A Moonlit Task

by Tom Hansen

  That was weird.

  “I heard that. Lunch disagreeing with you?” Edna asked.

  Nancy put her hand to her stomach. “Just caught the smell of something strange and my tummy rumbled.”

  Why had she even brought it? Part of her wanted to be ready to find this Peter fellow and return the figurine, but another regretted bringing it. Still, better prepared than not. Besides, if Anca and Linda were partners, wouldn’t Anca know who Peter was?

  The light turned green and Edna turned onto the road. “Okay, what’s the number?”

  Nancy’s mind flashed back to two nights ago, on her knees in the wet muck, sobbing, while she watched the lifeforce of another human being drain out before her eyes.

  “Nancy?”

  Nancy grabbed the slip of paper again. She clamped the purse closed and zipped it up.

  She tried to smile, but she could feel the unconvincingness in her voice. “Sorry, ever open your purse looking for something and you totally forget what it was?”

  Edna huffed. “Sweetie, you ain’t human if that doesn’t happen to you at least twice a week.”

  Nancy read the address, watching the buildings pass her by. She pointed. “There it is, the theater.”

  Edna pulled over, a low whistle on her lips as she turned off the car. “I think we might be on the wrong side of the tracks here.”

  Nancy looked at her friend. “We’re two miles from your house. In fact, we’re on the same side of the tracks that you live on.”

  “Well yes, but I’m downtown, this is, well this is the edge of the warehouse district out here. Renovations haven’t come out this far yet. This is … urban.” Edna accent slipped at that last word.

  Nancy stifled a smile. Her friend kept a check on her accent pretty well, but every now and again Nancy was treated to the southern drawl of Edna Maddox.

  Edna wasn’t kidding. The place was dilapidated. The well-weathered, redbrick buildings in front of her looked like old warehouses from the early 1900’s. Three of them stood side by side along the road. Shops on the bottom, a row of arched windows looking out on the street on the second story. They were similar in style to the gothic arches adorning her home. The nearest building was home to a Chinese theater. A lightbulb encrusted sign that looked like a reject from 1950s Vegas hung precariously from the wall, waving and creaking in the breeze. The sign said New Chinese Theater. A restaurant and a Laundromat filled up the downstairs of the building to the left. Uncle Iroh’s doors were wide open with three patrons sitting just inside, chatting away in an Asian language.

  Nancy sighed, looking around the street, feeling suddenly reluctant to meet this curt woman in person. “Well, we better get this over with.”

  Edna opened her door. Nancy grabbed the handle of the passenger door, but something inside her hesitated.

  She looked down. The small statue seemed to stare back through the heavy bronze zipper. She pursed her lips and frowned.

  She stared at her purse for so long that Edna walked around the car and gazed at her through the passenger window.

  Leave it here.

  The voice sounded like it came from the backseat. Regardless of the origin, it sent chills up her spine. She put her purse on the floor of the car, kicking it under the seat so it wouldn’t be visible, and opened the door.

  Nancy was inundated with the smell of Chinese food and fish. The air was salty, despite not being near a sea, and heavy, almost like this section of town was under glass.

  “This place is … interesting,” Edna remarked.

  Nancy looked at the address slip then back and forth between the two buildings ahead of her. Edna scratched her head.

  “There’s 545 and 549, but where is 547?”

  A young Asian man wearing a WSU hoodie, backpack, and high-tops was blaring music through his white earbuds as he trotted out of Uncle Iroh’s and into the alley between the two buildings.

  Edna sneezed. Nancy cringed at the overly done cologne that lingered in the air behind the boy.

  “Shit. I’m so stupid.”

  Taken aback not by the swearing, but by the unusual self-deprecation, Nancy queried her friend.

  Edna pointed between the two buildings. “The address is down here.”

  Nancy looked between the two buildings, noticing for the first time in the darkness the metal staircase leading up to both buildings with doors beside them.

  “You’re kidding.”

  Edna squeezed her arm. “Not afraid of an alleyway, now are you, Nan?”

  Nancy stuffed the address in her pocket. “Of course not! I don’t have to run faster than the tiger, I just have to run faster than you.”

  They headed down the alleyway, darkness creeping in until they stood at the bottom of the wrought iron stairs. They went up a dozen steps to a landing, where it split, climbing to each side of the alleyway.

  Nancy grabbed the railing and put her foot on the first step when a loud clang rang out from above. Both women jumped as the steel door to the apartment above the theater slammed shut, shaking the entire metal structure.

  Edna rubbed her nose. “Well, I guess we better get this over with.”

  The two women walked up the creaky iron steps, finally coming to the steel door above the restaurant, and knocked.

  Nancy barely touched her knuckles against the faded-gray steel door when it flew open outward. She jumped back to avoid getting hit.

  A cacophony of smells hit her. Nancy wrinkled her nose at the exotic spices, heavy aromas of lingering smoke and burned incense. Her eyes watered from the particulates in the air. Nancy wondered if Anca cooked with an open-pit fireplace in her tiny apartment.

  The room behind the door was dark, despite it being just after noon. For a moment, Nancy couldn’t see more than a few feet into the apartment, but her eyes quickly adjusted, and she could see a woman holding open the door.

  Anca Petran was short, plump, and ancient. Wrinkles, liver spots, scars, and burns all competed for space on her pale face, forearms, and feet poking out of her long woolen dress.

  A patchwork of varying cloth was stitched together to keep the foregone dress together. Nancy wondered if she had any other dresses, as this one didn’t seem to have been laundered in a long time.

  “Nancy Moon?”

  Anca’s accent was thick and layered, almost lyrical. Bolshevik was the first word that popped into Nancy’s head, and she nearly said it herself, but she caught her tongue and replied.

  “Yes. And you must be Anca?”

  The old woman, who had to look up well over a foot to see Nancy's five-and-a-half-foot height, squinted her eyes, almost like she was looking through Nancy rather than right at her. “You have spark but no knowledge. Did your mother not teach you? Inside. We talk inside. Both of you. Come, come in.”

  Nancy smiled courteously before taking a step into the apartment. As she did, she felt … something … tug on her, like the mass of air was somehow thicker inside Anca’s doorway. It reminded her of going through a door into a supermarket on a hot summer day. Being hit by the blast of air conditioning was disorienting and cool. It gave Nancy the creeps. The feeling quickly subsided once she was inside.

  It was only a step through the doorway, but it was like a step back in time. The apartment looked like it should have belonged in a museum. Nancy looked down at the old shag carpeting, seemingly the only thing from the twentieth century that belonged. There was no TV, not even a visible phone. Stacks of old newspapers and books filled nearly every surface, two—sometimes three—feet tall. Tossed on the floor was the newspaper Nancy had seen in the grocery store. The headline reminded her of how close she and Edna had come to being victims. Had Anca thrown it there in disgust after getting the call from the police?

  “Sit on couch. I get you tea.” Her voice wavered slightly, and Anca turned toward the kitchen. Nancy wondered how she was keeping her composure so well. Being old might help. The closer one got to the end of your own life the more cynical you tended to be about o
ther people’s death. Stark reality of getting old.

  “Oh, this place is simply delicious, isn’t it? Reminds me of Ushageeta’s place.” Edna reached out to touch a dusty globe that listed the countries in the Middle East as Arabia. Edna pulled back before touching.

  Nancy nodded. “Wow, that’s old.” The knickknacks these women had collected were simply stunning. Edna sat down on the ancient Bridgewater couch while a bookshelf to the side provided a distraction for Nancy.

  “Most of these books have actual leather bindings on them.” Nancy ran a finger over a couple of the spines but pulled back with a start when one of them seemed to vibrate under her touch. She shook her finger at the sudden strange feeling.

  “No touch my books, please.”

  Nancy whirled around. The woman managed to move around almost silently. Despite only being out of the room for a couple of seconds, Anca handed out small cups of steaming tea to her guests and pulled over a stool to sit in the middle of the room.

  “I’m sorry, I used to be a librarian, so old books fascinate me. I love your place; so many antiques.”

  Nancy sat down next to Edna and held onto the cup with her fingernails, given there was no handle and the heat from the tea inside was already starting to burn her fingers.

  “Thank you for seeing—”

  Anca held up a finger, her eyes narrowed and she looked at Edna for a moment before studying Nancy. “How did you know her?”

  “Linda?” Nancy asked, glancing quickly to Edna, who shrugged. Her eyes were wide with wonder.

  Anca nodded briefly then chugged her steaming tea.

  Nancy swallowed, inwardly cringing at the scalding liquid that must be pouring down that woman’s throat right now. “Well, I, uh, I didn't know her. I only met her a couple minutes before she died. You see, a tiger came out of the alleyway and jumped on my car.”

  Anca held up the finger again. Edna was deathly silent to Nancy’s right. Nancy felt like they were on trial somehow.

  “Did she tell you who killed her?”

  “Well, no, but I assume it was the tiger. It left blood on my car.” Nancy’s mind raced, then she got worried about something. “Did the police tell you what happened?” She suddenly felt apprehensive. Maybe Anca hadn’t heard the full story from the police. She shouldn’t be the one telling this woman about what had happened.

  Anca looked inside her cup, then back up at Nancy. Her face and mood had changed. Where a stern glare had just been, there was softness, sadness, regret. “I know what happened.”

  Nancy let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. She was just starting to wonder what sort of person would be grilling the people who came to tell her about her late partner’s last words, when Anca did an about-face.

  “I … I am sorry about the questions.” Anca looked back down at her empty teacup and twirled the china around in her fingers. “Cannot be too careful, you know.”

  Nancy searched for words, but Edna jumped in.

  “It’s quite alright. Nancy and I both lost our husbands a few years ago. We understand how hard it can be.”

  Anca smiled shyly at Edna before nodding and getting lost in thought again. “Linda was a good woman.” She stood and grabbed a photo book on the edge of the coffee table, sliding it to rest between the two women. On the cover was a picture of a much younger Linda and Anca. Linda wore hair in a very ‘60’s flip style while Anca’s braid hung past her hips. “We were much younger back then. Free love was in full-swing but still it was …” She trailed off, her fingernail catching on the worn edge of the picture. “Still it was frowned upon to be lovers, even then. We had good life, you know?”

  Nancy could feel emotions from her life with Richard welling up. She pushed them back down; now wasn’t the time.

  “We are very sorry for your loss,” Nancy managed to say, her voice wavering. She thought back to her conversation with Linda in the alleyway. It seemed so long ago, even though it had only been two nights.

  “So why were you worried about us? We’re just a couple of old ladies,” Edna asked.

  Nancy shot her friend a look.

  Anca smiled weakly. “To the point. I like you.”

  Edna smirked back at Nancy.

  Anca sighed before picking up the photo book and placing it in her lap. She looked up, bearing a concerned expression.

  “Did she tell you anything? About who killed her? Why she died?”

  Nancy could feel the color drain from her face. Linda hadn’t. She’d been so focused on giving Nancy a task to complete before she died. Nancy shook her head.

  Anca continued. “The police haven’t been telling this, but all the killings from that tiger are old women, like you and me.” She wagged her hand back and forth between Nancy and her. “I don’t know … I needed to know that you are not part of the problem. Linda, she was a wonderful woman, but since she and I moved here, she has been very different.

  “She opened up the herb shop, spending hours and hours down there, but she no make money. I think she started selling marijuana, you know? To make money? I worried for her. Worried for her life. I think she fell in with some bad men.” Nancy was shocked. Everything about Linda was changing in her mind.

  She almost expected the voice that had been haunting her to speak up, to tell her that this Linda was wrong, but nothing came.

  “I’m so sorry. Did you tell the police?”

  Anca nodded. “I tell them everything, I give them everything, but they don’t believe. Linda had notes, see.” Anca leaned to the side and grabbed a small pile of papers, passing a half sheet to Nancy. In neat blocky letters was an address, a date, and time. Nancy passed it to Edna.

  “One in the AM, you see that?”

  Edna let out a low whistle.

  Nancy’s mind reeled. Linda’s secret life was starting to unravel. Linda selling pot? Still a tiger attack seemed kind of severe and oddly specific for drug dealers to use. Didn’t they normally just shoot people who crossed them?

  “Why did the police not take this?”

  Anca shrugged. “They say they search the shop, find nothing. No evidence.” She tapped her head with a pudgy finger, then her chest. “But I know, I feel. She was into bad things.”

  Anca stood. “More tea?”

  Nancy realized she hadn’t even touched her tea. She knocked it back quickly. The hot liquid still burned on the way down but had at least cooled significantly since they had started the conversation.

  Anca took the cups and headed back to the kitchen.

  Edna let out a stifled giggle.

  “Oh no.”

  Edna frowned. “What?”

  “We are not following up on this.”

  “But it’s weed, Nancy. Don’t you see? No one gets shot over weed anymore. Something doesn’t seem right about this.”

  Nancy was about to say something when Anca came back in, bouncing slightly, holding three cups of tea. She was just handing them over when the door to the apartment burst open and a young Asian man ran into the room, panic on his face.

  Chapter Five

  He carried a stack of books, papers, and a handful of long bird feathers with black-stained sharp points. Quills? His floppy shoulder-length mane cascaded behind him as he carefully dodged around the clutter on the floor.

  His voice was shrill and panicked. “Anca, I’ve gotten all those spells you’ve asked for. I haven’t found the deed yet but I think it—”

  He clamped his mouth as soon as he realized Anca wasn’t alone.

  Everyone in the room glanced around nervously for a tedious few seconds until Anca broke the silence.

  “You can put them over there.” Her voice and mood had changed drastically since talking about Linda. She seemed nervous. Her voice was quiet and subdued but had an edge to it, like she was trying to save face while telling someone they were wrong.

  Edna cleared her throat. “Hi, I’m Edna.”

  Anca smiled nervously before motioning. “I’m sorry, everyone. Plea
se sit. Nancy, Edna, this here is my … assistant. He, uh … he lives across the way above the theater.”

  The kid finished setting down the pile of papers on the floor near a door in the back wall and turned to face everyone. His face looked like he had just walked into the girls’ room as a young boy and was terrified he was in the wrong spot.

  He bowed slightly. “I’m sorry, Anca. I didn’t know you had company.” His features said he was Chinese or Mongolian, and he still had a hint of an accent, though it was hard for Nancy to pinpoint exactly what type of an accent it was; more West Coast than anything.

  He bowed again, and turned to leave.

  Nancy had a sudden thought pop into her head, a single word spoken by Linda that had been lingering there since the boy came in.

  “Are you Peter?”

  The young man, halfway back to the door, stopped mid-stride. He turned, his face stark as he met Nancy’s eyes.

  “Yes, my name is Peter.” His voice had an edge of nervousness, like no one should know his name. He glanced at Anca, who shot him back an imperious look. He cringed.

  Nancy smiled at the boy. “How old are you, Peter?” Could this be the Peter that Linda had talked about? Linda hadn’t given any ages.

  “I’m, uh, nineteen.”

  “And do you go to WSU?”

  He nodded again, but not before glancing at Anca first.

  Anca finally spoke up. “Peter, come join us. Nancy and Edna were talking about Linda.”

  He visibly perked up at the woman’s name. “You knew Linda?”

  Nancy suddenly didn’t know what to do with her hands. “I was with her the other night … I found her in the alleyway and Edna here called 911.”

  His face grew red and scrunched up. He quickly wiped tears from his eyes before they could fully form as he sat down on the floor next to Anca. “It’s so horrible what happened. I can’t stop thinking about it.”

  Nancy knew the feeling all too well.

  “Yes, we are all very hurt.” Anca began to pet the boy’s hair in a way that Nancy found a little unsettling.