He swung into the driveway behind Fred Gilman’s Subaru and cut the engine, but remained behind the wheel, grappling with his anger. He needed to be able to string together a coherent sentence when the man answered the door, to make it plain that Lizzy Moon was strictly off limits, and decide whether the guy was simply a bully or posed an actual threat.
After a series of deep breaths, he got out of the car, mounted the steps to Gilman’s front door, and knocked three times. A moment later the door eased back.
“Yes?”
Andrew stood there blinking, trying to reconcile the grizzled, stubbled man staring back at him with the Fred Gilman he used to know. He’d been a tough guy back in the day, the kind who wore his anger close to the surface, but the man standing before him looked like a good gust of wind might flatten him.
“Fred Gilman?”
“Who’s asking?”
The yeasty pong of beer floated through the open door, along with a host of other smells Andrew preferred not to identify. He resisted the urge to take a step back. “I am.”
“Do I know you?”
“I’m Andrew Greyson. You knew my father.”
“Right. Right. Owned the hardware store before Ben bought it. I was just there today.”
“You were,” Andrew replied curtly. “Which is why I’m here. I’m a friend of Lizzy Moon’s.”
Gilman’s mouth hardened. “Go away.”
Andrew checked him, wedging a boot between the door and the jamb before he could slam the door in his face. “Not until I’ve said what I came here to say.”
“You’ve got nothing to say to me.”
“I do, and you’re going to listen. Unless you’d rather I say it to the police? I’m guessing you wouldn’t, though.” He paused, waiting for a response. When none came, he continued. “You confronted her today in the parking lot—holding an ax. You scared her.”
“Scaring’s what she needs.”
Andrew’s pulse ticked up. “You think so?”
Gilman puffed out his chest. “Damn right I do. Coming back after all these years, poking her nose where it doesn’t belong. She deserves everything she gets, and then some.”
“And you think it’s your job to make sure that happens, right? That’s why you got in her face today?”
“I went to buy an ax and some rope, to help a friend take down a tree, and there she was, walking around the store bold as brass.”
“You don’t think she had a right to be there?”
“Woman like that doesn’t have a right to be anywhere. All she’s done since she’s been back is make trouble for folks.”
“For folks? Or for you?”
“My girls are none of her damn business.”
“And that’s why you threatened her?”
Gilman’s eyes rounded. “Who said anything about threatening her?”
Before Andrew could stop himself, he’d grabbed a fistful of Gilman’s shirt. “You got in her face . . . with an ax in your hand.”
For the first time, Fred Gilman seemed to realize he was in trouble. “I never . . . I only wanted . . .”
Andrew gave him a shake. “You wanted what?”
To Andrew’s astonishment, Gilman’s face crumbled. His body went next, his shoulders and chest caving in as a series of sobs bubbled up in his throat. “It was supposed to be over. When that old crone died, that was supposed to be the end of it.” His breath was coming in ragged gulps now, tears streaming down his cheeks. “Now the other two are back, and the whole town’s talking. No one wants them here. They need to know that.”
“So you set fire to the shed and burned down their orchard—so they’d know.”
Gilman’s eyes flew open. “What? No! I had nothing to do with that!”
Andrew tightened his grip on Gilman’s collar. “And the doll in the tree. The note. That was you too?”
“It wasn’t!”
“Perhaps you need the police to jog your memory. What do you think, should I give them a call? Tell them you threatened a woman with an ax today? Because I think that’s the kind of thing they might be interested in.”
Gilman went pale, his body suddenly limp. “No. No police. Please. I don’t know anything about any doll. And I had nothing to do with that fire. I swear it. I just wanted to scare her, so she’d leave us alone.” He shook his head, blinking away a fresh rush of tears. “I wanted her gone is all. For the dead to stay dead and buried.”
“I’m having trouble believing a word you’re telling me, Mr. Gilman. But here’s what I do believe—you’re a bully. And bullies are just cowards who pretend to be tough guys. It’s why you like to pick on women. But there are a few things you should know about the Moons, and about Lizzy Moon in particular. They don’t scare easy, and they don’t back down. The other thing you should know is that if I catch even a whiff of you around Moon Girl Farm, or anywhere near Lizzy, it won’t be the police you need to worry about. It’ll be me. Do you understand?”
Gilman stared back at Andrew, his mouth drooping mutely.
Andrew gave him a final shake. “Say you understand.”
All Gilman managed was a nod, but it was enough. For now.
Lizzy was sitting on the front steps, sipping a glass of wine and watching night fall, when Andrew pulled into the drive. She lifted her glass in a half-hearted greeting.
“You’re back,” she said, as he came up the walk.
“What are you doing out here?”
“Counting fireflies,” she said quietly. “I loved fireflies when I was a little girl. They looked like stars dancing in the treetops.” She lifted her glass, sipping lazily. “We don’t have them in New York. In the city, I mean. Once, I . . .”
The words trailed off and she fell silent. Andrew eyed the wineglass as he dropped down beside her, wondering how many she’d had. “You all right?”
“Just . . . a bit of a day.” She waited a beat, then pulled in a deep breath. “My Realtor broke up with me this morning, I may or may not have quit my job, and I was threatened by a crazy man with an ax. On the bright side, the bank is going to let me mortgage my grandmother’s farm.” She frowned as she stared into her wineglass. “I think there might be a country song in there somewhere.”
Andrew barely registered the quip. “You quit your job?”
“Maybe.” She paused. Another shrug. “I don’t know.”
“I don’t understand. How don’t you know?”
“Luc and I got into it this morning, about me coming back. It didn’t end well.” She craned her neck, feigning interest in the darkening violet sky. “Let’s talk about something else, okay? How was Fred Gilman?”
“The man’s a wreck of a human being, that’s for sure. But he’s hard to read. I asked him about the fire and the note. He denied it all, of course. Claimed he had nothing to do with it. When I called him a liar, the bastard broke down crying.”
Lizzy’s mouth dropped open. “He . . . wait . . . did you say crying?”
“Like a baby. Honest-to-god tears running down his face.”
She tilted her head back, studying him. “You almost sound sorry for him.”
“I might be if I could get past the image of him holding an ax. But there were times when it felt like he was telling the truth. He talked about being relieved when Althea died, about how her dying meant it was finally over. And he looked genuinely horrified when I accused him of setting the fire. It might have been an act, but it didn’t feel like it.”
“You’re saying you believe him?”
“I’m saying I don’t know. For one thing, there are two different questions on the table. The first is whether Gilman is responsible for the fire and the note. The second is whether he’s capable of harming his own daughters. And the truth is I don’t know the answer to either. Like I said, the guy’s hard to read. One minute he’s all bowed up, talking like a big man; the next he’s a sniveling, snotty mess. One thing I do know is that he doesn’t want you here. He also doesn’t want the cops involved. He loo
ked absolutely petrified when I suggested calling them.”
“So that’s it? We’re back to square one?”
“I wouldn’t say that. I was pretty clear on what would happen if he bothered you again. I called Roger on the way back and ran the whole thing by him. He agrees that while Gilman was way over the line this afternoon, nothing he said or did was actually illegal, but he said it might be good to get it on the record. The police will send someone around to talk to him, take a statement, probably warn him to stay away. Gilman won’t like it, but that’s his problem.”
Lizzy shook her head wearily. “I know I probably overreacted this afternoon, turning up like some hysterical damsel in distress, but he was just so angry. I didn’t know what to do. You were the first person I thought of.”
“I’m glad. And you didn’t overreact. I know you hate anyone trying to protect you, but under the circumstances . . .”
She was quiet for a time, allowing the crickets and peepers to fill in the stretch of silence. Finally, she sighed, tipping her glass to him. “All right. You can be my bodyguard. But I’d appreciate you not mentioning this afternoon to Evvie and Rhanna. I don’t want them freaking out on me.”
Andrew nodded grudgingly. “Where are they, by the way?”
“Out in the shop, making one last push for the festival this weekend. I was out there for a while, but I bailed. I needed some time to clear my head.”
“And count fireflies?”
She smiled sadly as she looked off into the distance. “Yes.”
Andrew watched her from the corner of his eye. She looked so beautiful in the moonlight, so cool and still, and so very far away. But then she’d always had a talent for detachment, an ability to hold herself apart from the world around her—and from him.
“I’m glad you thought of me today, Lizzy, and that you felt you could come to me. You always can, you know. No matter what happens with us—or doesn’t happen—I’ll be here for you.” He stood and shoved his hands into his pockets. A reflex to keep from reaching for her.
Lizzy blinked up at him, as if startled to find him on his feet. “You’re going?”
“Have to. I’m off to Boston in a few days, and I need to finish the latest set of plans. If I don’t see Evvie and Rhanna before they leave for the festival, tell them I said good luck.”
“Andrew.” She stood so that they were face-to-face, her eyes luminous in the moonlight. “Last night in the barn, when we . . .” She dipped her head awkwardly. “It’s not that I’m not . . . I just . . . can’t. You get that, right?”
He heard what she was saying. Maybe she even believed it. But as he met those silvery-gray eyes, he saw the truth: that if he wanted to, he could kiss her. She wouldn’t stop him this time, despite all her careful explanations. The wine—and perhaps the events of the day—had softened her up, leaving her pliant and vulnerable. But he also saw that she would regret it. Again. And there’d be no coming back from a second rejection.
He took a careful step back. He could wait. Even if waiting meant never. “Good night, Lizzy.”
THIRTY-FOUR
August 19
It was the quiet that woke Lizzy at 2:00 a.m., the prickly sensation that something wasn’t right. There was no light bleeding out from under Evvie’s door, no muffled Joplin or Creedence drifting down the hall from Rhanna’s room. Then she remembered: Rhanna and Evvie had set out for Connecticut just after breakfast, headed for the fair with a load of salt scrubs and massage oils, and Ben’s borrowed umbrella.
She’d spent the rest of the day in the barn, organizing her workbench and unpacking supplies, then experimenting with what she hoped would be a workable formula for the re-creation of Earth Song. But the work left her restless and unable to settle. It had taken a hot bath and a cup of valerian root tea to finally get her to sleep. And now she was awake again.
It felt strange being in the house alone, the darkness thick and inky, the silence absolute. She lay still, waiting for her eyes to adjust. It was there again, the niggling feeling that something wasn’t right. There were no whirring appliances or ticking clocks, no creaky ceiling fans or whiffs of moving air, as if the house had suddenly stopped breathing.
She reached for the lamp, flicked the switch, once, twice. Nothing. Either the power was out, or the prehistoric fuse box had finally given up the ghost. Frustrated at the possibility of another expensive calamity, she kicked off the covers and groped her way out into the hall, vowing to make finding an electrician her top priority when the bank loan came through. She was halfway down the stairs when she suddenly went still. Had she imagined the creak of a floorboard somewhere below her?
She sucked in a breath, hand on the banister, letting the quiet spool out. Not a sound. What was wrong with her? She was a grown woman and acting like a big old scaredy-cat. Then she heard it again, another creak, louder this time, just below her in the kitchen. Her heart slammed against her ribs when she spotted the hunched silhouette sliding past the window.
It took everything in her not to shriek her head off. Instead, she flattened her back to the wall, a hand clamped over her mouth as she watched the shadow melt into the darkness below. One wrong breath and she’d give herself away. But she couldn’t hold her breath forever.
With the kitchen phone well out of reach, she had two choices: make a run for the mudroom door and pray she reached it before the intruder did, or bolt back up the stairs to her cell phone, lock herself in, and hope he’d be too spooked to come after her.
The next second the decision was made and she was hurtling down the stairs, barely registering the startled grunt of the intruder as she shot past him toward the mudroom. He’d left the door ajar. She stumbled through it and out into the dark, landing hard on one knee before scurrying back to her feet and pelting barefoot across the yard, blurring past the vegetable garden, the greenhouse, Evvie’s hives.
Her head filled with a dull thudding. Footsteps or her heart? She couldn’t tell and didn’t dare look back. The moon was high and nearly full, making her an easy target. If she remained out in the open, she’d be caught for sure, dragged down and set upon, like a fox run to ground.
Veering left, she plunged into the woods, zigzagging half-blind through the dark tangle of trees, heedless of the brush slashing at her shins, the low branches whipping her cheeks. A pain began to cut into her right side but panic kept her legs moving, feet pounding over tree roots and dew-slick leaves.
Her breath came in a sob when she finally broke from the trees and saw the light in Andrew’s upstairs window. A few more yards and she’d be safe. It took the last of her strength to surge the remaining distance. She scraped a shin as she staggered up the steps and fell against the door. She pounded with both fists, tried the knocker, then the bell, then her fists again. His truck was in the driveway; he had to be home. She was thinking about smashing the sidelight window and reaching in when the porch light flicked on, and Andrew pulled back the door.
“My god, what . . . Lizzy!”
She sagged against him, panting. “Someone . . . in the house. In the . . . kitchen.”
He caught her before she could slide to the ground, pulling her inside, then led her to a folding metal chair in one corner of the empty living room. “Are you hurt?”
She shook her head, strangely numb. “No.”
“Did you see who it was?”
“Too . . . d-dark.” Her teeth had begun to chatter as reality crowded in.
Andrew ran a careful eye over her, as if taking inventory. “You’re sure you’re not hurt? Maybe we should get you checked out.”
Lizzy blinked down at her legs, bare and crisscrossed with a network of scrapes and welts. She had bolted out of the house wearing nothing but an oversize T-shirt, and her flight through the woods had left her rather the worse for wear. She ran her tongue over a stinging lower lip. Apparently, her face hadn’t fared much better.
“I’m okay,” she said, still winded. “Just nicked up. I came through the woods.”
“Jesus . . .” Andrew scraped a hand through his hair. “Did you call the police?”
“I couldn’t. He was in the kitchen, and my phone was upstairs.” She closed her eyes, fighting down a shudder. “I had to run past him to get out of the house. I ran all the way here.”
Andrew stepped away. Lizzy registered the sound of drawers opening, the clatter of ice. Moments later, he returned with a makeshift ice pack. “Hold this on your mouth. It’ll keep the swelling down.”
Lizzy did as she was told, wincing as the cold hit her throbbing lip. He went to the hall closet to fetch a blanket, then dropped it over her and tucked it in around her arms. She was shaking uncontrollably now, sobs of relief shuddering through her in waves.
“You’re safe,” he told her softly. “But we need to call the police. You said you saw him. Are you sure you couldn’t identify him?”
She shook her head, sniffling, then mopped at her eyes. “I never saw his face. Just his silhouette. I think he cut the power.”
“Right.” Andrew grabbed his phone on the way to the door. “I’ll be back in a bit. Keep the ice on your lip, and don’t open the door.”
Lizzy sat up abruptly. “What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to call the police, and then I’m going over there. It’s time to put an end to whatever this is. They’ll want to talk to you, I’m sure, but that can wait until tomorrow. For now, just sit tight. And I mean it. Don’t open the door.”
THIRTY-FIVE
By the time Andrew reached the house, a pair of squad cars were sitting in the driveway, blue lights pulsing eerily. They’d wasted no time, he’d say that for them, though the intruder was almost certainly gone.
He stood in the front yard, watching a pair of flashlight beams move past the curtained windows. A short time later, Ken Landry and Jonathan Clark appeared at the top of the drive. Their hands went to their holsters when they spotted Andrew.
Andrew held out his hands, palms out. “It’s Andrew Greyson. I’m the one who called.”
The Last of the Moon Girls Page 27
