“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?”

“I don’t. But I’m sure you remember Lizzy coming to see you. She asked you to take another look at the Gilman case. When you shot her down, she decided to take matters into her own hands. She’s been asking questions. My guess is she’s making someone uncomfortable.”

“I warned her not to stir the pot.”

“That’s your response? You warned her?”

“Greyson, this is the first I’m hearing about this. You can’t expect me to act on something I didn’t know about.”

“No, but you know about it now. That’s why I called. To make sure you did know—so there aren’t any excuses down the road.”

There was a long pause. Andrew waited, imagining all the things Summers wanted to say, and wondering if he was stupid enough to go there. “I’ll send someone around to get a statement from her,” he grumbled finally. “That make you happy?”

“Happy? No, I’m not happy. She’ll have my head when she finds out I called you, but I’m less concerned with that than I am with someone getting hurt.”

Andrew stared at the phone after hanging up. He was going to have to go talk to Lizzy now—in person—and tell her what he’d done. And unless he missed his guess, it wasn’t going to go well. But it would go less well if the police managed to beat him to her door.

He was dropping his phone into his shirt pocket with one hand and digging in his pants pocket for his truck keys with the other, when he nearly fell over Dennis hovering outside his office door. Startled, he held up a hand. “Sorry, man, I didn’t expect you to be there. I need to take off for a while.”

Dennis acknowledged him with the barest of nods. He was studying the blade on his rotary saw, head bent so that the brim of his Red Sox cap hid most of his face. He’d always been a bit of a misfit, always watching but never having much to say. He was a decent enough worker, though. And it was hard to fault a guy who took a second job to help feed his dead brother’s kid.

“I shouldn’t be long,” he told Dennis. “I’m just running out to the Moon place. Lock up if I’m not back before you break for lunch.”

Dennis put down his saw and looked up. His face was covered with white dust, giving him an eerily skeletal appearance. “Hope to hell you’re bringing your cross.”

Andrew stiffened, already disliking where this was going. “My cross?”

“You know what folks say—that they’re . . . you know . . . spooks. Witches.”

Andrew silently counted to ten. “You’re a little old to be afraid of witches, Dennis.”

“You’re not? Not even a little?”

“If we’re talking cauldrons and black cats, then no, I’m not. What I am afraid of are people who believe silly rumors, and pass them off as truth.”

“Come on, man. Even their name’s weird. Moon? You gotta admit there’s something creepy about them. Especially the younger one. She’s been nothing but trouble since she came back. Slinking around town, talking about those dead girls, like folks don’t remember whose pond they came out of. Takes nerve, that’s for sure.”

Andrew stared at him, trying to keep a lid on his temper. “After what this town put her family through, it was coming back at all that took nerve.”

Dennis seemed to sense that he’d crossed the line. He pulled off his cap, smoothing his yellow hair repeatedly. “She’s wasting her time is all I’m saying. Everyone knows what happened to those girls, and dragging it all up again isn’t going to change anybody’s mind.”

Andrew was holding his keys so tightly he could feel them bite into his palm. Lizzy had warned him about repercussions if he came to her defense. He didn’t care then, and he didn’t care now. “No one knows who killed Heather and Darcy Gilman, Dennis. Not you. Not the police. Not even Lizzy. I’d appreciate you remembering that—and keeping your opinions to yourself.”

“I’m just saying—”

“Don’t,” Andrew said, in a tone that felt ominous even to him. “Don’t say anything. Not if you want to keep working for me.”

TWENTY-SIX

The pungent aroma of vinegar assaulted Lizzy as she walked into the kitchen. Evvie was at the window, cleaning the glass with a spray bottle and a rumpled sheet of the Chronicle.

“There’s a sandwich for you in the icebox. One for your mother too, if she’s still here. I haven’t seen her since this morning.”

“She’s been with me, in the shop. She showed up with two cups of coffee, and told me she’d been out to the orchard.”

Evvie put down her spray bottle. “What was she doing out in the orchard?”

“Getting a vibe, apparently. She knows the fire was set on purpose.”

“How much did you tell her?”

“I told her about the torches. She’d hear it sooner or later. But I don’t want her to know I’ve been asking around about the murders, or that the fire might be related. I don’t need her flipping out, and I can’t babysit her the whole time she’s here.” Lizzy paused, not sure how Evvie was going to take the next bit of news. “She’s going to be staying awhile. I don’t know how long. We’re going to play it by ear.”

Evvie shrugged. “Your mother. Your house.” She tipped her head to one side, looking at Lizzy closely. “So how is it? Seeing her after all this time?”

Lizzy considered the question, sifting through the emotions of the last twenty-four hours. “It’s . . . hard,” she said finally. “I look at her, and I’m so angry. Then I think, How is she any different from me? We both left. We were both gone when Althea died, and we both came back too late. It’s the same.”

“It’s not,” Evvie snapped. “Not by a long shot. You were running toward your dreams, to who you wanted to be. Your mama was running away from the mess she made. Where is she, by the way?”

Lizzy hiked a shoulder. “Who knows? She said she was going for a walk. She was acting so . . . I don’t know what. Weird.”

Evvie’s eyes narrowed. “Weird how?”

“I’m not sure. I never thought of her as deep—she was always so wide open—but that’s what it felt like. Or maybe she was just playing me. We were talking about the mural she painted on the side of the barn, and all of a sudden she was talking about when she was a kid here, and how the sky used to look at twilight. I’ve never heard her talk like that, like she actually cared about something. I didn’t even know that was possible.”

“And now that you do know?”

Lizzy shook her head slowly. “I don’t know. When I saw her get out of Andrew’s truck, it was like someone punched me in the chest and all the air went out of me. All I could think was, Here we go again. After everything she put us through, all the heartache she caused, she shows up out of nowhere, pretending to give a damn, and I’m supposed to what? Take her at her word and welcome her with open arms? I can’t. Not after the way she left.”

A series of short raps on the front door kept Evvie from responding. She dropped the wad of damp newspaper in the sink and grabbed a towel to wipe her hands. “Probably the pamphlet pushers again. I’ll go.”

A moment later she was back. “It’s the police. They want to talk to you.”

Lizzy went to the door, where a pair of uniformed officers were waiting on the stoop.

“Can I help you?”

“I’m Sergeant Woodruff,” the taller of the two said crisply. “This is Sergeant Grainger. We’re responding to a call about a doll and some sort of threat. Are you Elzibeth Moon?”

Lizzy jerked her head around at Evvie, who was now hovering within hearing range. She cocked an eye at Lizzy, then put up a hand. “Wasn’t me.”

Lizzy believed her. But who? It couldn’t have been Rhanna. She didn’t know about the doll. Which left . . . She’d kill him.

“May I ask who made the call?” she asked with a too-polite smile.

“I’m sorry, ma’am. I don’t actually have that information. We’d like to speak with you if we could, and take a look at the doll and note if you still have them, to get a feel for what we’re dealing with.”