The Last of the Moon Girls

by Barbara Davis

  “Ms. Moon?”

  Lizzy had been watching Ward pick through the ashes. She dragged her gaze back to McCardle. “I’m sorry. You asked if I knew anyone who might have a reason to do this. I’d have to say no.”

  “So no recent altercations? An angry boyfriend? An argument with a neighbor?”

  “No,” she said, not quite meeting his eyes. “Nothing like that.”

  “Looks like we’ve got another one, boss.” It was Ward, down on one knee this time, hollering over his shoulder. “No rag, but it’s the same type of glass. I’m guessing this is the one that did the trick. Pretty smashed up, though.”

  “I’ll be right there.” McCardle closed his notepad and turned to Lizzy. “It appears our culprit was determined. Let’s hope he was careless as well.”

  Lizzy nodded blankly, not sure how to respond.

  “We should be able to wrap up our end of the investigation in a day or two, such as it is. Not much left of the structure. No witnesses. But until you’re notified that we’re through, I’d appreciate you steering clear of the area. It’s natural after something like this to want to clean up, but we don’t want to risk contamination until everything’s wrapped up and we’ve turned our information over to Salem Creek PD.”

  “Of course, and thank you. If you don’t mind, I’m going to leave you to it.”

  McCardle nodded curtly. “No worries. I know where to find you if I have any more questions.”

  Evvie was out back when Lizzy returned, filling the water bowls she kept positioned around the yard so her bees would have plenty to drink. She closed the hose nozzle and looked up. “Well?”

  “They found a broken bottle with a rag in it.”

  “A torch?”

  “Yes. Well, two, actually.”

  Evvie threw down the hose with more force than was necessary, muttering something that might have been Creole as she dried her hands on her apron. “You’ll be calling the police now, I hope?” she said finally. “To tell them what’s going on?”

  “I suspect the investigators will be doing that shortly, which means it’ll be all over town by tomorrow. There is one silver lining, though. If someone really is trying to scare me, it means I’m not the only one who’s scared.”

  “Humph.” Evvie cocked an eye at her. “You say that like it’s a good thing.”

  “Scared people make mistakes, Evvie.”

  “They’re also dangerous.”

  “They can be. But why set the orchard on fire when he could burn us all in our beds? Whoever is doing this is just looking to terrorize me, and sooner or later he’s going to slip up. When he does, we’ll finally get to the truth. Isn’t that what we want? The truth?”

  Evvie poked out her lower lip, clearly unconvinced. “Truth won’t do you any good if you’re dead. I just lost your gran. I don’t want to be scattering your ashes next.”

  Lizzy managed a smile she didn’t quite feel. If Evvie’s intention had been to send a chill down her spine, she’d been successful. “Well, the police and the fire department are both on it now, so it’s unlikely that you’ll have to worry about my ashes anytime soon. And at this point, I’m not even sure what my next move is. Right now, I’m going upstairs and filling the tub, where I plan to soak until I no longer smell like a chimney sweep. And then I’ll be heading to the kitchen to pour myself a hefty glass of wine and start the ratatouille. I’m in desperate need of some culinary therapy, and a night free of surprises.”

  TWENTY-ONE

  An hour and a half later, Lizzy was waterlogged but soot-free, and the investigators’ SUV was gone. In the kitchen, she opened a bottle of chardonnay and poured herself a glass, then pulled an eggplant, a green pepper, and several zucchini from the fridge. Cooking had always been a refuge for her, a calming, almost meditative act, and if there was anything she could do with just now, it was a little calm.

  From the window over the sink, she could see the sun beginning to slide behind the treetops. The days were already growing shorter, the afternoon light taking on that soft, buttery hue that meant autumn wasn’t far off. Soon the trees would turn, and the hills would go gold. Pumpkins would appear on doorsteps, along with cornstalks and bright yellow mums. She’d be back in New York by then.

  A knock on the front door cut the thought short. She waited, expecting to hear the scuff of Evvie’s UGGs. When she didn’t, she wiped her hands, grabbed a sip of wine, and headed for the foyer.

  She was surprised to find Andrew on the front steps. “You’re back.”

  “Yes.”

  “How was Boston?”

  “Good. It was . . . good.”

  “Does that mean you got the job?”

  “Yeah. Yeah, it does.”

  Lizzy cocked her head to one side, studying him. He was acting strange—distracted and anxious. “Do you want to come in?”

  “I’m uh . . .” He paused, shoving a hand through his hair. “I’m not alone.”

  “Sorry?”

  “I picked up a hitchhiker,” he said quietly. “Someone you know.” He turned to glance at his truck, parked halfway up the drive. “It’s your mother, Lizzy. She’s in the truck.”

  A pall of white noise settled over Lizzy, like the thick, cottony quiet that surrounded you when you first took off in a plane, when the earth fell away and you seemed disconnected from the world, suspended between reality and whatever came next.

  Her mother. In the truck.

  It wasn’t possible.

  But a glance over Andrew’s shoulder confirmed that there was, in fact, someone sitting in the passenger seat of his truck. Lizzy froze when the door opened and Rhanna climbed out. She was wearing a crocheted halter top and jeans worn to strings at the hem. A beaded purse slapped rhythmically against her hip as she advanced up the drive.

  Lizzy remained rooted to the spot, breath held as confusion and disbelief spun into a wave of white-hot fury. She waited until Rhanna reached the walkway, then stepped around Andrew, effectively blocking her path.

  “What do you want?”

  Rhanna met her gaze without flinching. “I want to come home.”

  Lizzy stiffened. “Suddenly this is your home?”

  Andrew cleared his throat, his discomfort plain. “Lizzy, she hitchhiked all the way from California. It’s taken her six weeks to get here.”

  “I don’t care how long it took her to get here. I care why she’s here. Now. After eight years.”

  “I came for Althea,” Rhanna said softly. “And for you.”

  Lizzy folded her arms over her chest, eyeing Rhanna coolly. Her skin, once pale as milk, was nut-brown now, and leathery from too much sun, and there were threads of silver running through her dark hair. She’d also lost weight, enough to cause her clothes to hang limply on her slight frame. Was she sick? Was that what this was about?

  “It’s a little late to start thinking of me, Rhanna. And as for Althea, she’s—”

  “Dead,” Rhanna supplied quietly. “Yes, I know.”

  Lizzy narrowed her gaze. She did know. That much was clear. What wasn’t clear was how she knew. “How could you know about Althea? No one’s heard from you in years.”

  “I had a dream,” Rhanna said softly. “At least I think it was a dream. I woke up, and I could smell her perfume—the one you used to make for her. It was like she was in the room with me. And I just . . . knew.”

  Lizzy felt the ground shift. Althea’s perfume. The same lavender and bergamot she’d been smelling since she returned to the farm. Rhanna had smelled it too. In California.

  And now here they were, standing face-to-face, staring at each other across an eight-year void. Lizzy longed to look away. To walk away. To go back into the house and bolt the door. It was ironic. How many times had she grumbled that it should be Rhanna dealing with all this? And now she was here, all the way from sunny California, trying to nudge her way in.

  Andrew cleared his throat, breaking the silence. “I’ll get her bags from the truck.”

  “I
never said she was staying.”

  “She’s your mother, Lizzy.”

  Lizzy stared at him, stung by the rebuke. Had he forgotten her swim in the town hall fountain? The episode at the coffee shop? She glanced back at Rhanna in her bell-bottoms and beads, in her fifties now. A wilted flower child. And family, if blood counted for anything. Was she really capable of turning her own mother away? Of treating her the way Salem Creek had treated so many Moons over the years—as a pariah? She was pretty sure the answer was yes. Rhanna had washed her hands of the Moons years ago. Now she could live with it.

  “One night,” she conceded frostily, stepping back to let Rhanna enter. “One. And then you’re out.”

  Rhanna seemed almost wary as she stepped into the front parlor, arms pinned tight to her chest, as if she didn’t trust herself to touch anything. “It’s the same,” she whispered, blinking back tears. “All of it—exactly the same.”

  The uncharacteristic show of emotion took Lizzy by surprise. Soppy had never been Rhanna’s style. But then there were a lot of things about Rhanna that had changed. The way she smelled, for instance, like bonfires and tea leaves, rose petals and rain. The combination was as unfamiliar as it was unsettling—a blur of pagan and gypsy, layered with the loamy scent of wet earth—and sharply at odds with the woman she remembered.

  “Andrew told me how it happened,” Rhanna said quietly. “How Althea got sick, I mean. I would have come back if I’d known. I would have been here.”

  A nod was all the response Lizzy could muster. She’d said the same thing to Evvie the night she arrived, and wondered if Evvie had been as skeptical then as she was now. “What about you, Rhanna? Are you . . . well?”

  “I’m well enough.”

  “Are you lying?”

  “Would you care if I was?” Rhanna smiled sadly when Lizzy didn’t answer immediately. “On second thought, don’t answer that. I’m fine. Things have just been a little tight lately. And it’s a long walk from Cali.”

  Lizzy was about to respond with something snarky when she heard the mudroom door bang shut.

  “I thought I heard voices . . .”

  Evvie’s words dried up when she saw Rhanna. For a moment no one spoke. Lizzy watched as Evvie and Rhanna locked eyes, the air between them charged with unspoken questions. She could see by the look on Evvie’s face that no introduction was necessary. No one looking at Rhanna could mistake her for anyone but a Moon. Still, she had to say something.

  “Evvie, this is Rhanna—my mother.”

  Rhanna’s bags turned out to be an army-green knapsack and a badly scarred guitar case. Andrew hovered in the foyer, the knapsack clutched to his chest, the guitar slung over his shoulder. “Where should I put them?”

  Lizzy flashed him a look of exasperation. She wasn’t anywhere near ready to think about sleeping arrangements. He of all people should know how this was likely to end. Which made it worse somehow that he’d been the one to drop her on the doorstep, like a stray puppy she was expected to keep whether she wanted it or not.

  They were all looking at her now—Andrew, Evvie, Rhanna—waiting for her to say something that would ease the tension. They’d be waiting a long time. “Leave them right there,” she told Andrew grudgingly. “Near the door. I’ve got the supper to finish.” And with that, she turned and walked away, praying that no one followed her.

  In the kitchen, she took a gulp of her now-tepid wine, then picked up her knife. She needed time to absorb this new development, and figure out what happened next. She had more than enough on her plate. She didn’t need a drama queen with a predilection for meltdowns added to the mix. And that’s precisely what she’d get if Rhanna was allowed to hang around any length of time.

  While generations of Moon girls had grown up knowing the risks of making waves, Rhanna had honed the subtle art of not giving a damn, of poking a finger in the eye of convention, creating a scene, saying the unthinkable. Like the time she’d been suspended for reading tarot cards in the school talent show and predicting that her PE teacher would be discovered rolling a joint in the janitor’s supply closet. Or the time she’d painted a peace sign with a middle finger in the center, on the wall of the First Presbyterian rectory. Recklessness and rebellion. Those were Rhanna’s superpowers. And now she’d brought them back to Salem Creek.

  One night, Lizzy reminded herself as she downed another sip of wine. That was all she’d promised. And what then? By the look of things, Rhanna didn’t have two nickels to rub together. She had no job, and certainly no friends in Salem Creek. Which left . . . what?

  The thought was interrupted by another smack of the mudroom door. She hoped it was Andrew leaving. Instead, she spotted Evvie through the kitchen window, heading toward the garden with a basket over her arm. Apparently, Lizzy wasn’t the only one who needed a little alone time.

  As if on cue, Rhanna wandered into the kitchen, trailing her fingers along the counter like a bored child in search of distraction. “Andrew’s gone out to the garden with . . . Evvie, is it?”

  “Yes,” Lizzy answered tersely. “Her name is Evvie.”

  Rhanna was up on her toes now, craning her neck for a better view of the garden. “Now there’s a sight for sore eyes. Andrew, I mean. Not Evvie. He was still at UNH when I left, but he turned out real nice.”

  Lizzy stopped chopping and turned to stare.

  “What?” Rhanna pouted, all innocence. “I’m old, not dead.”

  Lizzy opened her mouth, then closed it again, and resumed her chopping.

  “So what’s the deal with her?” Rhanna asked, filching a bit of green pepper from the cutting board and popping it into her mouth. “Why’s she living here?”

  “The deal,” Lizzy said dryly, “is that she was Althea’s friend. She was with her till the end.” She paused, looking up at Rhanna. “She’s like us.”

  Rhanna’s brows lifted. “By like us, you mean . . .”

  “Yes,” Lizzy answered pointedly. “I mean like us.”

  “Wow.” The corners of Rhanna’s mouth turned down thoughtfully. “There’s something you don’t hear every day.” She reached for the glass of chardonnay on the counter, but Lizzy checked her, sliding the glass just out of reach. Rhanna sighed. “Is this how it’s going to be? You treating me like I’m some unwanted guest who just turned up on your doorstep?”

  “Isn’t that what you are?”

  “This is my home, Lizzy. I grew up here—just like you.”

  Lizzy stared down at her glass, twirling the stem between her fingers. “You grew up nothing like me.”

  “Lizzy . . .” Rhanna’s eyes were soft, pleading.

  Lizzy sidestepped her. “Let’s not do this, okay?”

  But Rhanna seemed determined to have her say. “What I did, when you were a baby, giving you to Althea—I know it seems horrible. But I also know I was right. I wasn’t . . . equipped. I was selfish and thoughtless, and so screwed-up. That’s why I did it, Lizzy. Not because I didn’t care—because I did. I was afraid . . .” She closed her eyes, her slender shoulders sagging. “I was afraid I’d hurt you.”

  “Right,” Lizzy shot back before swallowing the last of her wine. “You certainly wouldn’t have wanted that.”

  They were still glowering at each other when Andrew reappeared. Lizzy turned, eyeing him frostily. “You’re still here.”

  “Evvie asked me to bring you this.” He handed her a trug of freshly picked lettuce. “She said she’d be in shortly to do the salad. Oh, and I’m supposed to tell you to set a fourth place for supper. She asked me to stay.”

  Lizzy eyed the basket, then Andrew, wondering how she’d managed to lose complete control of the situation. “Terrific.”

  “I carried your mother’s things up. I didn’t know which room she’d be in, so I left them at the top of the stairs.” He paused, leaning in, dropping his voice. “I need to talk to you.”

  There were things she needed to say to him too, but now wasn’t the time. She jerked her chin toward the counter, l
ittered with chopped vegetables. “I’m a little busy just now. It seems I’m giving a dinner party, and I need to go kill the fatted calf.”

  Andrew let the prodigal-daughter reference pass. “After supper then. It’s important.”

  An hour later, they were all seated around the kitchen table. Lizzy would have been happy to eat in silence, but Andrew seemed determined to draw Rhanna out.

  “So I have to ask. What on earth possesses someone to hitchhike from California to New Hampshire?”

  Rhanna flashed him a grin. “The same thing that motivates someone to hitchhike anywhere, I guess. Empty pockets. Or nearly empty. I had to sell my van to take care of some people I owed, which left me with exactly eighty-nine dollars, my guitar, and my thumb.”

  Andrew looked at her in astonishment, and perhaps the tiniest bit of admiration. “You left California with less than a hundred dollars in your pocket?”

  “I’ve always been resourceful.”

  Lizzy rolled her eyes. “That’s one word for it.”

  Andrew acknowledged the snipe with the barest of glances, then returned his attention to Rhanna. “What did you do in San Francisco? I remember you used to paint.”

  “I did, but I had to give it up. Couldn’t afford the supplies. I sang in coffee shops, read cards, told fortunes. I didn’t make much, but it was enough to feed me most of the time, and I had friends who’d let me crash on their couch when things got really tight. It was your basic ‘Gypsies, Tramps & Thieves’ existence, but it suited me.”

  Lizzy put down her wineglass with a snort. “And what about now? Does it suit you now?” She was glaring at Rhanna openly, disgusted by the entire performance, as if she were some fascinating bohemian simply marching to the beat of her own drum. Did she honestly believe anyone was going to buy that after the disasters she’d left in her wake?

  Rhanna’s smile slipped. “I’ve learned to take life as it comes.”

  “Better known as leaving your messes for other people to clean up.”