The Last of the Moon Girls(52)

It was the start of August, when only summer classes were in session, and lunchtime to boot, leaving the halls eerily empty as Lizzy navigated her way to the cafeteria. A wave of déjà vu hit her as she stepped through the double doors, followed by a wave of nausea as she registered the stomach-churning pong of grease, ketchup, and overcooked vegetables.

Scores of teenage eyes followed her as she moved between the rows of long tables—curious stares, mostly, wondering who she was and what she was doing there. A parent, perhaps, or a substitute teacher. They were all so young, so animated and carefree. The way she’d wanted to be when she was their age.

She scanned the area behind the serving counter, where a pair of women in white coats were breaking down the steam table. If the clock above the door was right—and it always was—the bell would ring in four and a half minutes, signaling the end of lunch period. Until then, she’d find a quiet corner and do her best to blend into the woodwork—like old times.

It took less than five minutes for the lunchroom to empty when the bell finally rang. Lizzy approached the counter, yearbook tucked under her arm, and waited to be noticed. After a moment she cleared her throat. Louise glanced up vacantly through steamy glasses, as if surprised to find an adult standing in her lunchroom. Her brow wrinkled as their eyes met, but there was no flicker of recollection as far as Lizzy could tell.

“Mrs. Ryerson, you probably don’t remember me, but I was a student here a long time ago. My name is—”

“Lizzy Moon,” she said, her face lighting up. “You’re Althea’s granddaughter.”

“Yes, that’s right.”

“I heard you were back. So sad about your grandmother.”

Lizzy smiled benignly. “Thank you. I was wondering if we could talk.”

“Talk?”

“I have some questions you might be able to help me with. I promise I won’t take up much of your time. If we could just sit down for a few minutes . . .” She paused as a woman with hair the color of Mercurochrome walked by with an armload of dirty trays, then continued in a lower voice. “I think you might be able to help me.”

Louise nodded blankly as she peeled off her food-service gloves and tossed them aside. “All right then, if it won’t take long. We can sit over here.”

Lizzy followed her to one of the long lunch tables and settled across from her. “Thank you for doing this. I’d like to talk about the Gilman sisters.”

The corners of Louise’s mouth turned down. She’d changed surprisingly little over the years. Her puff of hair was nearly white now, and the lines on either side of her mouth had deepened, but her hairnet was still in place, and her face was still kind.

“Such a shame. That poor mother. And your grandmother. What this town put her through—an absolute travesty.”

“Yes,” Lizzy said, eager to get to the point. “Which is why I’m here. I know it’s a long shot, but I’d like to find out what really happened if I can, and I think talking to some of Heather’s friends might help me do that. The trouble is I don’t know their names, or how to contact them. I was hoping you might be able to help me there.” She paused, sliding the yearbook over to Louise’s side of the table. “I brought this. I thought pictures might help.”

She opened the book to the tenth-grade section, scanning the photos until she found what she was looking for—Heather showing just a hint of dimple as she smiled for the camera. “This is Heather,” she told Louise. “Could you look at the pictures and see if anyone else jumps out at you? Someone who might have been her friend? A boy, maybe?”

Louise looked at the yearbook, then back at Lizzy. “That’s been a long time ago now.”

“I know, but could you at least look?”

“I suppose I could try.”

Louise pulled off her glasses and gave them a wipe, then returned them to her nose and bent her head to the open yearbook. Lizzy sat with her hands pressed between her knees, silent but alert for even the faintest flicker of recognition.

It took nearly twenty minutes, but Louise finally reached the last page. She closed the book with a shake of her head. “I’m sorry. No.”

“No?” Lizzy did her best to hide her disappointment. “No one looks familiar?”

“There’s not a face that jumps out at me, except that Gilman girl’s. And yours, of course. You were always such a pretty thing. Still are. But that’s not why you came, is it, to hear me go on about you being pretty?”

Lizzy shook her head.

Louise met her gaze squarely, her expression one of genuine sympathy. “I know how badly you must want to get at the truth, and I wish I could help. Truly, I do. But after so many years, the faces blend together. The only reason I recognize that poor girl now is because her face was all over the news, along with her sister’s. As for names, I was never any good with those.”

“But you always remembered my name,” Lizzy protested. “You remembered it today.”

“Ahh . . .” Louise smiled, leaning in as if to share a great secret. “But you were never one to blend in. Even then, you were your own girl.”

Lizzy wasn’t sure how to respond. Louise had meant the words kindly, but to someone who’d spent her entire scholastic career trying to blend into the scenery, the news that she had failed so completely wasn’t exactly welcome. She managed a smile as she reached into her purse for pen and paper.