The Last of the Moon Girls

by Barbara Davis

  We must never forget that there’s always another side to the coin—that on the other side of every lie is a truth that has gone untold. And there is always a cost to such things. We all of us come to a place in our lives when the things we dread inevitably come for us. Not the childish things that lurk in dark corners or under beds, but the kind that live in our heads and our hearts. The grown-up things. The kind that cut deep when they’re finally revealed. And then we must choose—do what’s hard and topple the lie, or simply allow it to stand.

  You have always had a good heart, my Lizzy—a kind heart. But it is never a kindness to allow a lie to stand, however hard the pursuit of the truth may be. In the end, light is the only thing that has ever chased away darkness—the only thing that ever will. Seek truth in all things, my dearest girl. There can be no healing without it.

  A—

  ELEVEN

  July 22

  It was nearly five when Lizzy pulled into the parking lot of Mason Electric. She’d purposely waited for closing time but found herself hesitating as she reached for the door handle. Once she approached Fred Gilman, there’d be no going back. But Althea’s words thrummed in her head. Seek truth in all things. There can be no healing without it.

  So be it.

  The door chimed softly as she stepped into the lobby. A young woman in cat-eye glasses and a lime-green sundress glanced up from the counter with a polite smile.

  “Can I help you?”

  “I was hoping to speak with Fred Gilman. Is he in?”

  “Sorry. He’s out on a job. But if you leave your name, I’ll have him call you.”

  Lizzy wasn’t sure whether to feel relieved or disappointed. “No. Thank you. No message.”

  She was preparing to leave when she noticed two men in gray work shirts huddled around the watercooler behind the counter. One of them, the taller of the two, locked eyes with her over his paper cup.

  “What do you want with Fred?”

  Lizzy eyed the name patch on his shirt—JAKE. “I want to talk to him. On personal business.”

  “No,” he said flatly. “You don’t. I know who you are, and I know all about your business. Hasn’t your family caused enough trouble in this town?”

  Lizzy fought the urge to step back, registering the caustic combination of lye and hot tar. Not exactly a promising sign. “I didn’t come to cause trouble. I just need to ask him a few questions.”

  Jake leaned across the counter until his face was inches from hers. “Leave the man alone. He doesn’t need your questions. None of us do.”

  “Jake!” The woman in the cat-eye glasses slapped a manila folder down on the counter. “Get back to the warehouse where you belong. You too, Tommy.” When the men were gone, she turned back with an apologetic smile. “Sorry about them. Fred should be back shortly. You can wait if you want.”

  “No. No, thank you. I’ll catch up with him another time.”

  She had crossed to the door when she felt a pair of eyes between her shoulder blades. She glanced back to see that Jake had reappeared, his eyes flinty as he watched her go.

  Back in the car, she sat with both hands curled tight around the wheel. She’d known better than to expect red-carpet treatment, but she hadn’t prepared for open hostility. And she’d yet to ask a single question. What would happen when she really started digging?

  Before she could consider the question, a utility pickup with a ladder rack on the roof swung into the lot and parked several rows over. She hadn’t seen Fred Gilman in years, but there was no missing the man’s telltale gait, shoulders bunched close to his ears, arms nearly stationary as he crossed the lot, like a man bracing himself against a storm. She reached for the door handle, then changed her mind. Following him inside would just lead to another run-in with Jake, squelching any hope for a productive conversation. She’d have a better shot if she waited for him to come out.

  Ten minutes later Gilman reappeared with Jake at his side. She hadn’t counted on that. She slouched down in her seat, praying she wouldn’t be spotted as they crossed the parking lot together. They lingered for what felt like an eternity, in deep conversation. It wasn’t hard to guess what they were discussing.

  When Gilman finally climbed into a battered green Subaru and started the engine, she followed him out of the lot, maintaining what she hoped was a discreet distance, slowing when he slowed, turning when he turned. She felt ridiculous, like an obsessed stalker or inept spy. If he spotted her, would he call the police? And what if he did? She wasn’t breaking any laws, and she had every right to ask her questions.

  They had just passed the fairground entrance when he turned off into Meadow Park. His driveway was the third on the right. She sped past as he pulled in, circling the block several times to allow him time to get inside. Ambushing the man in his driveway wasn’t likely to earn her any points. On the third pass, she pulled in behind the Subaru.

  Fred Gilman’s home was a yellow-and-white single-wide with a weathered wood porch tacked onto the front. The postage stamp–size lot was brown with neglect, barren but for a straggly hedge running down one side. No flowers in the yard. No mat on the porch. No wreath on the door. The home of a man who lived alone.

  Lizzy held her breath as she mounted the porch steps and knocked on the dented aluminum door. There was a moment of fumbling with a lock before the door finally inched back. Gilman stood blinking at her through the opening, a frozen dinner half out of its box in his hands. He looked weary as he peered out, and a little annoyed—until he recognized her.

  His face hardened as he backed away, clearly bent on slamming the door in her face. But she’d come too far to leave empty-handed. Reflexively, she wedged her foot between the door and the jamb. An ambrosia of mothballs, burned coffee, and dirty carpet wafted through the opening. Lizzy suspected the odors had more to do with Fred Gilman’s living conditions than with the state of his emotions, but it was enough to make her take a small step back.

  “Mr. Gilman, I’d like to speak to you.”

  Gilman glared at her. “Stay away from me.”

  “Please. I think you’ll want to hear what I have to say. It’s about the investigation into what happened to your girls.”

  His face suddenly went slack, and for a moment he stood blinking at the frozen dinner in his hands, as if wondering how it got there. Finally, his eyes snapped back to hers. “You have one minute to say what you came to say, and you can say it from right there on the porch.”

  Lizzy felt her shoulders relax. “You’ve heard, I’m sure, that my grandmother died.” She waited for a response, but his face was disconcertingly blank. “I know what you think, Mr. Gilman. You believe Althea hurt your girls. But it isn’t true. I have reason—good reason—to believe the investigation was mishandled. I’ve asked the police to look at the evidence again, but in the meantime, I was hoping you and your wife might remember—”

  “My wife,” Gilman spat, “lives in Massachusetts now.”

  “I’m so sorry, Mr. Gilman. Truly sorry, for everything you’ve been through. But I’m sure you’d want to know the truth.”

  “You have nothing to say that I want to hear. My girls are dead. My wife’s gone. Isn’t that enough for you?”

  “Mr. Gilman, please, if you knew my grandmother at all, you’d know she could never hurt your daughters. All I need is something to go on, something that might convince Chief Summers to reopen the case.”

  Gilman’s face had gone a blotchy shade of red. He locked eyes with her. “I know all I need to about the Moons. And so does the rest of this town. They don’t want you here any more than I do. Yet here you stand on my front porch, asking for my help. You’ve got some brass. But then your lot always did. Well, I say good riddance to your grandmother. Got what was coming to her, if you ask me. Maybe you will too.”

  His words, a blend of menace and thinly veiled disgust, sent a chill down Lizzy’s spine. Had he just threatened her? She couldn’t say for sure, but it was clear that she’d get no help from
him. She turned and headed back down the steps.

  “And don’t go bothering my wife if you know what’s good for you.” The words hit Lizzy in the back as she reached the driveway. “She’s got nothing to say.”

  Lizzy replayed the conversation in her head on the drive home, not that it had been much of a conversation. She hadn’t learned anything she didn’t already know. Still, she couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to Gilman’s rancor than met the eye. He clearly didn’t want her dredging up the past, and especially not with his ex-wife.

  She’s got nothing to say.

  Maybe that was true—and maybe it wasn’t. Was it possible Gilman had something to hide? She shuddered at the possibilities, but it happened, didn’t it? You heard about it on the news, saw it in the papers. Parents capable of the unthinkable.

  Lizzy brought herself up short. She was grasping at straws now, concocting a plot that felt like it had been lifted from an airport novel, and on nothing more than speculation. She knew better than most the wreckage wrought by false accusations. She needed to rein in her imagination, to follow the facts rather than her emotions. But where did that leave her? Roger had been swift to point out that there was a reason the obvious suspect was typically the obvious suspect. But what if there were no obvious suspects? No obvious motive, no clear-cut opportunity? You had to start looking at the not-so-obvious suspects, didn’t you?

  Lizzy was surprised to find herself back home so quickly. She’d been so caught up in her thoughts that she’d made most of the drive on autopilot. She spotted Andrew’s truck in his driveway as she drove past. Maybe a male perspective was what she needed.

  She got out of the car, cut across the yard, and knocked. Andrew answered moments later, sporting loose-fitting sweatpants and a damp towel draped around bare shoulders. The mingled scents of amber and smoke came off him in waves.

  “Hey. I thought I heard a knock. What’s up?”

  Lizzy’s gaze slid down his bare torso, then shot back to his face. “I just got home and saw your truck. Is it a bad time?”

  “It’s a great time, actually. I was just about to fix some supper.”

  “Oh, sorry. I’ll come back if you’re cooking.”

  “Who said anything about cooking?”

  “I thought you did.”

  Andrew motioned for her to follow him to the kitchen. “I can boil water, scramble eggs, and butter toast. Beyond that, I’m pretty much a ready-to-eat kind of guy. Plus, the stove’s not hooked up yet.” He paused, opening the fridge door with a flourish. “Which is why I hit the market this afternoon. I was thinking of having a little picnic.”

  Lizzy eyed the collection of deli containers and what appeared to be a rotisserie chicken. “Looks like quite a feast.”

  “Join me?”

  “Oh, no. I don’t want to intrude. We can talk tomorrow.”

  “Stay. There’s plenty. I’ll warn you, though, this isn’t New York City. The fare isn’t exactly trendy, and we’ll be sitting on the floor.”

  He shot her a grin. Lizzy found herself grinning back, wondering why she hadn’t noticed his dimples before now. “Personally, I’ve always thought chairs were overrated.”

  “Great. Give me a minute to throw on a shirt. You can go ahead and pull that stuff out of the fridge if you want. Paper plates are in the cabinet next to the sink.”

  He reappeared a short time later wearing torn jeans and a faded Patriots T-shirt. “Never let it be said that I forced you to dine with a savage.”

  While Lizzy busied herself with the food containers, Andrew spread a paint-spattered drop cloth on the floor of what she assumed was the breakfast room. When the food was ready, they settled down to their makeshift picnic, sitting opposite one another with their paper plates and plastic utensils.

  Lizzy watched with mixed emotions as Andrew struggled to dissect the chicken with a plastic knife, wondering when the best time might be to mention that she was a vegetarian. “Not to criticize, but a real knife might come in handy.”

  Andrew grimaced, still wrestling with the chicken. “Don’t have one.” Another few minutes and the drumstick came free. He offered it to Lizzy.

  She waved it off with a shake of her head. “No meat for me.”

  “Sorry. Didn’t know that.”

  “No reason you should. Why don’t you have a knife?”

  “Most of the downstairs stuff’s in storage. I wasn’t thinking when I packed up the kitchen. I just wanted everything out. It’s a hassle, but it’s easier in the long run. You’re not tripping over things, worrying about protecting the furniture, moving stuff from room to room. I’ve got a bed and a dresser upstairs. And my drafting table. That’ll do until it’s finished.”

  Lizzy took in the room, the empty walls and bare floor. “When will that be?”

  Andrew shrugged as he reached for a carrot stick. “Depends. Spring, maybe. I’m fitting it in between clients, so it could be a while. And it’s just me, so there’s no rush. You’re the first person to see it, by the way. I don’t entertain much. Come to think of it, why did you drop by?”

  Lizzy spooned a blob of potato salad onto her plate and handed him the container. “I went to see Fred Gilman today. You were right. He all but slammed the door in my face.”

  “You can’t be surprised.”

  “No, but I can’t help wondering . . . How well do you know him?”

  “Gilman? Not well. He was a customer of my father’s. Why?”

  “I was just wondering if there might be a reason he doesn’t want me snooping around. Maybe he knows something he doesn’t want me to know.”

  “By something, you mean . . .”

  “It happens.”

  “Lizzy, think about what you’re saying.”

  “I have been thinking about it. I thought about it all the way home. He wasn’t just upset, he was hostile. He doesn’t want me anywhere near this.”

  Andrew set down his fork, scowling. “What did he say?”

  “That Althea got what she deserved, and maybe I would too. It was probably just the anger talking, but there was something, I don’t know, sinister about the way he said it. He also warned me to stay away from his wife, which I thought was odd since they’re not together anymore. Why would he not want me talking to her?”

  “Maybe it’s as simple as wanting to protect her. Just because two people are apart doesn’t mean they’ve stopped caring about each other.”

  Lizzy nodded, accepting the remark at face value. When it came to marital dynamics, she had little to go on. “I suppose so. That’s why I came over. I needed you to tell me I was imagining things. I just thought after so much time he might be willing to at least listen.”

  “What are you going to do now?”

  Lizzy pushed her potato salad around her plate. “I have no idea. Talk to Mrs. Gilman, I suppose. If I can track her down. I need something I can take back to Summers, something he can’t ignore.”

  “Good luck with that. Cavanaugh just endorsed him as Salem Creek’s next mayor. There’s zero chance of him touching this now.”

  “Then I guess I’ll have to force his hand.”

  “Lizzy.” Andrew folded his paper napkin and laid it aside. “I get you needing to do this. In fact, I admire the hell out of you for it, but maybe you should slow down, give Roger time to get through his notes. If there’s something to find, he’ll find it. And then he can deal with Summers, and you’re out of it. In the meantime, maybe I could do some poking around, see if anyone knows how to contact her.”

  Lizzy managed a smile. She didn’t want to seem ungrateful, but he was doing it again, stepping in to protect her, like he had the night Rhanna went wading in the fountain. Only this time he had more to lose. “Andrew, I’m grateful to you for putting me in touch with Roger, but this is my fight. I’ll be gone in a few weeks, and you’ll still be here. Your business will still be here. The last thing you need is to get mixed up in this.”

  “I’m not worried about what this tow
n thinks.”

  “You should be,” Lizzy replied, thinking of the men at Mason Electric, of Jake and his buddy, and how they’d bowed up at the mere sight of her. Fred Gilman was right about one thing. No one wanted her here. And if Andrew was seen as choosing the Moons over Salem Creek, no one would want him here either.

  “I shouldn’t have involved you,” she said, setting aside her plate. “I knew better.”

  “You didn’t involve me, Lizzy. I involved myself.”

  “Why?” The word was out of her mouth before she had time to think about where it might lead, but now that it was out, she was curious. “Why did you agree to help me—when you’re clearly not convinced I should be poking around in this? You’re always doing that, you know? Helping me. And it’s not just making the call to Roger. It’s the greenhouse, and the barn, and all the other stuff.”

  Andrew arched a brow. “Other stuff?”

  “In school. The Twizzlers at the assembly. The ride home the day of the hailstorm. We barely knew each other then. Come to that, we barely know each other now.” She paused, ducking her head. “I always wondered . . . Was it because you felt sorry for me?”

  Andrew stared at her, as if genuinely astonished. “That’s what you thought? That I felt sorry for you?”

  She responded with a half-hearted shrug. “I wasn’t exactly Miss Popular in school. All I wanted back then was to be invisible. I thought I was doing a good job of it too. Except you kept turning up, being all nice. For the life of me, I couldn’t figure out why. I still can’t.”

  Andrew paused, picking up his napkin again, and slowly wiped his hands. Finally, he looked up. “Why is a boy ever nice to a girl? I wanted you to like me. I still do.”

  Lizzy blinked at him, cheeks tingling. There were no dimples this time, no sign that he was teasing. There were only his words hovering between them, and something warm and unfamiliar unfurling beneath her ribs. She’d had her share of adult relationships, but she’d skipped over this part of adolescence, the giddy flutter of first attraction, the breathless tug of young heartstrings. There’d been no point back then. And there was certainly no point now.