Evvie grunted, scraping dirt from under her nails. “Shows how much he knows.”
Lizzy caught her by the wrist. “What does that mean?”
“It means there’s someone who knows exactly where that man went, and he happens to live right next door.”
Lizzy looked in the direction of Evvie’s crooked thumb. “Andrew?”
“Mmm-hmmm. Came over one day a couple years back and asked your gran if she had a problem with him renovating the detective’s new house. Said he wouldn’t take the job if she didn’t want him to. He meant it too. But you know Althea. She said the man was just doing his job, and that he’d never been anything but polite while doing it.”
“So he took the job?”
“Far as I know. But if you want to know for sure, go knock on his door and ask.”
Things had definitely changed at the Greyson place. The bedraggled hedge that had once threatened to swallow the house whole had been yanked out, replaced by a terraced garden blooming with dahlias, helenium, and bright-orange daylilies.
The house itself was also undergoing changes. There was an addition going up on one side, with large windows, a fieldstone chimney, and a wraparound deck that would look out over the hills when it was finished. Andrew had obviously decided to put his own stamp on the place when his father passed away.
Lizzy followed the walkway to the front door, surprised to find it standing open. The sound of hammering echoed from somewhere inside. She knocked, then called out over the steady banging. “Hello? Andrew?”
The hammering stopped. Andrew appeared moments later, clearly surprised to see her in the doorway. “Hey.” He paused, wiping his face on his sleeve, then brushed a smattering of sawdust from his hair. “What’s up?”
Lizzy hesitated as she noted the state of the house. The furniture had been removed, the floor strewn with heavy canvas drop cloths. “I can come back if you’re busy.”
“Don’t you dare. I was looking for an excuse to knock off. Come on in.”
The air was sharp with the smell of freshly cut wood and the sticky-sweet fumes of varnish. “You’re remodeling,” she said, as she moved deeper into the room. “I noticed the gardens out front. They’re beautiful. I’d put down some fresh mulch, though. It’ll cut down on the need to water, and help keep the weeds down.”
“You sound like your grandmother. She wrote it all down for me, by the way. In fact, the whole thing was her design. I’m a wiz with walls and wiring, but when it comes to the outside stuff, I’m clueless. You want the tour?”
Lizzy followed him into the kitchen, where the new floorboards were littered with sawdust. It was large and open, with a cooking island in the center and wide windows that opened out onto the new deck. The appliances were state-of-the-art stainless, the lighting updated with recessed canisters, the cabinets fashioned of some satiny dark wood.
“It’s going to be gorgeous when you’re finished,” she told him, running an admiring hand over one of the cabinet doors. “I love the wood.”
“I still need to decide on the granite. Care to weigh in?” He pulled a trio of samples from the top of the refrigerator and held them out. “I’ve narrowed it to three.”
Lizzy glanced around the kitchen, then back at the samples. After a moment she took the middle sample—the lightest of the three—and held it up against one of the cabinet doors. “This one,” she said, handing it back. “The creamy background will brighten up the room, while the dark veins pull the wood and stainless together.”
“Done, madam. But be warned, I may consult you again when it’s time to choose the hardware. Oh, speaking of which, did Dennis deliver the wood for the barn?”
“He did. Though I wasn’t a hundred percent sure it was Dennis. I never could tell the two of them apart.”
“Yup. Definitely Dennis. He works the night shift at the meatpacking plant, but does delivery and odd jobs for me a couple days a week.”
“He’s not very friendly, is he?”
Andrew shook his head. “I’m afraid not, but don’t take it personally. He’s been worse since his brother died.”
“Hollis died?”
“Two years ago. Car crash out on Route 125, not long after he got back from Afghanistan. Poor guy couldn’t catch a break. He was always a little slow, but Dennis looked out for him. They enlisted together and assumed they’d be stationed together, but it didn’t work out that way. Hollis had a rough time on his own. Came back a mess. I think Dennis feels responsible for the way things went. I’m pretty sure that’s why he took the job with me, so he could help Hollis’s wife.”
“Oh no. He was married?”
“He was. Married Bonnie Markham’s youngest daughter, Helen. The baby was barely a year when he died. A little girl named Kayla. She’s about three now, I think.”
Lizzy shook her head, grieved by the thought of a little girl growing up without her father, a young wife without her husband. “How awful. But it’s good of Dennis to look after his brother’s family. I wouldn’t have thought him the type, but then I should know better than to judge.”
She glanced at the granite sample still in her hand. She’d forgotten she was holding it. She handed it back, feeling timid suddenly. “I came to ask for a favor.”
“Okay, shoot.”
“I went to talk to Randall Summers today about the Gilman case.”
“Seriously?”
The look on his face said it all. “I know. Why dredge all that up again? I swear, I never meant to. But now that I’m here, all I can think about is how awful it must have been for Althea, knowing people believed her capable of . . .” She looked away, leaving it to Andrew to fill in the blanks. “I thought he might be able to tell me something new.”
Andrew pursed his lips thoughtfully. “I get you wanting to clear Althea’s name. I’m just surprised you thought Summers would be willing to help. He’s certainly been no friend to the Moons over the years.”
“Maybe, but I had to start somewhere. And you’re right. He isn’t willing to help. He hung around just long enough to tell me I was wasting my time. Then he hurried off to some luncheon with the mayor.”
“Of course he did.”
“Why of course?”
“Summers has been counting the days until Cavanaugh either retires or dies. And last week it became official. The mayor’s packing it in, heading to North Carolina and the grandkids. Your chances were never good, but with an election looming you’ve got zero chance of getting help from Salem Creek’s finest.”
“Which brings me to the favor I mentioned.” She stepped away, wandering toward the window to peer out. “I asked to talk to the detective who headed up the case. Summers told me he left the force several years ago and moved away. He also claims no one knows where he went. But Evvie thinks you might.”
“Roger.”
Lizzy turned away from the window, suddenly hopeful. “Yes! Do you know how I can get in touch with him? An address or a phone number?”
Andrew scrubbed a hand through his hair, clearly weighing his response. “I have both, though I doubt he’d be thrilled with me for sharing either. He’s a private investigator now, works for his brother in Dover. I could give him a call, though, ask if he’d be willing to speak with you. He might not be. I have a hunch his memories of the Salem Creek PD are far from happy.”
“Call him. Please. I just want to ask a few questions, see if anything new comes up. It’ll probably come to nothing, but it’s worth a conversation.”
He studied her a moment, head tilted to one side, as if trying to work out a riddle. “I’m curious about something. Earlier, you said you never wanted to dig all this up. Now you’re talking about kicking over rocks and turning Salem Creek upside down. That’s quite a swing.”
“I know it is. And I wish I could explain it. The truth is I don’t know what happened. I was so angry when I left. So angry I swore I’d never set foot in this town again.”
“Yet here you are.”
She nodded.
“Here I am.”
“It’s a long way from New York. In more ways than one.”
Lizzy shrugged, knowing her answer would sound ridiculous to someone like Andrew. Or anyone, really. “I feel safe in New York. I know that probably sounds strange, but it’s easier to be anonymous there, just another face in a crowd of millions, where everyone has a story, but no one has time to ask. I’m sure that makes no sense to you. You’ve never wanted to disappear, to just be invisible, but I have—and still do sometimes.”
“Well, I can tell you one thing for sure. The last thing you’ll be, once you start asking questions about those murders, is invisible.”
“I know that. But sometimes you have to come out of hiding, don’t you? To stand up for what’s right? I can’t help thinking that maybe if I hadn’t tried so hard to be invisible when the feeding frenzy started, it might have made a difference. Instead, I hid and just let it all happen.”
“Lizzy, you can’t blame yourself for what happened. This is Salem Creek. People don’t get murdered here; they die of boredom and old age. This town lost its mind when those girls turned up dead. They were afraid, and fear makes people do crazy things, sometimes shameful things. What happened to Althea was like a brush fire. It swallowed this town whole.”
“It certainly swallowed my grandmother.”
“And you.”
“Yes,” Lizzy said quietly. “And me.”
“You’re not afraid of reigniting it?”
“I am, actually. But not as afraid of leaving here knowing I didn’t even try to get to the truth. Althea deserves that, even if I am eight years too late.”
“I’ll call Roger in the morning. I can’t guarantee anything, but he’s a decent guy. He took the job seriously, but he and Summers were always butting heads. No one was surprised when he left to join his brother’s law firm as an investigator. He could be helpful, but like I said, I have no clue how he’ll respond. Given his history with Summers, he might want to steer clear.”
Lizzy nodded. Only a fool would want to wade back into such a grisly mess. “Thank you. No matter what he says, I appreciate your help. I’ll wait to hear from you.”
NINE
July 21
Lizzy’s stomach knotted as Andrew turned onto Dover Point Road. Roger Coleman had agreed to speak with her, but with two stipulations: Andrew would be present for the interview, and he would under no circumstances be expected to interact with Randall Summers. It seemed Andrew had been right about the friction between the detective and his ex-chief.
She wasn’t sure what her reaction would be to seeing the detective again. She wasn’t crazy about the idea of being face-to-face with the man who had knocked on their door with a search warrant in his pocket. But it was too late to back out now. They were pulling into a narrow drive lined with tall, wind-battered pines.
The lot was deep and shady, a pie-shaped parcel snugged up against the shore of Little Bay. The house was a small one, a single-story, slate-blue cape with crisp white shutters. In the side yard, a sailboat sat up on blocks, presumably in some stage of repair.
Lizzy left her purse on the seat and got out. She wasn’t prepared when Roger Coleman suddenly rose from an upended milk crate beside the sailboat’s hull. She braced herself as he approached. She remembered him being tall, polite but imposing, with dark, close-cropped hair and a sharp, narrow jaw. He hadn’t changed much over the years. He was still tall, still angular, and still a little imposing, despite the fact that his hair was now threaded with silver, and he had traded his crisp khakis and blazer for loose-fitting jeans and a holey T-shirt.
Andrew was all smiles as he extended a hand. “Still working on the old hulk, I see.”
Roger grinned as he pumped Andrew’s hand. “She’ll be ready for canvas soon. With any luck, I’ll have her in the water before the docks come out.” His chest puffed proudly as he hiked a thumb over his shoulder. “I even got around to naming her.”
It was a smallish boat, not more than thirty feet, with a single mast and a faded blue hull. Lizzy squinted to make out the letters stenciled across the stern. SLEUTH JOHN B. It was a play on the old Beach Boys song, and fitting given his profession, though it was hard to imagine a man of Coleman’s considerable height folding himself into what would have to be a very tiny cabin.
Lizzy brought her eyes back to Coleman. She dipped her head when Andrew introduced her, unable to muster a smile as she extended her hand. She caught a whiff of polished shoes and freshly ironed cotton, which fit perfectly with a by-the-book detective. But there was something else, a faint trace of wet leaves, that felt at odds with the rest. It was a dark, slick smell, one she’d always associated with grief or sadness, but when she forced herself to meet his gaze, she saw nothing that hinted at either. Perhaps her radar was off.
“Thank you for agreeing to see me, Detective.”
Coleman studied her with eyes that were neither silver nor green, but somewhere in between. Lizzy remembered those eyes: sharp and unsettlingly steady, in no hurry to move on until they’d taken full measure. “Roger,” he corrected evenly. “It’s just Roger.”
He invited them inside and poured them each a glass of iced tea, then gave Lizzy a quick tour, pointing out the renovations Andrew had completed two years ago. The wall he’d knocked down between the living room and kitchen, the pass-through window out onto the porch, the bank of skylights in the living room.
When the pleasantries were complete, they wandered out onto the deck. Behind the house, the bay stretched lazily in the afternoon sun, silvery and still at nearly high tide. Lizzy lifted her face, grateful for the breeze coming in off the water.
“So,” Roger said when they had all settled into chairs. “Andrew tells me you’re on a mission.”
Lizzy glanced at Andrew, who was swirling the ice in his glass and gazing out over the water. He had set up the meeting and agreed to accompany her, but it was her show now.
“Yes, I suppose that’s what you’d call it.” She paused, not sure how to begin. “My grandmother didn’t hurt those girls,” she said finally. “But someone did, and if there’s a way to find out who it was, I want to try.”
He studied her again with those gray-green eyes. “You realize the odds of turning up anything new are slim—that all you’re likely to do is remind everyone what they thought, and why they thought it?”
“I do.”
“And you still want to do this?”
“I do.”
“Even if you learn something you don’t want to know?”
She knew what he was asking. In his mind, there was a chance that in her search for truth, she might actually uncover evidence that implicated Althea rather than exonerating her. But he didn’t know what she did—that Althea was incapable of harming anyone, let alone a pair of young girls.
“I won’t.”
He nodded coolly, willing for now to accept her at her word. “Well then, what do you want to know?”
“Why did you leave the department?”
Roger blinked back at her, clearly surprised by the question. “Because it was time.”
It was evasive, a polite way of telling her it was none of her business. But if she was going to trust him, she needed to know his story, and understand what had prompted him to walk away from what had surely been the biggest case of his career. “So you retired?”
“Officially? No.” He squinted out over the water, where a red-and-white sailboat bobbed lazily at anchor. “I quit. Because I was no longer able to be effective.”
“I don’t know what that means.”
“It means Chief Summers and I had different ideas about the department’s responsibility to the public. He wanted to make the Gilman case go away, and I wanted to keep digging until we solved it.”
Coleman’s matter-of-fact tone surprised her. “You don’t think he wanted to solve it?”
“In the beginning, maybe. When he was getting tons of press. Big man with his name in the paper, always available for an inte
rview. Then the coverage turned ugly, and he slammed on the brakes. He started cutting man-hours, hamstringing us on resources, wouldn’t sign off on sending stuff to the state lab because it wasn’t in the budget. And the press was strictly off limits. All statements had to be cleared by him. It felt funny. He’d always been a bit of a tyrant, but this felt like something else.”
“What did it feel like?”
“Like there was something going on that the rest of us didn’t know about.”
“Did you confront him?”
“You don’t confront Randall Summers. But I did voice my concerns.”
“And what happened?”
He shrugged. “I bought a sailboat and went to work for my brother.”
“Ah . . . right.”
“Don’t get me wrong. I like the work I’m doing now. It’s useful. But law enforcement was in my blood. I know it sounds corny, like I’m some kind of Boy Scout or something, but it’s how I’ve always felt about the job. I think it’s how most of us feel. We’re proud of what we do. Because we believe we’re making a difference.” He paused, looking back out over the bay, at a father and son horsing around in a bass boat. He was smiling when he turned back, but it faded quickly. “Some of us give our lives to the job. The job doesn’t always return the favor.”
Lizzy glanced back into the house. She hadn’t noted it until now, but there was no sign of a woman about the place, and no ring on his finger. Single? Divorced? She recalled the trace of wet leaves she’d picked up earlier, and found herself wondering if Roger Coleman had given up something—or someone—for the job, and if the choice had been worth it.
Andrew had been idly swirling his tea, ice cubes rattling rhythmically against the glass. He set it down now, and leaned forward, elbows on knees. “Would it be breaking any rules to discuss where the case stood when you left? Neither of us wants you to go against your principles, but Lizzy has her own sense of duty. She’d like to know that she’s done everything she can to clear her grandmother’s name. She did go to Summers first, but he wasn’t much help.”
The Last of the Moon Girls Page 8