“You sounded almost happy just then.”

Rhanna shrugged. “It wasn’t all bad.”

“Not all of it, no.”

The silence spooled out. They sipped their coffee. “I didn’t make it easy for you, did I?” Rhanna asked finally.

“No. You didn’t.”

“Is that why you left Salem Creek, because you were ashamed? Of me?”

Lizzy lifted her chin a notch, unwilling to concede the point. “I left to go to school, like I was always going to do. But you were a big part of why I stayed gone. The damage you did—the wreckage you left in your wake. You made sure there was nothing left to come back to.”

Rhanna nodded, accepting the words as truth. “I never meant to.”

Lizzy tilted her head to one side, trying to read her face. “Was that your idea of an apology?”

“Would you believe me if I said yes? If I fell down on my knees right now and asked you to forgive all the terrible things I’ve done, would you buy a word of it? Or would you think I was just saying it to say it?”

“There’s history, Rhanna. That makes it hard.”

“I know that.” She wandered to the end of the worktable, quiet as she scanned the array of bottles and jars scattered over its surface, the FedEx box and discarded Bubble Wrap. “What’s all this?” she asked, waving a finger.

“Just some supplies I ordered.”

“Colloidal oatmeal, shea butter, lye.” Her head came up. “You’re making soap?”

Lizzy nodded, surprised she’d put it together so quickly. “I brought some headache tea to a woman who works the lunch counter at Wilson’s. She told a friend. Now I’m making soap.”

“You could have said no.”

“They’re old customers of Althea’s. They stood by her when the rest of this town turned their backs. I felt like I owed them.”

Rhanna picked up the package of oatmeal, peered at the label, and put it back down. “I could help.”

The coffee. The chitchat. All at once, Lizzy understood. She was wrangling for more time. “We talked about this last night, Rhanna. I said one night.”

“Please, Lizzy.” Rhanna blinked several times, her gray eyes suddenly luminous with tears. “You can’t send me away. Not like this. Not until . . . well, I don’t know, really. I don’t even know why I’m here. I just know I had to come. I’ll be good. I promise. If I screw up, you can kick me out. And I’ll earn my keep. Let me help you make the soap.”

“Why?” Lizzy asked flatly. “Why now?”

“The women,” she said simply. “The ones who stuck by Althea—I owe them too. In fact, I owe a lot of people.”

Lizzy studied her, wary of this new, softer side. Was she sincere, or was this just a new act?

Help her find her way back if that’s what she wants.

“All right,” Lizzy said reluctantly. “For Althea’s sake.”

“But only that?”

Lizzy met her gaze without flinching. “It’s the best I can do.”

Rhanna nodded, accepting the response at face value. “Thank you. For saying yes, and for letting me in.”

“Tonight, after supper,” Lizzy replied coolly. “And I’m not doing it for you.”

TWENTY-FIVE

Andrew tossed down his drafting pencil and scrubbed a hand through his hair. He’d come into the office early, hoping to finish up the revisions for the Boston job. Two hours later, he’d barely made a dent. He was antsy and distracted, unable to settle into the work.

The construction out in the new CAD shop didn’t help matters. Dennis Hanley might be a hard worker, but he certainly wasn’t a quiet one. Not that there was a quiet way to hang drywall. Maybe he needed another cup of coffee. Or maybe he’d already had too much.

Or maybe he couldn’t knuckle down because he couldn’t get Lizzy’s face out of his head. The way she’d looked at him last night when she asked if he believed in ghosts—like her whole world hung on his answer. And he’d needed to earn his way back into her good graces after surprising her with Rhanna.

But what was he supposed to do, let the woman walk the last sixteen miles? He’d stopped at a Cumby for coffee and spotted her coming out of the restroom. He hadn’t recognized her at first. She was thinner than he remembered, almost wiry, her once-pale skin tanned to a deep shade of caramel. It was the guitar slung across her back that cinched it. That and the fact that she’d looked so astonishingly like Lizzy when she turned around.

She had seemed startled when he called her by name, almost puzzled. But then who could blame her after trekking nearly three thousand miles across country? She’d recovered quickly enough when he introduced himself, and had even pretended to remember him, though he was quite sure she didn’t. Rhanna had always lived in a world of her own, detached and rebellious, as if the rules that governed the rest of the world didn’t apply to her. She’d also been oblivious to the price her family—her daughter in particular—paid for her recklessness.

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.”