adolescent encounters with boys, owing to Uncle Joey and his big mouth.”

  He chuckled at that.

  “I guess I’m just the black sheep of the family.”

  “The black sheep?”

  He nodded. “Almost everyone in my family became a first responder of some sort, but most of us were cops. It’s sort of a family tradition for the Zachs and the Morgans now. Imagine their disappointment when I became a graphic designer, instead. And then imagine the conversations when I started a side business in ghost hunting, something they think is utter tripe. Someone has to be the joke at Thanksgivings and family reunions, right?” he asked and gave me a smile, but I could detect his sadness beneath it. “Might as well be me.”

  He continued to attempt to smile, but it slipped at the very last second and real hurt showed on his face. It was gone in the next instant, but I’d seen it, all the same.

  “Well, for what it’s worth… I think you’re pretty awesome, Marty McFly,” I said with a big grin, meaning every word.

  He looked at me and I looked back at him for a few seconds, neither of us saying anything. And there was this… quiet between us but the quiet was almost deafening, as if each one of us wanted to say something, but neither of us could… or would.

  “Thanks, Pops,” he said finally.

  I nodded and turned my attention back to the precinct, trying to swallow down the plum-sized lump in my throat.

  Could this thing even be called a precinct? It was roughly the size of the shed in my backyard. Would there even be room for a cell inside, or was it a glorified break room with a back room to tuck the drunks in for the night?

  I killed the engine after pulling into a parking spot out front.

  “How are things with Roid, by the way?” he asked as he smiled and batted his eyelashes as if to say he was just asking innocently.

  “You know I hate it when you call him that.”

  Marty nodded. “Sometimes he’s an ass, so it fits.”

  I couldn’t help my smile at that.

  “Things good with you guys?” he continued.

  “Funny you should ask,” I grumbled. “We had our first fight recently and it was a doozy.”

  “You okay?” He reached over and patted my hand, where it was still wrapped around the steering wheel.

  “Yeah,” I took a deep breath. I didn’t want to get into this now. Looking at the precinct, I exhaled slowly. “We better get in there because I have a whole bunch of impatient customers who are still waiting on their orders.”

  All the while, though, I kept thinking about the fact that Roy never would have told me about the missing children unless I’d confronted him. And that thought didn’t sit well with me.

  Marty scanned my face and something in his expression shifted, intent, and a little speculative. I had a feeling advice was coming, and I wanted no part of it.

  “Let’s… get going,” I said quietly.

  Marty’s face relaxed, and he nodded. “Let me talk to Cain first. He doesn’t like… strangers… or people in general,” he added with a laugh.

  We mounted the pair of concrete steps leading to the glass door. Marty held the door open for me, gesturing for me to step in first. I did, idly stomping my boots free of snow on the rubber mat just inside the door.

  I took a quick look around, and my earlier suspicions were confirmed. The ‘precinct’ was a glorified community center. There were a few desks pushed to one side of the room, cuddled up to the small kitchenette. The room reeked of burnt coffee and stale fries. The wastebasket nearest the desk was full of wadded paper sacks and takeout containers.

  A small chime went off as the door closed behind us, and a man I assumed was Cain glanced up from a stack of manila folders sitting on his desk.

  I had to admit he was handsome.

  And he looked a lot like Marty. Tall and broad-shouldered, with long legs. But, whereas Marty had a little tummy, I doubted there was an ounce of fat on Cain. Muscle strained the fabric of his starched uniform. He had sandy hair going gray at the temples and his eyes were the same piercing blue as Marty’s. He even had a similar underbite. But where Marty looked boyish, this man was austere, and a little intimidating. His jaw was a heavy square, his nose straighter and narrower than Marty’s. Other than that? They could have been brothers.

  Cain’s eyes narrowed when he spied us lingering in the doorway, his full mouth pressing into a thin, disapproving line.

  “What are you doing here, Marty?”

  Chapter Seven

  Marty shoved his hands in his pockets and shrugged. “I can’t just visit my cousin for the hell of it?”

  “No,” Cain said shortly, looking back at the pile of papers and envelopes on his desk. Then he looked back up at Marty, as if he were surprised to see him still standing there. “Cut to the chase and tell me what you want. I’ve got work to do.” He motioned to the pile.

  I cast my eyes around the room again. Aside from the pile of folders (which I wasn’t convinced weren’t just for show), things seemed pretty quiet. In fact, I couldn’t imagine being cooped up in this tiny, two-room shack doing almost nothing all day.

  There was one more figure in the room, sitting cross-legged on a bunk in the precinct’s single cell. He was nursing a Styrofoam cup of coffee, grimacing as he took measured sips of the over brewed swill. A line of powdered creamer and sugar formed on the lip of the cup, like the ring of salt on a margarita glass.

  I watched in a sort of horrified fascination as the stranger dipped a plastic spoon into a bag of cane sugar and tapped more creamer into the cup, until the brew had to be more Folgers-flavored gelatin than actual coffee. Even so, he didn’t seem to enjoy it much.

  “Now, now, Cain,” he chided. “Don’t be a churl.”

  “That’s Chief Morgan to you, Fox Aspen.”

  “Of course, sir, carry on,” the man drawled.

  Cain continued to glare at him. “You’ve still got another hour in there, until you’re sober enough to drive.”

  Fox sighed and leaned against the wall, slouching as he slurped the rest of the coffee. He shook his head and then closed his eyes like he had one baller of a headache.

  “I’ve told you, Chief. I wasn’t under the influence to begin with.”

  “And I’m a Disney princess.”

  Marty laughed and I smiled at that.

  “I’m sure you’d look quite fetching as Snow White,” the man quipped.

  His lips stretched in a lazy, vulpine smile, clearly pleased with himself. And I had to admit he was handsome.

  Um, you have a boyfriend, Poppy, I had to remind myself.

  So what? I can still notice another handsome man! Sheesh!

  Since we were talking about Fox, he was objectively perfect. It was like Dr. Frankenstein ordered parts from GQ models and spliced them together, Six-Million-Dollar-Man-style. He was tall, probably 6’4” or so, with a runner’s physique. Defined muscle revealed itself beneath the toffee-colored cable-knit sweater. His skin was tanned, and his eyes were a warm, syrupy golden-brown.

  Cain crossed his arms over his broad chest and narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

  “And I’m supposed to believe you were dangling from a tree on the edge of city limits for the heck of it? Because you were just bored and looking for something to do?”

  Fox’s smile didn’t waver. “I’m not drunk, Chief. I was just… lost. I was hiking through the area, intent on finding something in town for a friend. Lesson learned, I suppose. Pitching a tent is harder than it looks in the movies.”

  Cain grumbled something under his breath before rounding on Marty again. And the expression he gave his cousin was even less friendly. “I have to give this reprobate a breathalyzer in the next ten minutes, Marty.”

  “Alright,” Marty answered, nodding. “I came to ask what, if anything, you’re doing about the Stomper girls and Zane Rutledge?”

  Cain appeared puzzled for a moment, but didn’t say anything.

  “Have they been reported missing?” I asked, fully aware that they’d hadn’t been, but I figured it was as good a place to start as any.

  Cain cocked his head to the side, some of his earlier frustration draining away as he stared at me and then Marty. He reached for his pocket without thought, pulling out a small notepad and ballpoint pen. He seemed more alert than he’d been only moments before.

  “No, they haven’t. You’re sure they’re missing?”

  “Pretty sure. It’s been a week. I thought you had a right to know.”

  “Why didn’t the parents come to me to say their children were missing?” he asked as he looked right at Marty, as if trying to ascertain whether this was a ruse.

  Marty shrugged. “You know this town and its secrets. I can’t tell you why they didn’t come to you.”

  “But we have it on good account that this isn’t a joke and should be taken seriously,” I added.

  Cain’s jaw tightened, and he muttered something under his breath. I thought I heard the word ‘cult’. My stomach lurched. We were definitely breaking Ophelia’s rules by reporting this and even though I was and had been fully aware of such, for some reason it really started to concern me now.

  “How old are each of the children and when were they last seen?” Cain asked, rattling off the questions in a sharp, no-nonsense tone.

  “It’s been almost a week and a half,” Marty answered. “The little boy, Zane, is seven. The girls, Emma and Anne, are seven and eight.”

  “What were they doing when they disappeared?”

  “They were playing near the treeline in the backyard with their step-mother, Shelby. They were building snowmen. Shelby went inside for a few minutes at most, and when she came out, they were both gone. She and Stanley searched the woods, but they didn’t find anything.”

  “Step-mother?” Cain said as he looked up at Marty. “So there’s a chance this could be a kidnapping from the girls’ mother?”

  I shrugged and so did Marty. He answered. “I don’t know, but I wouldn’t think so.”

  “Do the girls have any contact with their mother? Visitation? Have there been any attempts of this nature before?”

  “I don’t know, Cain. I just know what I’ve heard and because no one came to you, I thought I should. I figured you’d want to follow up.”

  Cain nodded. “Well, you were right in that no one’s come to me and you were also right about me needing to be involved.” I figured it was the closest he came to saying ‘you did good’.

  “Zane’s being raised by a single mother after his father ran off,” I interjected, repeating what Roy told me.

  Cain looked at me before he started jotting down notes again. “What more do you know about him?”