“You don’t think I feel awful about what they went through? I was there to see Susan Gilman’s face the day they pulled her daughters from our pond. I watched her die inside as the coroner’s van drove away. But Althea’s dead too. And I’m all that’s left, the only one still here to care about her memory. Is that wrong?”
“No. It’s not. I’m just saying give it some thought. And if you do decide to talk to them, try to remember that their grief is different from yours. Maybe not as fresh, but every bit as raw.”
Lizzy nodded, grabbing for the door handle, then paused. “Thank you for making today happen, and for going with me. Even if nothing comes of it, it was kind of you to help.”
“You’re welcome.”
She watched from the top of the drive as Andrew pulled away. Maybe he was right. Maybe she should leave the Gilmans alone. What right did she have to tear the scab from a wound that was barely healed? Salem Creek had moved on. Perhaps it was time she did the same, just put the farm on the market and let it all go.
Evvie was in the kitchen when she came in, pulling something golden and fragrant from the oven. The smell of warm blueberries hung in the air. Lizzy looked at the pan on the stove and thought of Althea. No one made blueberry cobbler like Althea, but this one looked—and smelled—awfully close.
“You made cobbler,” she said, smiling at Evvie. “I love cobbler.”
“Your gran told me.”
“We used to pick our own blueberries, then come home and make a big mess. By the time we finished, my fingers and lips were blue. It’s my absolute favorite dessert.”
“She told me that too.”
She looked at the pan of gooey, browned goodness, then back at Evvie. “Did you . . . you made this for me?”
“Thought you might need a little pick-me-up after talking to that detective. There’s ice cream in the freezer.”
“Vanilla?”
“What else?”
Lizzy blinked back an unexpected rush of tears. It had been an emotional day, and her nerves were raw. “Thank you, Evvie. This was so kind of you.”
Evvie nodded, acknowledging the thank-you, but her expression was all business. “You going to tell me what happened?”
Lizzy went to the freezer and pulled out a half gallon of Hood vanilla, then grabbed two bowls from the cupboard. “He wasn’t what I expected. He’s . . . sincere.”
“There’s a word you don’t hear much anymore.”
“No, but it fits. He cares about the truth. Which is more than I can say for Summers.”
Evvie dished up the cobbler and handed the bowls to Lizzy, who added a healthy scoop of ice cream to each before heading for the kitchen table.
“He agreed to help,” she said, dropping into a chair. “He’s got two boxes of notes from the investigation in his spare room, and he promised to go through them again, in case he missed something. In the meantime, I’m thinking of talking to the Gilmans.”
Lizzy had expected a look of disapproval, but Evvie simply nodded. “You’ll have to settle for the daddy,” she said through a mouthful of cobbler. “The mama took off a few years back, and no one’s heard a peep from her since.”
“Andrew told me.”
“Can’t blame her. Word is Mr. Gilman’s no prize. Can’t imagine he’d be any better after what happened. And who’d want to live in a place where everything you looked at reminded you of what you’d lost? Not me, I know that. He’s still here, though. Lives over in Meadow Park now, the trailer park out by the fairgrounds. And I’m pretty sure he still works at Mason Electric.”
Lizzy spooned up a bite of cobbler, but paused before putting it in her mouth. “The detective doesn’t think I’ll get very far. Neither does Andrew. And I’m starting to think they’re right. Fred Gilman will take one look at me and see Althea—the woman he thinks murdered his little girls.”
“He might just. And he’ll probably be mad. But you knew you were going to make folks mad when you decided to do this. Are you having second thoughts?”
“I don’t know. Maybe. I think about how I’d feel if I were in the Gilmans’ shoes, and someone came along and made me relive it all. It seems cruel, especially when it’s not likely to amount to anything. I’m just wondering if it’s worth it.”
Evvie lifted her apron and dabbed the corner of her mouth. “You might be right. It might come to nothing. But what if you’re wrong? What if there was something somebody forgot to tell the police? Something that could have made a difference? Neither of them was in a good place back then. But time’s passed. They can look at it now, through clearer eyes. Maybe there’s something, some tiny bit of a memory stuck way down deep, and you showing up could shake it loose.”
“That’s a lot of maybes, Evvie. What if I’m just stirring up trouble for trouble’s sake?”
“Trouble.” Evvie scowled at her. “That’s what you’re worried about? Stirring up trouble?”
“I’m trying to do the right thing. To be compassionate.”
“You want to do the right thing? Help those little girls move on.”
Lizzy tipped her head to the side, eyes narrowed. “What did you say?”
“I said you need to help those girls move on. You’re worried about Mr. Gilman, but have you ever thought those girls might rest easier if someone caught whoever hurt them? That all this time they’ve been hovering between this world and the next, waiting for someone to figure out what really happened? And your gran—she might just feel like she’s got some unfinished business herself, things tethering her to this place, instead of where she’s meant to be.”
Lizzy lowered her spoon back to her bowl. “The other day—” She broke off, waving the thought away. “Never mind. It was nothing.”
“Doesn’t look like nothing from where I’m sitting.”
“All right. The other day, when I was coming back from the pond, something weird happened. All of a sudden it was like she was with me. It was so real I felt like I was going to turn around and find her standing there.” She forced herself to meet Evvie’s gaze. “I smelled her, Evvie. The perfume I used to make for her—I could smell it.”
“They say smells can trigger memory.”
“They can,” Lizzy agreed. “The olfactory and memory centers of the brain are closely connected. But this didn’t feel like a memory. It felt . . . real.” She rolled her eyes and heaved a sigh. “Listen to me, carrying on like a crazy person. It is crazy, right?”
Evvie’s mouth softened, not quite a smile but close to it. “Maybe. But sometimes the craziest things are the truest of all. Just because we can’t explain a thing doesn’t mean it’s not real.”
Lizzy stared at her, still trying to wrap her head around this enigmatic woman, with her all-seeing eyes and strange half smiles. “Sometimes you say things, Evvie. Things that make me wonder if you’re . . .” She caught herself, waving away the rest of the thought. “Never mind.”
Evvie pushed back her chair and stood. “Come with me. There’s something I need to show you.”
Lizzy followed her to the backyard, past the greenhouse with its newly replaced glass, and the vegetable garden with its chicken wire fence and gate, finally coming to a stop before Evvie’s pastel-colored bee boxes.
Lizzy eyed them warily. She’d never developed Althea’s fondness for bees, or anything with wings and a stinger. She held her breath as Evvie laid a hand on the lid of one of the hives, a smile softening the corners of her mouth. Lizzy held her breath. She didn’t know a thing about beekeeping, but even she knew you were supposed to wear some sort of protective gear—a smock, gloves, one of those pith helmets with the netting. Evvie had none of that. She just stood there, barefaced and bare armed—and began to sing.
The hairs on Lizzy’s arms prickled to attention. It wasn’t a tune she recognized. The words were foreign and had a faintly French lilt. She stood spellbound as Evvie closed her eyes and let her head fall back, holding perfectly still as the song poured out low, lush, and achingly sweet. And th
en she slowly began to raise her arms, holding them out to her sides. An invitation, Lizzy realized. She was calling them to her.
One by one the bees came, hovering around her like a soft, humming cloud, eventually lighting on her arms, her neck, her cheeks. It should have been terrifying, but somehow it wasn’t. It was lovely and magical, and suddenly Lizzy understood.
She’s one of us.
It explained so much. The inexplicable sense of the familiar she’d felt almost from the beginning; those sharp, all-seeing eyes; her remark about family not always being about blood. Of course she and Althea had hit it off. They were sisters under the skin, walkers on the same path.
“Come meet my bees,” Evvie said, as if nothing remotely extraordinary had occurred.
Lizzy eyed the humming bodies still clinging to Evvie’s arms and shook her head. “Thanks. I’m good.”
“They’re happy. They won’t hurt you.”
Lizzy sucked in a breath, holding it as she inched closer. “Aren’t you supposed to have one of those smoker things?”
“Don’t need one.”
“You’re not afraid of being stung?”
“Nope.”
Lizzy couldn’t stop staring. Magick or not, it was hard to comprehend what she was seeing. “The song you were singing just now—what was it?”
“It’s called ‘Galine Galo.’ It’s a Creole lullaby.”
“You sing lullabies to your bees?”
“They like it.”
Lizzy cocked an eye at her, skeptical. And yet it was plain that Evvie’s song had not only attracted the bees, it had lulled them. They seemed almost . . . affectionate. “Have you always been able to do this?”
“Long as I can remember.”
“How on earth did you know to sing to them?”
Evvie shrugged. The bees on her shoulders stirred, then resettled. “Don’t know. Just did. My mama used to sing that song to me when I was little, and it always calmed me. Guess I figured if it worked for me, it would work for them.” She paused, pursing her lips to blow gently on one arm. “Go on,” she said softly, clearly talking to the bees. She turned to the other arm and blew again. “Go. Go. I’ve got work to do, and so do you.”
Lizzy watched, fascinated as the bees obeyed. When the last bee departed, Evvie bent to remove the lid from an old enamel washtub at the base of the hive. Inside was an assortment of tools. She pulled out a curved blade and set to work, prying one of the frames free, carefully lifting it out, shaking off several clinging bees.
Lizzy was surprised to find herself relaxing as she watched Evvie work. The bees seemed unfazed by this invasion of their habitat, treating Evvie not as an intruder, but as a guest.
“Do they ever sting?”
Evvie glanced up from her work. “Every once in a while, but it’s usually my fault when they do. I’ve broken their rules.”
“Bees have rules?”
“Of course they have rules. Every living thing has rules. A big one with bees is that you don’t wear anything with a strong scent. It stirs them up, makes them nervous.”
“I guess that makes sense. Could I learn how to do it? The singing thing, I mean. Not that I want to. I’m just curious.”
“Doubt it.” Evvie pressed her lips together as she mulled the question further. “It’s like you and your nose. Your gran told me how you’re able to read people. It wasn’t something you learned. It was something you were born with—a gift.”
“Althea used to call it that too, but it hasn’t always felt that way to me. Sometimes I know things I’d rather not know. Like what someone’s thinking when I’m around.”
“If you’ve been given a gift, there’s a reason. The magick goes where it’s best used.”
Lizzy nodded absently, wondering what use there might be for a woman who sang to bees. “I suppose. But it still seems a little dangerous. What if something happened? What if they all decided to get mad at the same time?”
Evvie looked up from the frame she’d been examining. “Bees are like people, little girl. They attack when they feel threatened—when they’re afraid. It’s the same for us. It’s always the things we fear that sting us in the end. The things we hide from or push against. When we drop the fear—the resistance—things take their course in a more natural and painless way.”
“You sound like Althea now, with her nature metaphors, always trying to teach me something.”
Evvie slid the gooey frame back into place and wiped her hands on the front of her apron. “I’d say that’s just about the nicest compliment I’ve ever gotten.”
“I found a book,” Lizzy blurted. “In the bookcase in Althea’s room—one she wrote just for me.”
Evvie nodded, her expression wistful. “She finished it the day before she passed. I helped her press the flowers and herbs. And locked it up with the others when she finished it. She knew you’d find it when the time came.”
“How could she possibly know that?”
Evvie smiled one of her enigmatic smiles. “She raised you, little girl. And loved you with her whole soul. That kind of bond doesn’t end just because one of you stops breathing. That book was a labor of love, a way to keep teaching you after she was gone.”
“I thought she left you here for that.”
“Don’t be silly. There’s only ever one queen in a hive. And that was Althea.”
Lizzy couldn’t help asking the obvious question. “What happens when the queen dies?”
Evvie looked at her a long time, her eyes softly probing. “Depends,” she said at last. “Sometimes the queen nurtures her own replacement. But if the death is sudden and the hive is unprepared, the drones band together to nurture a new queen. She’s carefully prepared, fed, and pampered, until she’s ready to assume her new position as head of the hive.”
“And then what?”
“As queen, her sole responsibility is to ensure the survival of the hive.”
“You mean reproduce,” Lizzy replied matter-of-factly.
“Yes. Her job is to populate the hive, and eventually give birth to her successor. If she fails, the hive may wither and die—unless the beekeeper steps in.”
Lizzy took a moment to digest this, aware that their conversation had gone beyond beekeeping to something much closer to home. “Is that why you’re here? To step in?”
Evvie smiled sheepishly. “Something like that. Your gran hoped I’d be able to smooth things a bit when you came back.”
“What if I hadn’t come back? I wasn’t going to.”
“Silly girl. You were always going to come back. You just didn’t know it. She did, though. That’s why she wrote the book. Because she knew it would be hard. It was never easy for you here, growing up the way you did, with no friends and no real mother to speak of. And then those poor girls turning up dead. They blamed her, but you took your share of fire. Still, here you are, back in Salem Creek, thinking of kicking over a hornet’s nest. That’s brave.”
“Or maybe it’s just crazy.” She shook her head, staring off into the woods. “I could call Roger Coleman and tell him to forget it, just let the whole thing drop and go back to New York.”
Evvie’s brow puckered. “Could you?”
Lizzy struggled to find an answer. She wasn’t like Luc. She couldn’t just get on with it and feel relieved that it was finally over. Because it wasn’t over. And wouldn’t be until everyone in Salem Creek knew what really happened the night Heather and Darcy Gilman disappeared. But was she prepared—truly prepared—to pay the price for that truth? She wanted to say yes, to believe she was up for whatever the Gilmans or the rest of the town could throw at her. She wanted to, but she wasn’t sure.
As if in answer, the air around her seemed to ripple, the subtle breeze freshened with the scents of lavender and bergamot. The fragrance was unmistakable, like the brush of fingers against her cheek, and suddenly she knew what she needed to do.
. . . come back to the book when you are ready. Trust me in this, sweet girl. You will kn
ow when it’s time.
Bluebells . . . for truth.
My dearest Lizzy,
If you’re reading this, you have been pulled back to these pages, perhaps because you’re wrestling with a choice, searching your heart for what’s right. I knew that if you came back, this day would come, and that it would not be easy. The truth seldom is. Which is why we spend so much time hiding from it. But the truth is incapable of real harm. It is we who do harm, when we refuse to face what is real, because it’s uncomfortable or inconvenient.
When you were a girl, you were such a sensitive little thing, afraid of the dark, and the monsters you swore lived under your bed. Nearly every night you would wake, soaking wet and rigid with terror, certain you were about to be dragged off into the dark and devoured. You would come wailing down the hall, begging me to save you, to hide you, and I would let you climb in with me. I would soothe you, and promise that the monsters would never get you.
And then one night I realized I was helping you keep your monsters alive, by coddling and protecting you. I knew if I let you climb in with me again that the next night, or the one after that, you would be terrorized all over again. And so I carried you down the hall—do you remember it? You fought like a hellcat the whole way. But I made you go in, and I flipped on the light. Then I took you by the hand and made you look under the bed and in the closet, in every drawer and corner of that room, until you saw for yourself that the monsters weren’t there, that they’d never been there.
You never had the dream again. Because you understood that what isn’t real can’t hurt you. Illusions have no power—unless we insist on clinging to them. Then they become a warped kind of truth, a story we settle for because we prefer to remain in the dark with the monsters we know, rather than face new ones.
That’s why the worst truths—the ones that do the most harm—are those we refuse to face. We prefer falsehoods and half-truths, inventions meant to gloss over things we don’t wish to see. But knowing half a thing is to not know it at all. We tell ourselves the price of truth is simply too high, that it’s better to leave a thing alone in the name of peace than to inflict pain in the name of truth. But that kind of peace comes at a price.
The Last of the Moon Girls Page 10