The Last of the Moon Girls(102)

Lizzy looked up as the vinyl room divider slid back and Evvie appeared. She faltered as her gaze settled on Lizzy.

“Oh, my little girl. All broken up, and black-and-blue. I knew something was wrong. I could feel it. That’s why we packed up early. I knew . . .”

Lizzy touched the butterfly closure on her lip. “It’s not as bad as it looks. Just some bruises and a little concussion.”

“Humph. I’m guessing you haven’t seen yourself. And there’s no such thing as a little concussion. They said your jaw might be broken.”

“It’s not. Just a bone bruise, which looks worse than it is. I might be living on Cream of Wheat for a while, though.”

Evvie rolled her eyes as she pulled a tissue from her handbag and blotted her eyes. “You could have been killed.”

“But I wasn’t.” Lizzy pulled in a shaky breath, fingers pleating the thin hospital blanket, as the seconds ticked by on the black-and-white wall clock. “It was Hollis Hanley, Evvie,” she said finally. “He killed the girls, and Dennis was afraid I’d find it out. The note, the orchard, all of it, was to protect Hollis.”

Evvie nodded, her face grave. “Your mama told me. Have you talked to the police yet?”

“They sent a detective to take my statement. The same guy I spoke to about the break-in. Apparently, he’s a friend of Roger’s.”

She’d been surprised to find Michael Hammond waiting for her when they wheeled her back from X-ray, until he explained that Roger had given him a heads-up after their conversation. He let her know that Dennis’s remains had been recovered from the debris. Unfortunately, with only dental records to go on, it would probably be several days before they had a definitive ID.

“I told him about the paper the note was written on, how it reminded me of the stuff butchers use to wrap meat. He’s going to the plant where Dennis worked tomorrow to see if it matches, and to compare the knives they use with the one the police found the night of the break-in. We still won’t have solid proof linking Hollis to the murders, but the circumstantial evidence certainly points to him.”

“It’s enough,” Evvie told her evenly. “And past time for it all to be over.”

Lizzy thought about that, about what it would feel like for it all to be over, to finally have the questions answered, the pieces all neatly linked. This didn’t feel like that. There was no rush of relief. No sense of closure. There were only more questions.

“I hope so,” she said, quietly.

“What aren’t you saying?”

“Nothing, probably. But it’s ironic, don’t you think? Dennis spent years trying to cover up what happened that night, and all he ended up doing was ruining his life. Why? Hollis was dead.” She paused, probing her swollen lower lip. “I can’t help thinking . . .” She closed her eyes, fighting a shudder. She’d heard about death by fire—all their kind had—but seeing it with your own eyes was something else entirely. “The last thing he said was A man does what he has to. It was like he thought he had no other choice.”

“Hush,” Evvie hissed. “You did what you set out to do, and that’s an end to it.”

Lizzy nodded, silent. She wanted it to be true.





FORTY-ONE

Andrew smelled smoke long before he spotted the fire trucks. His gut twisted when he turned the corner and saw the emergency vehicles clogging the road, the reflective orange-and-white barricades blocking through traffic. He parked as close as the barricades would allow, not bothering to pull the keys from the ignition, and hit the ground at a run.

The house was fine. So was the shop. Which left the barn. He followed the trail of flaccid fire hoses up the drive, faltering briefly when he spotted the plain white van sitting with its back doors flung wide.

No water in the hoses. No medic rig on the street. ME already on scene. Whatever had happened was winding down—and someone was dead.

The thought hit him like a fist.

A fug of smoke and wet ash hung in the air, turning the evening sky a filthy shade of gray. He could taste soot at the back of his throat, and his eyes were beginning to sting and blur. He slowed long enough to wipe his face, then cut across the field, climbing to the top of the rise where he could see the back half of the property.

He saw it then, beyond the rise, a blackened shell where the barn should have been. The roof was gone, the charred walls splayed open like an overripe seedpod. Against the darkening sky, it looked like something from a nightmare.

A handful of firefighters were milling about, masks removed, poking through the steaming wreckage with shovels and axes. The mop-up team. Andrew made a beeline for the guy closest to him and tapped him on the shoulder.

The man swung around, his sooty face a mix of surprise and annoyance. “No one’s supposed to be in this area, pal. Not until the reflash team gives the all clear.”

“I need to know . . .”

Andrew’s words dangled as he spotted two men dressed in navy coveralls emerging from the wreckage, a black body bag stretched between them. Another gut punch.

“Who . . .” The saliva in his mouth was suddenly thick. “I need to know who . . .”

The firefighter turned his head, following Andrew’s gaze to the body bag. He leaned on his shovel, glancing down at his boots, as if suddenly uncomfortable. “Can’t help you there. Above my pay grade. But maybe somebody else can.” He cupped a hand around his mouth. “Tammy!” He waited until Tammy came over. “Any idea on the fatality?”