The Last of the Moon Girls(87)

Lizzy sank back in her chair. “It’s all been in the papers.”

“Did he threaten you? I mean actually threaten you?”

“Not in so many words, no. But it’s what he meant. I could smell it coming off of him.”

“You could . . . smell it?”

Lizzy pushed out a sigh, wishing she’d been more careful with her words. “It’s a thing I have,” she said quietly. “The way my brain’s wired, I guess. I can smell what people are feeling, and he was definitely feeling rage.”

Andrew nodded, absorbing this new information. “What does rage smell like?”

“Putrid. Like something was eating away at him. And he wanted me to know it. Why else would he remind me that his first wife died in a fire? Should I go to the police?”

“That’s an option, though I’m not sure it’s the most effective one. Without an explicit threat, there’s not much the police can do. There are laws about making threats, but it’s perfectly legal to be a bastard.”

“Doesn’t it matter that I felt threatened?”

“To the police? I don’t know. But it matters to me.” He clicked off his desk lamp and grabbed his phone and keys from the desk. “Go home. I’ll call you later.”

“Where are you going?”

“To pay Mr. Gilman a visit. I don’t expect him to admit anything, but he’ll damn sure know I’m watching.”





THIRTY-THREE

Andrew looked up in time to see the traffic light go yellow. He stomped on the gas, gunning through the intersection, then caught himself. Perhaps a better use of his drive time would be to make a list of reasons not to throttle Fred Gilman senseless. Jail, for instance. Except, for every con he managed to come up with, he came up with two perfectly valid pros.

An ax.

The bastard had threatened Lizzy while holding an ax. A fact he’d be addressing as soon as he had Gilman in front of him. He didn’t have an exact address, but he knew the trailer park where Gilman lived, and knew his puke-green Subaru. It might take a few turns through the park, but he’d find him. And when he did—

A goddamn ax.

He’d been more than a little surprised to find Lizzy hovering in his office doorway. After their aborted kiss last night, he’d expected her to keep her distance, although the more he thought about it, the more convinced he was that distance was actually the best thing for both of them. He’d laid his cards on the table, or had come pretty close to it. Lizzy had laid hers out too, making it crystal clear that her future plans didn’t include him—or anyone else, for that matter. Safe was what she wanted, a life without complications.

He got it. He did. But he didn’t have to like it.

The sign for Meadow Park loomed just ahead on the left. He turned in, winding through the maze of short streets until he found what he was looking for.

He swung into the driveway behind Fred Gilman’s Subaru and cut the engine, but remained behind the wheel, grappling with his anger. He needed to be able to string together a coherent sentence when the man answered the door, to make it plain that Lizzy Moon was strictly off limits, and decide whether the guy was simply a bully or posed an actual threat.

After a series of deep breaths, he got out of the car, mounted the steps to Gilman’s front door, and knocked three times. A moment later the door eased back.

“Yes?”

Andrew stood there blinking, trying to reconcile the grizzled, stubbled man staring back at him with the Fred Gilman he used to know. He’d been a tough guy back in the day, the kind who wore his anger close to the surface, but the man standing before him looked like a good gust of wind might flatten him.

“Fred Gilman?”

“Who’s asking?”

The yeasty pong of beer floated through the open door, along with a host of other smells Andrew preferred not to identify. He resisted the urge to take a step back. “I am.”

“Do I know you?”

“I’m Andrew Greyson. You knew my father.”

“Right. Right. Owned the hardware store before Ben bought it. I was just there today.”

“You were,” Andrew replied curtly. “Which is why I’m here. I’m a friend of Lizzy Moon’s.”

Gilman’s mouth hardened. “Go away.”

Andrew checked him, wedging a boot between the door and the jamb before he could slam the door in his face. “Not until I’ve said what I came here to say.”

“You’ve got nothing to say to me.”

“I do, and you’re going to listen. Unless you’d rather I say it to the police? I’m guessing you wouldn’t, though.” He paused, waiting for a response. When none came, he continued. “You confronted her today in the parking lot—holding an ax. You scared her.”

“Scaring’s what she needs.”

Andrew’s pulse ticked up. “You think so?”

Gilman puffed out his chest. “Damn right I do. Coming back after all these years, poking her nose where it doesn’t belong. She deserves everything she gets, and then some.”

“And you think it’s your job to make sure that happens, right? That’s why you got in her face today?”

“I went to buy an ax and some rope, to help a friend take down a tree, and there she was, walking around the store bold as brass.”