The Last of the Moon Girls

by Barbara Davis

  Lizzy felt her stomach drop. “Wait for what? We’ve been playing tag for weeks.”

  “I know, and I’m sorry about that. It’s just that given the history of the farm and, well . . . the talk lately, maybe now isn’t the best time.”

  “This is about the article in this morning’s Chronicle, isn’t it?”

  “Ms. Moon.” There was a pause, the flick of a lighter, a breath being pulled in, then let out. “I told you what we were up against the first time we spoke. There’s already a glut of rural properties on the market, and let’s face it, it was going to be hard enough to find a buyer when all we were dealing with was the Gilman girls, but throw in an arsonist and church ladies talking about ghosts, and we’ve moved into radioactive territory. I know you’re in a bind, and that this isn’t what you want to hear, but I have to be honest. We’re moving too fast.”

  Moving too fast?

  This was starting to feel like a breakup call, a fresh spin on the it’s-not-you-it’s-me line. “You’re backing out?”

  “Technically, there’s nothing to back out of. We haven’t drawn up a listing agreement yet, and frankly, I don’t think we should right now. I’d be happy to refer you to someone else if you’re determined to go ahead, but fifteen years in the business tells me it would be a mistake. If you list now, it’s going to sit, and the longer it sits, the less it’ll be worth. The prudent thing to do is let the dust settle, and take another look in six months, maybe a year.”

  Six months? She didn’t have six months. And she certainly didn’t have a year.

  “Right,” Lizzy said numbly, as she ended the call. “I’ll let the dust settle.”

  Rhanna was standing over a stoneware bowl, pouring honey into a measuring cup, when Lizzy entered the shop. She had tuned Althea’s old radio to the oldies station and was crooning along to “Monday, Monday,” her gauzy skirt swishing around her ankles as she swayed to the music.

  Lizzy stood quietly, watching her work. Evvie was right. She had been busy, and astonishingly productive. In less than two weeks, the shelves had filled with tonics, massage oils, and salt scrubs, each hand-labeled and finished with a raffia bow.

  “This is amazing,” Lizzy said softly, spinning in a slow circle.

  Rhanna started, clearly surprised to find she had company. She reached for a towel to wipe her hands, then turned down the radio. “Sorry. I didn’t hear you come in. I’m playing with a new oatmeal soak. It’s a tweaked version of one I found in Althea’s book. I’m going for something warm and spicy for fall—or maybe Halloween. We could call it A Wicked Good Soak. What do you think?”

  Lizzy mustered a smile. She’d never seen Rhanna this enthused about anything. But she was forgetting that by Halloween none of them would be here.

  Rhanna pointed to the wire racks where Louise Ryerson’s soap sat curing. “The bars came out perfectly. Maybe we should make another batch. Apparently, the word is out.”

  “The word?”

  “That the Moons are back in business. Evvie’s been fending off customers left and right.”

  “We’re not, though. You understand that, right? That this is just temporary?”

  Rhanna wilted a little, then narrowed her eyes on Lizzy. “What’s wrong? What’s happened?”

  “I had a call from my Realtor.”

  “And?”

  “He’s not my Realtor anymore.”

  “Why?”

  “There was another article about the fire in this morning’s paper and it’s apparently left Mr. Bundy squeamish. Radioactive was the term he used. He says if I list now, it’ll just sit and lose value. He says I should wait.”

  “How long?”

  “Six months to a year is what he said.”

  “A year?” Hope flickered in Rhanna’s eyes. “What are you going to do?”

  Lizzy lifted a shoulder. “I don’t know. Get a second opinion, I guess. And hope the bank will give me enough money to tide me over.”

  Rhanna startled Lizzy by briefly laying a hand on her shoulder, the first time she’d initiated any kind of contact in years. “I’m sorry you’ve had to carry the whole load around here, but I want to start helping. There’s a guy I used to see back in the day—Billy Church. His family has this big real estate office in Somersworth, and he owes me a favor. Or maybe I owe him. I’m kind of fuzzy on the details. But I bet I can track him down. As for money, Evvie and I have been talking, and I think we’ve found a way to help out.”

  Lizzy eyed her warily. “Should I be worried?”

  Rhanna feigned a pout. “I’m going to ignore that. There’s a New Age festival coming up in New Bay, Connecticut. I called last week, and they had a few tables left. We thought we’d take some of Evvie’s honey and some of this stuff, and make some quick cash.”

  Lizzy peered over Rhanna’s shoulder, scanning the neatly labeled containers on the shelf. Gardener’s salve made with dandelion flowers, lemon-mint salt scrub, almond-coconut body butter. There were even tiny pots of honey-vanilla lip balm. Not bad, considering the limited materials she’d had to work with.

  “That’s what you’ve been doing out here? Making stuff for a festival?”

  Rhanna beamed. “We didn’t want to say anything until we knew we’d have enough inventory, and we will by the time the festival rolls around. Evvie has her bracelets and her honey. I’ll be doing readings too. It won’t pay the property taxes, but it’ll keep the lights on, and I did promise I’d earn my keep. I know it’s not really your thing, but you don’t need to go. Evvie and I can handle it while you do what you need to do here.”

  Lizzy shook her head, smiling. “Althea always said you had Roma blood in your veins. When is this festival?”

  “This weekend. Ben from the hardware store is lending us a big umbrella and some stuff to hang up signs.”

  Lizzy’s brows lifted at the mention of Ben’s name. “How did he get involved?”

  “I’m not sure. Apparently, Evvie mentioned the fair and he jumped at the chance to help. Sounds like maybe he’s crushing on our Evvie.”

  “I think that street runs both ways,” Lizzy said, grinning. “A couple weeks back, she was loading a box of honey to take to the hardware store, and she was wearing lipstick.”

  “Lipstick? Evvie?”

  “Earrings too.”

  “Peter, Paul, and Mary,” Rhanna breathed, a slow grin lifting the corners of her mouth. “A romance right here on Moon Girl Farm. I’m definitely going to have fun with this.”

  “Yeah, well, she buttoned up tighter than a deacon’s wife when I brought it up, so don’t expect her to admit it.”

  Rhanna tapped her lower lip thoughtfully. “On second thought, maybe I should leave it alone. I’ve just gotten in her good graces, and I’d like to stay there.” A bead of perspiration trickled from her temple. She blotted it on the sleeve of her T-shirt. “Good grief, it’s hot. Want to break for some ice cream?”

  “Can’t. I’m headed to the bank to pick up some paperwork and make an appointment with a loan officer.”

  Rhanna nodded grimly. “Right. Maybe later. We could go to the Dairy Bar and share a banana split. It’s still there, right?”

  “Yup. Still there. I was surprised how little downtown had changed, though we actually have a vape shop now, and a tattoo parlor.”

  “Wow. In a town like Salem Creek, that’s progress. As I recall, there was never much of anything to do in this town. Unless you knew the right people.”

  “The right people?”

  “Ahem . . .” Rhanna cocked a brow. “The Hanley boys?”

  Lizzy frowned, bewildered. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “I’m talking about the Hanley farm—the one right behind ours, with all the bright yellow NO TRESPASSING signs posted all over the place. The old man liked to pretend no one knew what he was growing back there, but we all did. It was the worst kept secret in Salem Creek.”

  “What he was . . .” Lizzy’s mouth dropped open. “You mean pot?”r />
  Rhanna rolled her eyes. “Yes, honey. I mean pot.”

  “I thought they grew corn.”

  “Oh, they did. It’s just not all they grew. Good thing too, or those boys wouldn’t have had any friends. They were such an odd pair. Whatever happened to them anyway?”

  “Hollis died in a car crash not long after he got back from Afghanistan. Dennis works part-time for Andrew, and helps take care of Hollis’s daughter. I wouldn’t have thought him the family-man type, but I guess we don’t always know what someone’s going through. Maybe it changed him.”

  Rhanna nodded, her eyes suddenly shiny. “Time has a way of doing that,” she said softly. “And if you’re really lucky, it gives you a second chance.”

  THIRTY-TWO

  Lizzy was in and out of the bank in under an hour, leaving her plenty of time to run her final errand. Evvie had asked her to drop off another dozen jars of honey at the hardware store while out, and pick up a trellis for the honeysuckle vine she was planning to train for her bees. Lizzy hadn’t been able to resist teasing her, expressing surprise that Evvie would pass up a chance to see Ben again. Evvie’s response had been a grunt and a less than convincing scowl.

  The hardware store parking lot was nearly empty when Lizzy pulled in. She chose a spot near the door and grabbed the carton of honey. A string of brass bells jangled as she pushed inside. She headed for the sales counter at the back of the store, where she was greeted by a stocky man with skin like leather and hair the color of freshly fallen snow.

  “Afternoon.”

  “Are you Ben?”

  “Guilty as charged. How can I help?”

  Lizzy took a quick inventory as she slid the carton onto the counter. He was handsome in a gnarled, outdoorsy way, like weathered oak—deeply grained and worn smooth by time. “Evvie sent me.”

  “Oh.” Ben blinked at the carton of jars, then back at Lizzy. He managed a smile but his disappointment was plain. “She usually comes herself.”

  “I know, but she’s busy getting ready for the fair. Thank you, by the way. I heard you’re helping her out with some signage. It was kind of you to offer.”

  Lizzy wouldn’t have thought it possible, but Ben actually blushed. “She’s a good woman, that Evvie. Wise and kind, and so funny. She’s really something.”

  Funny?

  It was official. Ben the hardware man had it bad for Evangeline Broussard. “Evvie tells me you sell quite a lot of her honey,” she said, hoping to draw him out further.

  Ben nodded, grinning like a teen. “That I do. Folks swear by the stuff. Claim it cures everything from psoriasis to the common cold.” Ben held up a knobby finger. “Reminds me. I’ve got an envelope for her in back. And a trellis she asked me to set aside for her. Just give me a sec.”

  Lizzy watched him disappear through a set of swinging doors, then wandered toward a rack of seed packets. She was reaching for a packet of sweet william seeds when she saw Fred Gilman walking toward her with a spool of rope and a long-handled ax. Her throat seized as she watched him come toward her, the ax swinging like a pendulum at his side. Finally, he came to an abrupt halt, his eyes heavy lidded and unblinking as they locked with hers.

  It was Lizzy who looked away first, relieved to see Ben pushing back through the swinging doors with a fan-shaped trellis in his arms. He threw an oblivious nod to Fred as he handed her the trellis, then fished an envelope from his back pocket. “There’s her cash for the last batch of honey, and the trellis she wanted. Be sure to tell her I said hello, and that I’ll be by with the umbrella tomorrow.”

  “Thanks. I will.”

  Lizzy stuffed the envelope into her purse, then headed back down the aisle to the door. Her hands were shaking as she fumbled with the key fob to open the trunk. It wasn’t that she’d expected Fred Gilman to lop off her head right there in the hardware store, but there’d been no missing the icy fury he had leveled in her direction.

  She blew out a breath, willing her pulse to slow as she dropped the trellis into the trunk and slammed the lid. When she looked up, Fred Gilman was standing in front of her, ax balanced on his left shoulder. She caught the smell of him, the tangy brine of sweat mingled with the stench of a festering wound, as if he were slowly rotting from the inside.

  Stepping back, she ran a frantic glance around the lot, hoping for help, or at least a witness. There was no one. She squared her shoulders, determined not to let him see that she was afraid. “What do you want, Mr. Gilman?”

  He flicked dull eyes down the length of her, then brought them back to her face. “Read in the paper you’ve had some trouble lately. Something about a fire. Said no one got hurt.” The corners of his mouth twitched, the rictus of a smile. “Glad to hear it. My first wife died in a fire. Not a good way to go.”

  Lizzy opened her mouth, but found she couldn’t manage a response. Instead, she pushed past him, heart thudding as she made a beeline for the driver’s side door.

  “Maybe you should be more careful about where you stick that nose of yours,” he said as she slid in behind the wheel. “Be a shame if someone got hurt next time.”

  She was still shaking when she reached Andrew’s office. She wasn’t sure what she expected him to do, but he was the first person she thought of as she sped out of the hardware store parking lot.

  She ignored Dennis Hanley’s cold stare as she navigated the construction zone outside Andrew’s office and knocked on the door.

  “Come,” he barked.

  His head was still down when she stepped into the office. When he finally looked up, his expression was one of blank distraction. “Lizzy. What are you . . . What’s wrong? You’re as white as a sheet.”

  “I’m sorry to bother you.” She was still clutching the doorknob, still trembling. “I didn’t know where else to go.”

  He was on his feet and beside her in seconds, prying her fingers off the knob and leading her to a chair. He went to the watercooler, filled a paper cup, and put it in her hands. “Drink this. And tell me what’s happened.”

  She felt silly suddenly. He looked so alarmed. What if she was overreacting? “I ran into Fred Gilman at the hardware store and he . . .” She paused, gulping down the last of the water. “He followed me out to the parking lot.”

  “Did he hurt you?”

  “No. He never touched me. He just . . . talked. About the fire, and how lucky I was that no one got hurt. It was like he was taunting me. It didn’t help that he was holding an ax.”

  Andrew stiffened. “He had an ax?”

  “He wasn’t wielding it. He’d just bought it. But he had to know I’d be terrified. He wanted me to be terrified. His eyes were like ice. Like he would have strangled me with his bare hands if he thought he could get away with it. And I just stood there, listening, while he all but confessed to setting the fire.”

  Andrew took the empty cup from her hand, crumpled it, and tossed it into the trash can. “I know he scared you, Lizzy, but talking about the fire—even taunting you about it—isn’t the same as a confession. Think. Did he mention anything he shouldn’t know about? Anything that hasn’t been in the papers?”

  Lizzy sank back in her chair. “It’s all been in the papers.”

  “Did he threaten you? I mean actually threaten you?”

  “Not in so many words, no. But it’s what he meant. I could smell it coming off of him.”

  “You could . . . smell it?”

  Lizzy pushed out a sigh, wishing she’d been more careful with her words. “It’s a thing I have,” she said quietly. “The way my brain’s wired, I guess. I can smell what people are feeling, and he was definitely feeling rage.”

  Andrew nodded, absorbing this new information. “What does rage smell like?”

  “Putrid. Like something was eating away at him. And he wanted me to know it. Why else would he remind me that his first wife died in a fire? Should I go to the police?”

  “That’s an option, though I’m not sure it’s the most effective one. Without an explicit th
reat, there’s not much the police can do. There are laws about making threats, but it’s perfectly legal to be a bastard.”

  “Doesn’t it matter that I felt threatened?”

  “To the police? I don’t know. But it matters to me.” He clicked off his desk lamp and grabbed his phone and keys from the desk. “Go home. I’ll call you later.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “To pay Mr. Gilman a visit. I don’t expect him to admit anything, but he’ll damn sure know I’m watching.”

  THIRTY-THREE

  Andrew looked up in time to see the traffic light go yellow. He stomped on the gas, gunning through the intersection, then caught himself. Perhaps a better use of his drive time would be to make a list of reasons not to throttle Fred Gilman senseless. Jail, for instance. Except, for every con he managed to come up with, he came up with two perfectly valid pros.

  An ax.

  The bastard had threatened Lizzy while holding an ax. A fact he’d be addressing as soon as he had Gilman in front of him. He didn’t have an exact address, but he knew the trailer park where Gilman lived, and knew his puke-green Subaru. It might take a few turns through the park, but he’d find him. And when he did—

  A goddamn ax.

  He’d been more than a little surprised to find Lizzy hovering in his office doorway. After their aborted kiss last night, he’d expected her to keep her distance, although the more he thought about it, the more convinced he was that distance was actually the best thing for both of them. He’d laid his cards on the table, or had come pretty close to it. Lizzy had laid hers out too, making it crystal clear that her future plans didn’t include him—or anyone else, for that matter. Safe was what she wanted, a life without complications.

  He got it. He did. But he didn’t have to like it.

  The sign for Meadow Park loomed just ahead on the left. He turned in, winding through the maze of short streets until he found what he was looking for.