The Last of the Moon Girls

by Barbara Davis

  Andrew had barely finished his eggs when his cell went off. One of the contractors on the Boston job had called to tell him they’d discovered an issue with the foundation, one that would require both plumbing and wiring redos. The clients needed to see him ASAP, to talk options and costs. There had been a flurry of calls after that. He had apologized profusely, but the truth was she’d been grateful for the diversion.

  Lizzy glanced out the passenger side window in time to see Andrew reappear and wave the all clear. She felt a frisson of dread as she climbed out of the truck and made her way to the back of the house. She’d been preparing herself for this all morning, but a chill prickled down her spine when she saw the mudroom door standing ajar. The lock plate had been pried from the jamb, the jamb itself visibly gouged.

  “He jimmied his way in,” Andrew said, pointing out the damage. “Then apparently found the fuse box.”

  Lizzy nodded mutely, eyeing the powdery black residue smearing the doorknob and jamb. She’d heard about fingerprint dust, about the mess it made and what a nightmare it was to clean up. Now she’d get to see it firsthand. For the second time in eight years, Moon Girl Farm had been designated a crime scene.

  Andrew reached for her hand. “You okay?”

  “Yeah. It just gives me the creeps, thinking about what could have happened.”

  “Me too.” He gave her fingers a squeeze. “We don’t have to stay long. You’ll just do a quick walk-through, see if anything’s missing, and get into some proper clothes. Although, I have to say, you look a lot better in my boxers than I do.”

  Lizzy mustered a smile. He’d lent her a T-shirt and a pair of his boxers to wear. She’d had to roll the waistband several times to keep them up, but they’d done well enough.

  “Ready to go in?”

  She nodded, swallowing a groan.

  Inside, the mess was even worse than expected. Lizzy did her best to ignore it as she moved from room to room, looking for rifled drawers and cabinets, but it was hard when virtually every surface was smeared with sooty residue, a stark reminder of the intruder’s presence.

  “Well?” Andrew said when she made her way back around to the kitchen.

  “Nothing’s missing down here. I guess he wasn’t here to steal the silver.”

  “Looks that way.”

  “I’ll have a quick look upstairs, then throw on some clothes so we can get this over with. I’d like to get a few hours of work in out in the barn when I get back, and then I guess I’ll have to start cleaning up this mess.”

  Upstairs, she was relieved to find nothing disturbed. There were no ransacked closets or tousled drawers, and her purse and phone were both on the dresser where she’d left them. That the intruder hadn’t ventured upstairs should have been comforting. But it seemed only to confirm the suspicion that the break-in had been motivated by something other than robbery.

  After swapping Andrew’s boxers for a pair of jeans, she ran a brush through her hair, slid her phone into her purse, and headed back down. She’d check in with Roger when she finished with the police, to fill him in and see where things stood.

  She found Andrew in the front parlor, roaming from window to window, scribbling on the notepad Evvie usually kept by the phone. He turned when she entered the room, brows raised. “So?”

  “I don’t think he made it upstairs at all. And if he did, it wasn’t to steal. My purse was on the dresser in plain sight. What are you doing?”

  “Counting windows. I’ll replace the lock on the mudroom door this afternoon, and then the minute I get back from Boston, I’m fitting all these windows with new locks.”

  Lizzy looked around the room and sighed. “I don’t even want to think about what’s coming when Evvie and Rhanna get back and see all this. Evvie isn’t going to let me out of her sight.”

  “I wouldn’t blame her. In fact, I’m thinking a security system might not be a bad idea.”

  “People in Salem Creek don’t have security systems, Andrew. Half of them don’t even lock their doors.”

  “They’ll start once word of this gets out.”

  Lizzy was about to respond when her cell phone pinged. She pulled it out of her purse, frowning when she saw the text from Luc.

  Do you still work for me or what?

  Andrew was watching her. “Everything’s okay?”

  “Luc,” she said flatly. “He wants to know if I still work for him.”

  “Do you?”

  Lizzy let out a sigh. She knew what he wanted her to say: that she wasn’t going back. But she couldn’t say it. If last night had proven anything, it was that the best thing she could do was get herself back to New York before she caused any more confusion—for Andrew and for herself. She’d been trying all morning to figure out how to have this conversation. It seemed Luc had forced her hand.

  “I worked hard to get where I am at Chenier, Andrew. I have a future there. I can’t just walk away from that.”

  “So that’s a yes.”

  “I suppose it is.” She looked away, groping for words that would make this easier, but there weren’t any. “I know what you want me to say, that last night changed everything, and I’d be lying if I said that wasn’t true. But it also made me realize why I’ve been pushing you away for so long. It’s because you make me forget. The things I promised I’d do—and the things I promised I wouldn’t. Why I came back, and why I can’t stay. But there’s one thing I can’t forget, especially after last night. This town doesn’t want me here. And that’s never going to change. No matter how many questions I ask, or what I prove. Salem Creek has been trying to get rid of the Moons for two hundred years. It’s time to give them what they want.”

  Andrew had been listening with arms folded. He shifted his feet now, and squared his shoulders. “Is that all?”

  Lizzy blinked at him. “All?”

  “Three days ago you told me you might have quit your job. I asked when you’d know for sure. You shrugged it off, like it was no big deal. Now, all of a sudden, you’re crystal clear about all the reasons you need to go back. At the risk of sounding paranoid, are you sure this isn’t about last night?”

  “I’m going back because it’s what needs to happen, Andrew. I’m still who I am—still what I am. I let myself forget that last night. Because I wanted to feel how I felt. I wanted to be with you. I wanted it more than anything. But it wasn’t fair to you. I was wrong to let last night happen.”

  “So I was a mistake?”

  “No,” she said evenly, hating that he’d thrown her own words back at her. “I was. I knew it couldn’t be anything more than one night. I just . . .”

  “How long did it last with Luc?”

  “Luc was nothing. He was a distraction, someone to fill up my nights and weekends. He wasn’t . . .” She closed her eyes, letting the rest dangle.

  “What?”

  “You,” she said softly. “He wasn’t you.” She resisted the urge to reach for him. Touching him now wouldn’t do either of them any good. “All I did last night was make things harder for both of us, and I’m so sorry for that. You deserve the whole white-picket-fence thing, and you’d never have that with me. I told you I’m not happily-ever-after material. I was wrong to let you think I might be—and wrong to let myself think it.”

  “Who said anything about a white picket fence? I don’t need kids, or even a ring if that’s how you want it. I don’t care about all the trappings. I care about you. And last night I thought you cared too.”

  “I do. I care enough to step back, to not ask you to live half a life. I was always clear about that.”

  Andrew nodded, his face suddenly shuttered. “Yes, you were. I guess part of me thought I could change your mind. Apparently, I overestimated my powers of persuasion.” He turned away, running his eyes around the kitchen. “I suppose we should get to the police station.”

  Lizzy picked up her purse, clutching it to her chest like a life preserver. “Maybe it would be better if I went alone. You need to get down
to Boston, and, really, I can do this. I have to stop at the bank and the market on the way back. You don’t need to hang around for all that.”

  “You shouldn’t be alone. Not after last night.”

  “The police told you they’d keep an eye out. I’ll be fine.”

  “You could come with me to Boston. Give the police a few days to do their thing. A break might be a good idea. You could hang out by the pool, or poke around Newbury Street.”

  Lizzy forced a smile. “There you go again, trying to rescue me.”

  “There was a man with a knife walking around this kitchen last night. What am I supposed to do?”

  “You said you were going to put a new lock on the mudroom door, and if it makes you feel better, I’ll sprinkle salt on the doorstep for protection.”

  He glowered at her, clearly frustrated. “I can’t tell if you’re kidding.”

  Lizzy managed a half smile. “Only a little.”

  She understood his concerns for her safety, but the truth was she couldn’t think of anything more dangerous than spending two or three days with Andrew in Boston. It would be too easy to backslide, to surrender to the delicious pull of memory. She needed to keep her distance and give her resolve time to jell.

  Andrew pulled his keys from his pocket, removed one from the ring, and laid it on the counter. “You’ll stay at my place again tonight.”

  “Andrew—”

  “Don’t worry. I won’t be there. From the sound of things, I’ll be gone several days, which means you’ll have the place to yourself. There isn’t much in the fridge, though, so you’ll still need to hit the market. Make sure you drive over. Don’t cut through the woods. And make sure everything’s locked up once you’re in.”

  Lizzy looked at him, stung by his frosty tone. She wished there was something between icy aloofness and the hot sting of rebuff, some middle ground where they could coexist in the wake of last night’s brief lapse in judgment. Again, she found herself casting about for something to say—for anything to say. But they’d already said it all. Except perhaps goodbye.

  It was nearly three by the time Lizzy arrived at the market. It was a relief to have the trip to the police station behind her. She understood the need, but she’d known before setting foot in the station that nothing would come of it.

  Detective Hammond had run her through the questions. No, she hadn’t seen the intruder’s face. No, there was nothing she recognized about him. No, nothing had been taken from the house. The only detail she felt confident in sharing was that the intruder appeared to have been male, and even that was speculation.

  The entire interview had taken less than an hour and had ended with Hammond handing her his card, encouraging her to call if she happened to remember anything else. He’d promised to keep her apprised of future developments but hadn’t sounded especially optimistic. Perhaps because the knife had turned up negative for prints.

  The market was relatively quiet. Lizzy wandered the aisles, picking up enough to get her through the next few days at Andrew’s, then turned down the household aisle. A Google search on how to clean up fingerprint dust had suggested microfiber cloths and a multipurpose cleaner with ammonia. She grabbed several of both, then headed for the checkout, eager to get back to her work in the barn before tackling the mess in the house.

  Unfortunately, there was only one cashier working, and three people already in line. Lizzy scanned the tabloid headlines to pass the time, played peekaboo with the sticky-faced toddler in the cart in front of her, browsed the display of gum and mints. Finally, the mother of the toddler paid for her groceries and told her son to wave goodbye to the pretty lady.

  Lizzy fumbled in her purse for her debit card while the cashier scanned her items. About halfway through, the woman looked up. Her hand stilled, her pasted-on smile slipping as she locked eyes with Lizzy. Her hair was different, pulled back in a lank ponytail, and she was wearing a heavy layer of foundation, but there was no mistaking the woman who, a few weeks back, had given her a chilly once-over from the customer service desk. Lizzy glanced at her name badge—Helen.

  Helen dropped her gaze and resumed her work, avoiding eye contact until it was time to collect her money. “Thirty-seven twenty-six is your total.”

  Lizzy slid her debit card into the reader, tapped in her PIN, then waited for Helen to bag her order. Getting the cold shoulder wasn’t new, but her nerves were still raw after the events of the last twenty-four hours, and it irked more than usual.

  “Have a nice day,” Lizzy huffed as she lifted the pair of paper bags into her arms. She didn’t realize Helen had stepped from behind the checkout until they collided, dislodging a pair of peaches from one of the bags and sending them skittering across the floor.

  Before Lizzy could bend down to retrieve them, Helen beat her to the punch. She met Lizzy’s gaze squarely as she dropped the peaches back into her bag, her brown eyes flat and unblinking. elen has beat her to the pinch. Helen“You should be more careful, Ms. Moon. I’d feel awful if you ended up getting hurt.”

  Lizzy gaped at her, preparing to point out that it was she who had caused the collision, and not the other way around, but something in Helen’s gaze brought her up short. The seconds stretched, awkward and bristling, until Lizzy finally stepped around her and headed for the door.

  In the car, she replayed the incident as she pulled out into traffic, wondering if she’d misread the look on Helen’s face, and overreacted in the wake of her recent run-in with Fred Gilman. There’d been nothing inherently threatening about Helen’s words. Quite the opposite, in fact. She’d merely warned her to be more careful.

  Warned.

  The word sent a chill through her. Was it possible Helen had smashed into her on purpose, manufacturing an opportunity to speak to her? Or was she simply being paranoid because a man with a knife had crept into her kitchen last night?

  At the next traffic signal, Lizzy made a U-turn and headed back to the market. She parked near the entrance and left her purse on the seat. She was probably about to make a complete fool of herself, but she didn’t care. It wouldn’t be the first time a Moon had made a public spectacle of herself.

  She was nearly to the door when Helen came out, almost causing a repeat of their earlier collision. Lizzy froze, her hastily rehearsed words suddenly caught in her throat. Helen stared at her, wide-eyed and mute as the seconds ticked by, her hands clamped so tight around her purse strap that her knuckles blanched white. After a moment she seemed to collect herself and stepped to her left. Lizzy checked her, then checked her again when she tried to change direction.

  “A little while ago, when you bumped into me, you said I should be careful, and that you’d feel terrible if I ended up getting hurt. What did you mean?”

  “Nothing,” Helen shot back, eyes lowered. “I didn’t mean anything.”

  “Was it a threat? Were you threatening me?”

  “Please. Leave me alone. Leave all of it alone.”

  “All what?”

  Helen shook her head, as if trying to shut Lizzy out. “You shouldn’t be here.”

  “I’m not going anywhere until you tell me what you meant when you said I should be careful.”

  “Please,” Helen murmured hoarsely. Her eyes skittered over Lizzy’s shoulder, her face suddenly chalky beneath her too-dark foundation. “I don’t need any trouble. I only wanted . . .”

  Lizzy saw it then, the purple-green shadow along Helen’s jawline, not quite hidden beneath the heavy makeup. “Your face—”

  Helen cut her off with an almost imperceptible shake of the head. Seconds later, Lizzy heard footsteps and turned.

  Dennis Hanley stood glowering behind her, holding a little girl with hair the color of corn silk in his arms. Her face was a mirror of her mother’s, pale and heart shaped, but her yellow-blonde hair was all Hanley. Helen. Of course. Andrew had mentioned her name once, when Hollis came up in conversation.

  “Mommy!” The child held out both arms, trying to launch herself o
ut of her uncle’s grasp. “Want Mommy!”

  Helen managed a smile as she reached for her daughter, but Dennis stepped away, keeping the child just out of reach. He turned to Lizzy, an eye cocked against the afternoon sun. “Something you need?”

  Lizzy felt her spine stiffen, an instinctive and visceral recoiling. He was wearing a long white coat smeared with what looked like dried blood, and there was another smear on the side of his neck. The stench of blood came off him in waves, so thick she could nearly taste it. Salty. Coppery. Sharp. He was glaring at her over the top of the child’s head, still waiting for a response.

  Helen rushed in to fill the gap. “I was just apologizing. I wasn’t watching where I was going when I came out just now, and we sort of collided.”

  Dennis’s eyes never left Lizzy’s face. “That right?”

  Lizzy did her best to look sheepish. “It was actually me who wasn’t looking where I was going. Sorry. I’ve always been a bit of a klutz.”

  Helen was about to reply when Dennis silenced her with a look. He jerked his head toward the parking lot, where a rust-riddled Bronco sat with the driver’s door open. “Time to go.”

  Helen moved to his side like a dog to heel, leaning in to drop a kiss on her daughter’s pale head. Her bruised jaw glinted in the sunlight, a bull’s-eye of purples and greens, and Lizzy found herself unable to look away. Helen must have sensed her gaze because she ducked her head, a brief but telling gesture. She was ashamed. Someone—almost certainly Dennis—had hurt her, and she was ashamed. The thought sickened Lizzy.

  She watched as they walked away, Helen lagging a step behind. She turned her head briefly before climbing into the Bronco. For an instant, their eyes met. A plea or a warning? Lizzy couldn’t be sure.