The Last of the Moon Girls(57)
“I’ll be right there.” McCardle closed his notepad and turned to Lizzy. “It appears our culprit was determined. Let’s hope he was careless as well.”
Lizzy nodded blankly, not sure how to respond.
“We should be able to wrap up our end of the investigation in a day or two, such as it is. Not much left of the structure. No witnesses. But until you’re notified that we’re through, I’d appreciate you steering clear of the area. It’s natural after something like this to want to clean up, but we don’t want to risk contamination until everything’s wrapped up and we’ve turned our information over to Salem Creek PD.”
“Of course, and thank you. If you don’t mind, I’m going to leave you to it.”
McCardle nodded curtly. “No worries. I know where to find you if I have any more questions.”
Evvie was out back when Lizzy returned, filling the water bowls she kept positioned around the yard so her bees would have plenty to drink. She closed the hose nozzle and looked up. “Well?”
“They found a broken bottle with a rag in it.”
“A torch?”
“Yes. Well, two, actually.”
Evvie threw down the hose with more force than was necessary, muttering something that might have been Creole as she dried her hands on her apron. “You’ll be calling the police now, I hope?” she said finally. “To tell them what’s going on?”
“I suspect the investigators will be doing that shortly, which means it’ll be all over town by tomorrow. There is one silver lining, though. If someone really is trying to scare me, it means I’m not the only one who’s scared.”
“Humph.” Evvie cocked an eye at her. “You say that like it’s a good thing.”
“Scared people make mistakes, Evvie.”
“They’re also dangerous.”
“They can be. But why set the orchard on fire when he could burn us all in our beds? Whoever is doing this is just looking to terrorize me, and sooner or later he’s going to slip up. When he does, we’ll finally get to the truth. Isn’t that what we want? The truth?”
Evvie poked out her lower lip, clearly unconvinced. “Truth won’t do you any good if you’re dead. I just lost your gran. I don’t want to be scattering your ashes next.”
Lizzy managed a smile she didn’t quite feel. If Evvie’s intention had been to send a chill down her spine, she’d been successful. “Well, the police and the fire department are both on it now, so it’s unlikely that you’ll have to worry about my ashes anytime soon. And at this point, I’m not even sure what my next move is. Right now, I’m going upstairs and filling the tub, where I plan to soak until I no longer smell like a chimney sweep. And then I’ll be heading to the kitchen to pour myself a hefty glass of wine and start the ratatouille. I’m in desperate need of some culinary therapy, and a night free of surprises.”
TWENTY-ONE
An hour and a half later, Lizzy was waterlogged but soot-free, and the investigators’ SUV was gone. In the kitchen, she opened a bottle of chardonnay and poured herself a glass, then pulled an eggplant, a green pepper, and several zucchini from the fridge. Cooking had always been a refuge for her, a calming, almost meditative act, and if there was anything she could do with just now, it was a little calm.
From the window over the sink, she could see the sun beginning to slide behind the treetops. The days were already growing shorter, the afternoon light taking on that soft, buttery hue that meant autumn wasn’t far off. Soon the trees would turn, and the hills would go gold. Pumpkins would appear on doorsteps, along with cornstalks and bright yellow mums. She’d be back in New York by then.
A knock on the front door cut the thought short. She waited, expecting to hear the scuff of Evvie’s UGGs. When she didn’t, she wiped her hands, grabbed a sip of wine, and headed for the foyer.
She was surprised to find Andrew on the front steps. “You’re back.”
“Yes.”
“How was Boston?”
“Good. It was . . . good.”
“Does that mean you got the job?”
“Yeah. Yeah, it does.”
Lizzy cocked her head to one side, studying him. He was acting strange—distracted and anxious. “Do you want to come in?”
“I’m uh . . .” He paused, shoving a hand through his hair. “I’m not alone.”
“Sorry?”
“I picked up a hitchhiker,” he said quietly. “Someone you know.” He turned to glance at his truck, parked halfway up the drive. “It’s your mother, Lizzy. She’s in the truck.”
A pall of white noise settled over Lizzy, like the thick, cottony quiet that surrounded you when you first took off in a plane, when the earth fell away and you seemed disconnected from the world, suspended between reality and whatever came next.
Her mother. In the truck.
It wasn’t possible.
But a glance over Andrew’s shoulder confirmed that there was, in fact, someone sitting in the passenger seat of his truck. Lizzy froze when the door opened and Rhanna climbed out. She was wearing a crocheted halter top and jeans worn to strings at the hem. A beaded purse slapped rhythmically against her hip as she advanced up the drive.