The Last of the Moon Girls(22)

“Who’s Andrew?”

“A neighbor, and a friend of my grandmother’s. He’s also an architect. He rattled off a list of repairs as long as my arm. I’m not sure how I’m going to swing any of it.”

“So don’t. Knock it all down and be done with it. You can sell it as unimproved property. Plus the taxes go down. Boom, problem solved.”

Problem solved? Selling the farm was one thing. Razing it to the ground was something else entirely. “I grew up here!”

“And if I remember correctly, you couldn’t wait to leave.”

His response chafed. Not just his words, but the callous way he’d flung them at her. “You don’t have a sentimental bone in your body, do you?”

“I never claimed to. It’s part of my charm. But while we’re on the subject of sentiment, Andrew the Architect wouldn’t happen to be one of the developments, would he?”

The question took Lizzy by surprise. “Why would you ask that?”

“Just curious.” There was a long pause, the sound of desk drawers opening and closing, and then finally, as an afterthought: “I miss you.”

“No, you don’t.”

“How do you know?”

“You just told me you didn’t have a sentimental bone in your body.”

Luc conceded the point by changing the subject. “You didn’t answer the question. This Andrew who’s being so helpful—are we talking old flame or what?”

“No, we’re not. He’s just someone I used to know. He’s doing some work for my grandmother.”

“Your grandmother’s dead.”

Lizzy bit back a sigh. “It’s a long story, and I really don’t feel like getting into it now.”

“Fine. Just as long as he’s not thinking of poaching my new creative director. You mentioned a second development, and you’ve assured me it isn’t Andrew. So what is it?”

Lizzy bit her lip, kicking herself for not having been more guarded. What was she supposed to say? I’m trying to clear my grandmother of murder? “It’s nothing,” she said finally. “Just some legal stuff I need to clean up.” Okay, so not a complete lie. Technically, a double murder did qualify as legal stuff. “Like I said, it might take longer than I thought.”

“Are we talking days? Weeks?”

“I don’t know. But I have some time saved up, and I’m going to need to use it.”

Luc was silent a moment. Lizzy could hear the steady tap-tap of his pen on the desk, his go-to gesture when annoyed. “I think you need to keep all this in perspective,” he said finally. “Just do what you need to do and get out of there. I promise it’ll be a relief when it’s over, like closing one chapter so a new one can begin.”

Lizzy’s knuckles went white as she tightened her grip on the steering wheel. “Is that how you felt when your mother died? Relieved?”

More silence. More tapping. “People die, babe. It’s a fact of life. There’s no reason to feel guilty about selling something that belongs to you. Get on with it, and come home.”

Maybe it was the way he insisted on calling her babe, when she’d asked him a hundred times to stop, or his complete lack of empathy, but Lizzy suddenly needed to end the call. Now, before she said something she couldn’t take back. “Look, I need to go. I’m in the car and traffic is crazy.”

“Lizzy—”

“I’ll call you when I know more.”





EIGHT

Lizzy was still stewing over her conversation with Luc when she turned into the drive and spotted a white utility pickup parked near the top. The words ANDREW GREYSON, ARCHITECT were emblazoned on both doors. She remembered Andrew saying he had ordered some wood for the barn. Presumably, he’d come to deliver it. She shielded her eyes as she climbed out of the car, scanning the property for a glimpse of him. Instead, she spotted a man in worn gray coveralls coming toward her.

He was tall and burly, and looked vaguely familiar. Lizzy racked her brain, finally coming up with a name. Or at least a last name. The Hanleys had been neighbors once upon a time, their land bordering Moon Girl Farm to the north. Not that they’d ever been a particularly neighborly family. Especially the old man, who drank heavily and was rarely seen in town.

There’d been two boys—Hollis and Dennis—a year apart in age and thick as thieves. She’d never known them well enough to tell them apart, but if she were guessing, she’d say it was Dennis—the older brother—now coming toward her. He hadn’t changed much over the years. A bit thicker through the neck, perhaps, but his hair was still the color of young corn, his eyes the same unsettling pale blue.

Lizzy offered a polite wave as he approached. Hanley ignored the gesture as he marched past, leaving a pungent sillage of copper, salt, and stagnant water in his wake, like a mud flat at low tide. How was it possible no one else smelled it? She took shallow breaths as she watched him gather up an armful of lumber, presumably for the barn repairs Andrew was planning.

She forced a smile as he hoisted a half dozen two-by-fours up onto his shoulder. “If you tell me how much I owe you, I’ll write you a check.”

Hanley shot her a glare, sidestepping her again. “Didn’t send no invoice. Just told me to drop the stuff off.”