The Last of the Moon Girls(67)

But then the Moons were no strangers to talk. They did what they did, and were who they were, refusing to either confirm or deny the persistent bouts of rumor that shot up like weeds after a good rain. Down through the generations, one Moon at a time, the residents of Salem Creek had extracted their pound of flesh, and his gut told him they weren’t through. Not that he needed his gut. There was evidence. A shed burned to the ground. An effigy strung up in a tree. And a note.

Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live.

Just thinking about it made his temples throb. He got why Lizzy hadn’t wanted to make a big deal of it. And he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t awed by her commitment to clear Althea’s name. Which was why he’d backed down about involving the police after the doll incident. But the stakes changed when the orchard burned—for him as well as for Lizzy. Words, no matter how malicious, weren’t capable of actual harm. Fire was something else entirely.

Before he could change his mind, he picked up the phone. There’d be fallout, and he’d deserve every bit of it, but he’d just have to live with that.

He was on hold ten minutes before the police chief finally picked up. “This is Summers.”

“It’s Andrew Greyson.”

“Tom’s boy? Hey, I was sorry to hear about your dad. He was a good man. What can I do for you?”

“I wanted to touch base about the fire out at Moon Girl Farm, see if you had any information.” He saw no reason to mention his earlier conversation with Guy McCardle. “I know the investigators were out, and that they found what appeared to be two Molotov cocktails.”

“And how would you have heard that?” Summers asked gruffly. “We haven’t made it public yet.”

“I’m a friend of Lizzy Moon’s.”

“Are you now?”

Something about the way he’d phrased the response put Andrew’s hackles up. “Yes, I am. And I thought you should know about a threat Ms. Moon received a couple of weeks ago.”

“Related to the fire?”

“I have no way of knowing for sure, but the timing seems suspicious.”

“And what was the nature of this threat?”

“She found a doll hanging from the tree in her front yard.”

“A doll? That doesn’t sound very threatening.”

Andrew stuck a finger in one ear as the banging outside his office started again. “It wasn’t an actual doll,” he clarified, getting up to close the office door. “It was an effigy. It was hanging from a noose, with a note pinned to its throat.”

“So, not a doll. An eff . . . Sorry, what did you call it?”

“An effigy,” Andrew repeated more slowly than he probably needed to. “It means likeness. It was made of straw, and wearing one of those pointy black hats.”

Summers belted out a laugh. “Hey, that’s pretty good. Someone’s got a sense of humor.”

His laugh reminded Andrew of a braying mule, which he supposed was appropriate. The man had always been an ass. “You find that humorous?”

“Come on now, Greyson. I know you were away for a while, but you live right next door to them. You must have heard the talk.”

“What talk is that?”

Summers cleared his throat awkwardly, as if realizing he’d misjudged his audience. “You said something about a note.”

“Stuck to its throat, yes.”

“And do you plan to tell me what it said, or am I supposed to guess?”

Andrew breathed a sigh of relief when the hammering outside his office door abruptly ceased. “It was a Bible verse. From Exodus, I think. It said, Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live.”

There was the sound of a breath being expelled, though whether it had to do with surprise or suppressed laughter, Andrew couldn’t say. “Well now, that does sound . . . When did you say this happened?”

Now he had the old jackass’s attention. “A couple of weeks ago.”

“I don’t recall Ms. Moon filing a report. Now that I think of it, why am I talking to you about this instead of her? A complaint has to be filed by the actual victim.”

“I didn’t call to file a complaint. I called to find out if you had any leads on the fire, and fill you in on what’s been going on. Lizzy . . . Ms. Moon doesn’t know I’m calling.”

“That so?”

There it was again, that snarky tone that made Andrew want to drive down to the station and shake a few of the police chief’s teeth loose. “Yes, that’s so.”

“Mind if I ask what your interest is in all this? If Ms. Moon believes she’s in danger, why hasn’t she picked up the phone herself?”

“I have no idea. Maybe she was afraid you wouldn’t take her seriously.”

“I hope you’re not implying—”

“I’m not implying anything. I’m saying that over the years the Moons have been the target of some rather unfortunate pranks, most of which were written off as harmless. My concern is that this one is anything but harmless.”

“We have no way of knowing that.”

“Last time I checked, Molotov cocktails don’t just fall out of the sky. Someone has to throw them. Someone with an ax to grind.”

“And you think you know who that someone is?”