The Last of the Moon Girls(44)
But she had come away from the meeting with something—a pair of names scribbled on a paper napkin. Cynthia Draper and Jenny Putnam had been friends of Heather’s until a few months before the murders. It might come to nothing, but it was a place to start. Teenage girls didn’t take being dropped—ghosting, they called it now—lying down. They would have known exactly who had replaced them—and why. Now all she had to do was track them down and get them to talk.
FIFTEEN
July 27
Lizzy wasn’t expecting to find Andrew on the front steps the next morning when she went out for the paper. She was used to him coming to the mudroom door. She was also used to seeing him in jeans, not a blazer and freshly ironed khakis. It was a new look. A good look.
She pulled back the door, running her eyes over him. “What are you doing here?”
“Good morning to you too.”
“Sorry.” She was annoyed to find herself rattled by the sight of him. “I’m just surprised to see you. I was expecting the real estate agent. He’s supposed to come by this morning to discuss my options, none of which are likely to be good.”
Andrew registered this without comment. “I just stopped by to tell you I’m heading out of town for a few days. And also to tell you the barn is now safe. Well, safe-ish. I replaced the cocked-up hinge yesterday, but I need to show you something if you have a minute.”
Lizzy checked her watch. Bundy wasn’t due for another twenty minutes. She grabbed her coffee mug and followed him to the barn.
Andrew lifted the crossbar and pulled the door back easily, nodding for her to go ahead of him. The interior was cool and dim, fragrant with the smell of fresh sawdust. He flipped on the light switch just inside the door. “There,” he said, pointing to the loft. “I took down the old ladder, but I noticed the frame around the window is ready to fall in. I’d steer clear of it for the time being. I’ll get to it as soon as I’m back from Boston.”
Lizzy tipped her head back, eyeing the loft window. “Fabulous. What’s in Boston?”
“Potential clients. They’re interviewing architects to renovate their Back Bay townhouse, and I’m on the list. It’s a big job, but it’s right up my alley.”
“That explains the clothes.”
He grinned, grasping his blazer lapels and striking a pose. “You never get a second chance to make a good first impression.”
Lizzy took a sip of coffee, cold now, but welcome after a week and a half without. “How long will you be gone?”
“A week, maybe ten days if all goes well. Anyway, that’s the other reason I’m here.” He reached into his blazer pocket and pulled out a business card. “I wanted to make sure you had my cell, just in case.”
“In case what?”
He shrugged. “You never know. Evvie said you went to see Susan Gilman yesterday.”
Lizzy ignored the proffered card, wandering to the workbench instead. “I did. Turns out she never believed Althea was guilty. She also had some interesting things to say about her ex-husband.”
Lizzy filled him in on the details: the drinking, the boys, the condoms, Fred Gilman’s disturbing relationship with his daughters, and the fact that Susan wasn’t their birth mother.
Andrew’s brows shot up at this last bit of info. “I didn’t realize the girls were adopted.”
“They weren’t. Gilman’s first wife died in a fire when Heather was three. Darcy was still in diapers. Apparently, he didn’t handle it well. He refused to let Susan adopt them.”
“And that ties back to the murders how?”
Lizzy shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe it doesn’t. It just seems . . . odd. I did come away with something, though. The names of two of Heather’s girlfriends. I thought I’d try to track them down. Girls talk to other girls.”
“I don’t suppose you’d be willing to wait until I get back from Boston?”
“Andrew, we’ve had this discussion. I need to do this, and I need to do it by myself. Besides, I don’t have all summer. Luc’s chomping at the bit.”
“Your boyfriend?”
“No, he’s . . . We . . .” She looked away, embarrassed by her fumbling. “He’s my boss.”
“Is that your final answer?”
Lizzy flashed him a look, annoyed that he’d picked up on her clumsy response. “I thought you had somewhere to be.”
“Right. Guess I’m off to Boston.”
She watched him go, already wishing she hadn’t been so abrupt. The man was persistent, she’d give him that. But he meant well. He’d always meant well. He just didn’t understand that for the Moons, self-reliance was genetic, a survival mechanism passed down through generations. Solitary meant safe.
Lizzy’s cell was going off on the kitchen counter when she walked back into the house. Before she could grab it, the call went to voice mail. Seconds later, she heard the alert ping. She pulled up the message, listening as she carried her mug to the coffee maker for a refill.
“Hi, it’s Catherine Daniels from Chuck Bundy’s office. He asked me to give you a call and let you know he’s not going to be able to keep your ten o’clock appointment. His little boy took a bad spill this morning, and he and his wife are at the ER, waiting to find out if he’s going to need surgery. He said he’d get back to you next week to reschedule.”