Or both.

A woman follows him. I don’t recognize her, but they’re so comfortable with one another that I wonder if they came to town together. She tumbles into him, laughing before kissing him passionately.

I duck into the nearest alleyway until Kris and the woman pass, weaving in the general direction of the Purple Saucer. Once they’re out of sight, I have a choice. I can go home, or I can simply walk into Little John’s and ask Regina straight up what, if anything, she’s told Ronald.

It would be the responsible thing to do.

But I can’t bring myself to step through the door. I don’t think I could bear discovering I’m alone in Lilydale, as alone as I feel. Instead, I hurry toward the phone booth and dial the number to the Star. I’m told Benjamin is on assignment and that it’s not known when he will return.

I ask to leave a message.

When that’s done, there’s nothing for me to do but go home and prepare Deck’s supper.

CHAPTER 48

When I wake up the next morning, I see Deck’s already left for work. I don’t even know what time he got in last night.

Late.

It occurs to me that I can pack a bag and hitchhike to Minneapolis, beg Ursula to take me in, convince her of the danger in Lilydale, that we must get the police involved. But I’m safe here as long as I’m pregnant. This fact buys me time to help Angel, if such a thing is still possible, to plan, to think of a way to escape this town that guarantees they can never hurt me or my baby or force us to move back here.

Deck hasn’t remarked on my anxiety. He has been working late nights. He’s been distant. I think I saw him flirting with Miss Colivan, the fourth-grade teacher, at church. He may not have initiated it, but he didn’t seem to mind when she laughed at something he said—he’s never been funny—and snaked her arm around his waist. It saddens me, but it also makes planning my escape that much easier.

I jump when the phone rings.

“Hello?”

“Joan Harken, please.”

“This is she.” The person on the other end of the line sounds so civilized and normal. I want to scream at them, Save me! Get me out of this crazy village. “To whom am I speaking?”

“Samantha Beven. From the Minnesota Health Department. I’m returning your call.”

About what? I almost say.

But then I remember. I called them a lifetime ago when I thought the world had rules and that I could write an article about blood collection and censuses.

“Thank you for calling me back,” I say, thinking quickly. “I’m a reporter for the Lilydale Gazette. I wanted to find out more about the blood survey you’re bringing to our town. What you’re hoping to find.”

“What we were hoping to find was one of the purest Germanic bloodlines in all of Minnesota. Unfortunately, Lilydale refused us access.”

“They can do that?” But of course they can. They can do anything they want. And boy, would they want to avoid a blood collection, if my theory is right, if Ronald and Stanley—and probably Clan the Brody Bear, Amory Mountain, and Browline Schramel, too—have a decades-long history of raping local women, exacting the price of staying “safe” in Lilydale.

“A city council does have the right to turn away our blood research, yes.”

“I understand.” The phone clicks. Has she hung up on me? “Hello?”

“I’m still here.”

“It sounded like you ended the call.”

“I heard it, too.”

I feel a dozen eyes on me, or should I say ears? But curiosity—no, terror—is pushing me to get answers. I need a logical reason why Deck, Kris, and I all have the same scar on our arms. “I have another question, and it’s an odd one. You might not even be the person to ask.”

“Try me.”

“I have a scar on my upper left arm.”

“Vaccination scar?”

“Yep, smallpox. But here’s the thing. It’s in the shape of a figure eight almost.”

“That happens sometimes.” She sounds polite but bored. “Sometimes certain bloodlines will have a similar adverse reaction to a vaccination. It’s uncommon but not unheard of. Most of the time, though, it’s a bad batch creating a specific reaction.”

Exactly what Dr. Krause mentioned during my first visit with him.

“Could one batch be shipped to different states?”

“It’s possible.”

I’m about to ask my last question when something clicks into place. It wouldn’t have to be possible. Kris said his first memory after Lilydale was in San Diego, the city I was living in when I stole the pearl necklace for my mom. Both he and I could have easily gotten vaccinated there from the same bad lot. Deck having a similar reaction to another lot four years later was just one of those things. But was it coincidence that Kris and I were living in the same city at the same time when we were kids, and now we’re both in Lilydale?

“Is that it?” Her voice has gone from bored to annoyed.

“One more thing.” I’m thinking about the locket taped to the back of my toilet, the one containing ancestral dirt. “You mentioned the German bloodline here in Lilydale. Do you know anything about Johann and Minna Lily?”

I hear her exhale through her nose. “Nothing other than that they’re Lilydale’s founders and that Lilydale is the state’s epicenter of German immigration. They really kept the marriages insular there. One of the shallowest gene pools in the country. The Stearns County Historical Society could tell you more. Are you familiar with them? They meet in Saint Cloud. I’m an honorary member but have never attended a meeting.”

I reach for the paper and pen next to the phone. “Do you have their number?”

I’m tempted to leave the house and walk to the phone booth to call the historical society. If I do that, though, I’m admitting that I think my phone is tapped, and that seems like a straight train to Crazy Town.

Browline Schramel and Mildred the Mouse live inside a telephone, one that Browline Schramel is always tinkering with.

I shake my head to loosen the story. I dial. When a woman answers, I give her the spiel about being with the Lilydale Gazette and writing an article about the town.

“Oh!” she says. “Lilydale is such a lovely village. I’ve driven through it many times. It has the perfect small-town feel. You’re so lucky that you get to live there!”

“Thank you,” I say through clenched teeth. “What can you tell me about the town?”

“It was founded in 1857, but I’m sure you already knew that.”

“By Michael Lily?” I’m testing her.

“No, dear, it was founded by Johann and Minna Lily. There’s quite an interesting story with those two. I’m going to run to the archives right now to make sure I have it right. Do you have a moment?”

“Yes.”

I hear the click again. I tell myself it’s only her setting down the phone, but my skin is crawling with tiny insects. I wait two minutes. Then three. At four, I am sure she’s never coming back. I’m about to hang up when I hear another click.

“Hello?” The voice is unfamiliar.

“Hello,” I say. “Where’s the woman I was speaking with earlier?”