Still dressed in my sleep shorts and tank top, I opened the door without checking to see who had arrived, figuring if it was anyone or anything dangerous, Dell would have taken care of them. Except there was no Dell. The steps had been vacated, and the yard stood quiet and empty. Drawn by a flash of color, my gaze dipped. A scrunchie sat in the dead center of the top step, its edges fluffed and then smoothed. Rose fabric with lemon dots and gold threads that caught the sun. Had someone pulled down a ponytail, the tie would be bunched up with a few strands of hair stuck in for good measure. This wasn’t that random. It had been neatly arranged, almost like a presentation. Almost like a gift.

That or Dell suffered from scrunchie OCD.

The low rustle of voices had me searching for the source. “Dell?”

A reddish-blond head poked around the corner. She spotted me standing in the doorway and called to the person behind her. She walked out carrying a bucket of sudsy water, and Aunt Dot followed holding a dripping squeegee. Aunt Dot must have spotted Dell moping around and put her to work. That was how it worked when we were kids too. Tell her you were bored, and she found ten ways for you not to be. We learned quick to never use the B word around her.

Setting the bucket on the ground, Dell wiped her hands on her pants. “What’s up?” she asked at the same time as Aunt Dot said, “Is something the matter, pumpkin?”

“It’s probably nothing, Aunt Dot.” Eyeing Dell, I pointed down. “Is that yours?”

“Nope.” She ruffled her wild tumble of curls. “Nothing helps with this, so I let it hang loose.”

Each glossy twist was perfect, as though fairies had spent the night curling her hair on rollers forged by moonlight, and here she was complaining about them. Some things transcended species, I suppose. All women wanted the hair they didn’t have. Mine was wheat-blonde and just wavy enough I had to straighten it to wear it down but not so wavy that I could scrunch it and have soft curls.

Scooping up the hair tie, I held it up so they could both get a look. “Did either of you see anyone else out here?”

“No, and I didn’t pass anyone on the way.” Dell tilted her head back and inhaled. “I smell pack and your family. That’s it.”

“There’s something familiar about it.” Aunt Dot dunked the squeegee in the bucket, crossed to me and took the hair tie from my hand. “I can’t quite put my finger on what it is.” She got the oddest expression and lifted the fabric to her nose. “This smells like…” She shook her head. “No, that’s not possible.”

“What is it?” I joined her in the grass. “What’s not possible?”