“Then you won’t mind if I do a little asking around on my own, about what people may remember from that time?”

“As a matter of fact, I do mind.” He was simmering now, throwing off the scent of hot metal as he struggled to tamp down his anger. “This town was turned upside down when those girls disappeared. It was like a circus. Media crawling all over the place, talking about serial killers and god knows what else. It was five years before you could sell a piece of property in this town. And don’t pretend you don’t know what I mean, because we both know you do. Call it superstition, but when people get a whiff of that sort of thing, they run the other way. It’s taken years, but things are finally back to normal around here, and I don’t need you poking your nose in, stirring up things folks would just as soon forget.”

“And what about the Gilmans? How do you think they feel, knowing whoever killed their daughters is walking free? Do you honestly think they give a damn about their property values?”

“I assure you, Miss Moon, if I could have brought a case against the killer, I would have done so years ago. I understand your stake in all of this, but it’s pointless now, isn’t it? Your grandmother’s gone, and so are those girls. And nothing you or anyone else does is going to bring them back. Sometimes justice takes care of itself. Why not do us all a favor and leave the dead buried?”

It took everything Lizzy had not to fly at him. He’d as good as admitted that Althea had done him a favor by dying, bringing things to a tidy end. And maybe it had ended for him. But it hadn’t for her. “I’d like to speak to the detective in charge of the case.”

Summers let out a sigh, clearly weary of the conversation. “As I’ve already stated, the case was closed years ago. As for Roger Coleman, he left the department a few years back. Bit of an odd bird, Coleman. Pot stirrer, some would say. I don’t think anyone’s heard from him since he moved away.”

“Moved away where?”

Summers shrugged. “No idea. He stopped being my problem the day he turned in his badge. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a luncheon with Mayor Cavanaugh. He’s retiring after seventeen years, and I’d like to pay my respects.”

He was reaching for the door when Lizzy stopped him. It was a long shot, but she had to ask. “I don’t suppose you’d let me look at the case file?”

“You suppose correctly.” He nodded then, coolly polite, and was gone.

Lizzy didn’t realize she was trembling until she got back behind the wheel. Summers had been about as helpful as expected, and twice as loathsome, but she hadn’t come away empty-handed. She had a name—Roger Coleman. Now all she needed to do was find him.

Her cell phone went off as she pulled out of the parking lot. Luc. She clicked the hands-free to answer. “What’s up?”

“I was going to ask you the same thing. How’s it going?”

“It’s going.”

“When are you coming back?”

“I just got here.”

“I know. I just figured you’d be itching to get out of there.” He chuckled dryly. “Ghosts of your past, and all that.”

Lizzy blew out a breath. Ghosts indeed.

“There’s been a development, Luc. Two, actually. This trip might end up taking a little longer than I expected. Apparently, the house needs a ton of work. According to Andrew, I’ll be lucky to sell it at all.”

“Who’s Andrew?”

“A neighbor, and a friend of my grandmother’s. He’s also an architect. He rattled off a list of repairs as long as my arm. I’m not sure how I’m going to swing any of it.”

“So don’t. Knock it all down and be done with it. You can sell it as unimproved property. Plus the taxes go down. Boom, problem solved.”

Problem solved? Selling the farm was one thing. Razing it to the ground was something else entirely. “I grew up here!”

“And if I remember correctly, you couldn’t wait to leave.”

His response chafed. Not just his words, but the callous way he’d flung them at her. “You don’t have a sentimental bone in your body, do you?”

“I never claimed to. It’s part of my charm. But while we’re on the subject of sentiment, Andrew the Architect wouldn’t happen to be one of the developments, would he?”

The question took Lizzy by surprise. “Why would you ask that?”

“Just curious.” There was a long pause, the sound of desk drawers opening and closing, and then finally, as an afterthought: “I miss you.”

“No, you don’t.”

“How do you know?”

“You just told me you didn’t have a sentimental bone in your body.”

Luc conceded the point by changing the subject. “You didn’t answer the question. This Andrew who’s being so helpful—are we talking old flame or what?”

“No, we’re not. He’s just someone I used to know. He’s doing some work for my grandmother.”

“Your grandmother’s dead.”

Lizzy bit back a sigh. “It’s a long story, and I really don’t feel like getting into it now.”

“Fine. Just as long as he’s not thinking of poaching my new creative director. You mentioned a second development, and you’ve assured me it isn’t Andrew. So what is it?”

Lizzy bit her lip, kicking herself for not having been more guarded. What was she supposed to say? I’m trying to clear my grandmother of murder? “It’s nothing,” she said finally. “Just some legal stuff I need to clean up.” Okay, so not a complete lie. Technically, a double murder did qualify as legal stuff. “Like I said, it might take longer than I thought.”

“Are we talking days? Weeks?”

“I don’t know. But I have some time saved up, and I’m going to need to use it.”

Luc was silent a moment. Lizzy could hear the steady tap-tap of his pen on the desk, his go-to gesture when annoyed. “I think you need to keep all this in perspective,” he said finally. “Just do what you need to do and get out of there. I promise it’ll be a relief when it’s over, like closing one chapter so a new one can begin.”

Lizzy’s knuckles went white as she tightened her grip on the steering wheel. “Is that how you felt when your mother died? Relieved?”

More silence. More tapping. “People die, babe. It’s a fact of life. There’s no reason to feel guilty about selling something that belongs to you. Get on with it, and come home.”

Maybe it was the way he insisted on calling her babe, when she’d asked him a hundred times to stop, or his complete lack of empathy, but Lizzy suddenly needed to end the call. Now, before she said something she couldn’t take back. “Look, I need to go. I’m in the car and traffic is crazy.”

“Lizzy—”

“I’ll call you when I know more.”

EIGHT

Lizzy was still stewing over her conversation with Luc when she turned into the drive and spotted a white utility pickup parked near the top. The words ANDREW GREYSON, ARCHITECT were emblazoned on both doors. She remembered Andrew saying he had ordered some wood for the barn. Presumably, he’d come to deliver it. She shielded her eyes as she climbed out of the car, scanning the property for a glimpse of him. Instead, she spotted a man in worn gray coveralls coming toward her.

He was tall and burly, and looked vaguely familiar. Lizzy racked her brain, finally coming up with a name. Or at least a last name. The Hanleys had been neighbors once upon a time, their land bordering Moon Girl Farm to the north. Not that they’d ever been a particularly neighborly family. Especially the old man, who drank heavily and was rarely seen in town.

There’d been two boys—Hollis and Dennis—a year apart in age and thick as thieves. She’d never known them well enough to tell them apart, but if she were guessing, she’d say it was Dennis—the older brother—now coming toward her. He hadn’t changed much over the years. A bit thicker through the neck, perhaps, but his hair was still the color of young corn, his eyes the same unsettling pale blue.

Lizzy offered a polite wave as he approached. Hanley ignored the gesture as he marched past, leaving a pungent sillage of copper, salt, and stagnant water in his wake, like a mud flat at low tide. How was it possible no one else smelled it? She took shallow breaths as she watched him gather up an armful of lumber, presumably for the barn repairs Andrew was planning.

She forced a smile as he hoisted a half dozen two-by-fours up onto his shoulder. “If you tell me how much I owe you, I’ll write you a check.”

Hanley shot her a glare, sidestepping her again. “Didn’t send no invoice. Just told me to drop the stuff off.”

Lizzy watched as he headed back to the barn and dumped the wood onto the existing pile in front of the door. He was huffing by the time he returned. She waited for some sort of acknowledgment that he was through. Instead, he slammed the tailgate, climbed into the truck, and left her standing in a cloud of dust.