I also had my gigantic iced coffee, which I’d gotten about halfway through. The caffeine was helping me to feel somewhat functional, even though I was pretty sure I was going to be a gelatinous mess by the time we finished up today.
I knew I needed to go through the house again, and I was hoping Helen would be able to provide some more information about what was going on—if Momma had said anything to her, but also about the mystery of why Iris Tabbard had been so insistent that we needed to not be out in the woods after dark. After all, Helen had urged us to leave before dark, too, although that might just have been worry about driving on the narrow roads at night, which wasn’t the most fun thing to do.
By the time Elliot pulled up to the farmhouse—painted light yellow, in contrast to the dark red of the barn—I was on the dregs of the coffee. The whole little farmstead had clearly been well-taken-care-of, and Helen had been doing laundry, a few quilts and sheets out on the lines, shifting in the slight summer breeze. It was picturesque, with the mountain rising behind the barn, the herd of alpacas grazing in the field, the sky blue and dotted with clouds.
I reminded myself that Helen wasn’t a member of the Community, even if she did live more or less among them. The Hills’ farm had been here before the Community had moved in, and if anyone had ever tried to make them leave, it hadn’t worked.
Elliot slid out of the driver’s seat, and I followed, my knee not quite as bad as it was some days. I should have been happier about all of it—the good weather, the adorable farm, the fact that I had less pain than usual.
But I also knew that up the curve of the dirt-and-gravel road was my parents’ house and all of the memories I’d tried for sixteen years to forget.
“Hello, boys!” Helen’s voice pulled me back to the here and now. She was standing on the porch, holding open the screen door.
“Morning!” Elliot called back. He’d pulled the box of coffee beans out of the back, a vase of flowers stuck inside it.
We walked up to the porch, and I saw the moment Helen registered the flowers. “You shouldn’t have,” she said.
“Yes, we should have,” Elliot replied, smiling. “We should have done this and then some.”
It was funny, watching his easy friendliness with Helen Hill. Usually, I was the friendly, gregarious one. Maybe it was because he didn’t know the people down here, and I did. Or maybe it was just because I wasn’t the one doing it, so he felt like he had to.
“Well, come in, come in,” she said, smiling. “I’ve got eggs and potatoes going, some sweet potato biscuits, sausage gravy, bacon, and some smoked salmon.”
As we moved into the house—past a parlor and into a massive kitchen—the smells hit me, and I found myself desperately hoping she used margarine instead of butter, because it smelled amazing.
“How do you make your biscuits?” Elliot asked. “I’m not a bad baker, but these smell incredible.”
Helen’s cheeks flushed a little. “Oh, they’re just drop biscuits,” she replied. “Sweet potatoes, shortening, salt, baking powder, the usual.” She smiled. “Although I use cashew cream instead of dairy—Ray’s dairy intolerant.”
I felt my eyes widen, and Elliot grinned at me. “So’s this one. Well, alpha-gal intolerant.”
Helen turned to me “Oh, darlin’, you poor thing. You should’ve told me. I woulda dug out the chicken sausage.”
I shrugged. “Everything else looks great, ma’am. No need to worry. And I do love smoked salmon.”
She smiled. “Well, we’ve got a lot of it. Ray’s partial to some fishin’, and he brought home several big ones this year.” She patted my arm. “And don’t you ma’am me, darlin’. I’ve known you since you were in diapers.”
I felt my neck flush. “Yes, ma—Helen.”
She patted my arm again, then winked at Elliot. “Such a charmer,” she remarked.
It was then that I noticed a faint undercurrent beneath the smells of breakfast. Tangy, like iron and copper, but with a hint of earth and something like mushroom. Odd, but not entirely unpleasant.
I don’t know if Elliot saw my nostrils flare, but he turned his head slightly to the side in a question. I shrugged. I didn’t want to say anything, because I felt like if I did, it would potentially offend Helen. Telling someone their house smells metallic and a little musty seemed kind of rude.
“Will Ray be joining us?” Elliot asked, and I watched Helen’s smile falter for just a moment.
“Oh, no. He’s out with the ’pacas. I’ll save him some for his lunch.”
“We could help him, so that he could come in—and we’d still get the work done,” Elliot offered.
The emotion that flickered across her face was definitely panic.
“Ma’am—Helen—is something wrong?” I asked her. “Does Ray…” I trailed off.
Her cheeks flushed. “Oh, heavens, no, darlin’. Nothin’ like that,” she said quickly. “He’s just… antisocial.”
“He’s a ghoul, isn’t he?” Elliot asked, suddenly, and Helen’s eyes went wide and fearful. Elliot tapped the side of his nose. “I almost didn’t notice over the delicious smells, but…” He shrugged. “Shifters have good noses.”
