Kelly came to him then. She entered his room, sat on the edge of his bed, and placed her hand on his back. “We’ll find Doolin,” she said. “I feel better now. We’ll make posters and put them up on all the telephone poles. We’ll knock on doors. We’ll find her.”

Liam steadied his breath. Wiped his face with the cuff of a sleeve. “Okay,” he said into the pillow. “Thanks.”

*   *   *

A heavyset, Hispanic-looking boy on a bicycle pedaled up as they stapled the hand-made flyer to a pole. He wore jeans and an oversized white T-shirt. One foot on the ground, the other remaining on a pedal, he made a show of reading the poster.

He seemed about Kelly’s age, maybe older.

“That your dog?”

“She went missing last night,” Kelly answered.

The boy had dark eyes, thick brows, and soft cheeks. He pulled a Twizzler from his back pocket and bit off half of it. He chewed thoughtfully.

“You the guys who moved into the old Cropsey house?”

Liam shrugged.

“Nineteen Tudor Road.” Kelly pointed down the road. “The big gray one.”

The boy’s eyes narrowed. “Seen anything weird?”

Kelly drew closer to Liam. She asked the boy what he meant.

And so the boy said that it was a ghost house, famous all around these parts. “Ask anybody,” he said, and shoved the rest of the Twizzler into his mouth.

“I’m Marco Torres,” he said.

Liam and Kelly told him their names.

“They say there used to be a lady who lived there, long ago,” Marco said. He leaned in, spoke softly. “They say she was crazy, dama loca they called her. She wandered these streets, lost as a little girl, howling at the moon. Anyway, one night, she got nailed by a hit-and-run driver—didn’t even slow down to see if she was okay. Which she wasn’t, on account of she was dead.”

“What was her name?” Kelly asked.

“Bloody Mary, that’s all I know,” Marco said. “On account of all the blood. Ever since, lots of different people have tried living in that house. But nobody’s ever stayed for long.”

“Why not?” Liam asked.

Marco laughed. “By the looks on your faces, you already know the answer. Good luck, fellas. You’re gonna need it.”

He saluted them with a grin, pushed off with one foot, rose up stylishly on a pedal, and was gone. Pretty smooth for a big guy.

12. The Letters on the Fridge

12

THE LETTERS ON THE FRIDGE

That night, the Finns sat together at the kitchen table.

Doolin had not returned. There were no phone calls, no sightings on the streets. She had simply vanished, and Liam’s heart ached. Doolin was the family dog, true, but Liam had always thought of her as his dog, for he had loved her best.