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“You’re early,” Dawn says to him.

“Your new house is easier to find than I thought,” the man says, speaking in a thick Cockney accent. “Lovely though. I was getting a bit tired of that dustbowl you were living in before.”

Okay, definitely not her husband. The man stops in front of me and I can almost feel his gaze beneath his sunglasses. He’s probably in his fifties, a craggy yet charismatic face, crooked smile, with red hair peeking out beneath the baseball cap. His nose is broad, looking like it’s been broken a few times, while freckles and pockmarks scar up his cheeks.

“Getting to know the neighbors already,” he comments to her. He takes his sunglasses off, sliding them in the front pocket of his mustard yellow shirt, and gives me a steady look. His eyes are hazel, nearly amber, the kind of eyes that you know have seen a lot, been through a lot.

“Of course,” Dawn says. She nods at me. “This is Ada. She lives here with her father.” She lowers her voice. “She lost her mother a few years ago.”

“What a shame,” the man says frowning. “Death doesn’t always discriminate, does it?” He offers his hand. “I’m Jacob. Family friend.”

“Nice to meet you,” I tell him, his hand nearly crushing mine.

The way he keeps his eyes on me is unnerving until he winks, breaking into a crooked smile. “It will be good for the Knightlys to have someone young next door, keep them breathing and all that.” He takes his hand back and looks to Dawn. “Where is the husband anyway, napping? You know you should be careful, he’s almost seventy. Wouldn’t want him to break his hip taking a shit or something.”

She rolls her eyes. “You are terrible.”

“That’s why even Hell didn’t want me,” he jokes smoothly.

“Well he’s already taken over the basement and turning it into a jam room. If he’s breaking anything it’s his back from hanging guitars all over the walls.” Dawn gives me an apologetic look. “I best be showing Jacob the grand tour. This man doesn’t know what patience is. Let me know how you like the brownies.”

“Will do,” I tell her, raising up the pan in a show of thanks.

“Come on Rusty,” Jacob says, putting his arm around Dawn’s shoulder and leading her to the house. “It’s been a long drive. Take me to the gin.”

I watch them disappear into the house before glancing down at the brownies. That whole exchange was kind of strange and there was definitely something odd about that redheaded fellow with the Michael Caine accent. I think I’ll give the brownies to Dex, just in case. He can handle poison better than anyone.

I head inside the house, my dad puttering around in the kitchen trying to make dinner. I feel a pang of guilt knowing I should have been at home helping him instead of out buying makeup I don’t need with money I don’t have.

He doesn’t even glance at the bags as I plop them on the counter. He stopped harassing me about spending money a long time ago. I think he figures I’m trying to shop my way out of grief just as he’s taken up gardening tenfold. Even though we’re trying to move, he spends most of the day out in the back garden. It looks so lush and extravagant now that you can’t even tell it was once the sight of a séance, a witch bottle filled with toenail clippings and hair and all the negative energy of the house buried there.

Then again, what backyard doesn’t have that? It could almost be a selling point.

“I met the neighbors,” I tell him, sliding the pan on the island. “Though I’m not sure if the brownies are poisoned or not, so proceed with caution.”

He glances at them briefly as he stoops to take a tray out of the oven, the scent of roasted vegetables wafting out in a cloud. “Oh. I met them earlier this morning.” He starts turning over the beets and carrots. “Interesting couple. Turns out the man used to be in a seventies rock group, though I can’t say I’ve ever heard one of their songs. Your sister would probably know. Or that husband of hers,” he mumbles under his breath.

“What band?”

“Hybrid? I can’t remember. Something that would induce a lot of drug use, I’m sure.” A silence falls between us, thick and uneasy. I know he’s thinking about Perry when she was younger. I know he’s thinking about me last year.

I clear my throat. “Well that’s good that they’re cool,” I tell him. “Need any help? What time are they coming over anyway?”

There’s a brief knock at the door before we hear it open. Dad sighs. “I suppose that’s them.”

“Hello?” Perry calls out from around the corner. She comes into the kitchen and drops a giant duffle bag on the floor that’s nearly the size of her.