The market was relatively quiet. Lizzy wandered the aisles, picking up enough to get her through the next few days at Andrew’s, then turned down the household aisle. A Google search on how to clean up fingerprint dust had suggested microfiber cloths and a multipurpose cleaner with ammonia. She grabbed several of both, then headed for the checkout, eager to get back to her work in the barn before tackling the mess in the house.

Unfortunately, there was only one cashier working, and three people already in line. Lizzy scanned the tabloid headlines to pass the time, played peekaboo with the sticky-faced toddler in the cart in front of her, browsed the display of gum and mints. Finally, the mother of the toddler paid for her groceries and told her son to wave goodbye to the pretty lady.

Lizzy fumbled in her purse for her debit card while the cashier scanned her items. About halfway through, the woman looked up. Her hand stilled, her pasted-on smile slipping as she locked eyes with Lizzy. Her hair was different, pulled back in a lank ponytail, and she was wearing a heavy layer of foundation, but there was no mistaking the woman who, a few weeks back, had given her a chilly once-over from the customer service desk. Lizzy glanced at her name badge—Helen.

Helen dropped her gaze and resumed her work, avoiding eye contact until it was time to collect her money. “Thirty-seven twenty-six is your total.”

Lizzy slid her debit card into the reader, tapped in her PIN, then waited for Helen to bag her order. Getting the cold shoulder wasn’t new, but her nerves were still raw after the events of the last twenty-four hours, and it irked more than usual.

“Have a nice day,” Lizzy huffed as she lifted the pair of paper bags into her arms. She didn’t realize Helen had stepped from behind the checkout until they collided, dislodging a pair of peaches from one of the bags and sending them skittering across the floor.

Before Lizzy could bend down to retrieve them, Helen beat her to the punch. She met Lizzy’s gaze squarely as she dropped the peaches back into her bag, her brown eyes flat and unblinking. “You should be more careful, Ms. Moon. I’d feel awful if you ended up getting hurt.”

Lizzy gaped at her, preparing to point out that it was she who had caused the collision, and not the other way around, but something in Helen’s gaze brought her up short. The seconds stretched, awkward and bristling, until Lizzy finally stepped around her and headed for the door.

In the car, she replayed the incident as she pulled out into traffic, wondering if she’d misread the look on Helen’s face, and overreacted in the wake of her recent run-in with Fred Gilman. There’d been nothing inherently threatening about Helen’s words. Quite the opposite, in fact. She’d merely warned her to be more careful.

Warned.

The word sent a chill through her. Was it possible Helen had smashed into her on purpose, manufacturing an opportunity to speak to her? Or was she simply being paranoid because a man with a knife had crept into her kitchen last night?

At the next traffic signal, Lizzy made a U-turn and headed back to the market. She parked near the entrance and left her purse on the seat. She was probably about to make a complete fool of herself, but she didn’t care. It wouldn’t be the first time a Moon had made a public spectacle of herself.

She was nearly to the door when Helen came out, almost causing a repeat of their earlier collision. Lizzy froze, her hastily rehearsed words suddenly caught in her throat. Helen stared at her, wide-eyed and mute as the seconds ticked by, her hands clamped so tight around her purse strap that her knuckles blanched white. After a moment she seemed to collect herself and stepped to her left. Lizzy checked her, then checked her again when she tried to change direction.

“A little while ago, when you bumped into me, you said I should be careful, and that you’d feel terrible if I ended up getting hurt. What did you mean?”

“Nothing,” Helen shot back, eyes lowered. “I didn’t mean anything.”

“Was it a threat? Were you threatening me?”

“Please. Leave me alone. Leave all of it alone.”

“All what?”

Helen shook her head, as if trying to shut Lizzy out. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“I’m not going anywhere until you tell me what you meant when you said I should be careful.”

“Please,” Helen murmured hoarsely. Her eyes skittered over Lizzy’s shoulder, her face suddenly chalky beneath her too-dark foundation. “I don’t need any trouble. I only wanted . . .”

Lizzy saw it then, the purple-green shadow along Helen’s jawline, not quite hidden beneath the heavy makeup. “Your face—”

Helen cut her off with an almost imperceptible shake of the head. Seconds later, Lizzy heard footsteps and turned.

Dennis Hanley stood glowering behind her, holding a little girl with hair the color of corn silk in his arms. Her face was a mirror of her mother’s, pale and heart shaped, but her yellow-blonde hair was all Hanley. Helen. Of course. Andrew had mentioned her name once, when Hollis came up in conversation.

“Mommy!” The child held out both arms, trying to launch herself out of her uncle’s grasp. “Want Mommy!”

Helen managed a smile as she reached for her daughter, but Dennis stepped away, keeping the child just out of reach. He turned to Lizzy, an eye cocked against the afternoon sun. “Something you need?”

Lizzy felt her spine stiffen, an instinctive and visceral recoiling. He was wearing a long white coat smeared with what looked like dried blood, and there was another smear on the side of his neck. The stench of blood came off him in waves, so thick she could nearly taste it. Salty. Coppery. Sharp. He was glaring at her over the top of the child’s head, still waiting for a response.

Helen rushed in to fill the gap. “I was just apologizing. I wasn’t watching where I was going when I came out just now, and we sort of collided.”

Dennis’s eyes never left Lizzy’s face. “That right?”

Lizzy did her best to look sheepish. “It was actually me who wasn’t looking where I was going. Sorry. I’ve always been a bit of a klutz.”

Helen was about to reply when Dennis silenced her with a look. He jerked his head toward the parking lot, where a rust-riddled Bronco sat with the driver’s door open. “Time to go.”

Helen moved to his side like a dog to heel, leaning in to drop a kiss on her daughter’s pale head. Her bruised jaw glinted in the sunlight, a bull’s-eye of purples and greens, and Lizzy found herself unable to look away. Helen must have sensed her gaze because she ducked her head, a brief but telling gesture. She was ashamed. Someone—almost certainly Dennis—had hurt her, and she was ashamed. The thought sickened Lizzy.

She watched as they walked away, Helen lagging a step behind. She turned her head briefly before climbing into the Bronco. For an instant, their eyes met. A plea or a warning? Lizzy couldn’t be sure.

THIRTY-EIGHT

Lizzy’s first impulse on the drive home was to call Andrew and tell him Dennis Hanley was battering his sister-in-law and should be fired immediately. But did she know that for sure? That Helen was afraid couldn’t be denied. She’d caught the faint tinge of urine on her breath—an ammonia-like odor she’d always registered as fear. And the bruise on her face was real enough. But did the two necessarily add up to assault?

There was no sign of Andrew’s truck as she pulled up, either in her driveway or his. Inside, she found a pair of shiny silver keys on the kitchen counter, along with a note.

Mudroom door lock has been replaced. Off to Boston—A.G.

Lizzy read the note several times. It was hard to ignore the clipped tone, the use of initials—first and last—instead of his name. Cool. Distant. But that was what she wanted, wasn’t it—distance? She considered calling him, running her suspicions about Dennis by him, but if she was serious about closing the door between them, he couldn’t be her first phone call every time something went wrong. If she was determined not to want him, she wasn’t allowed to need him.

Resolved, she began unpacking her groceries, separating what she would take to Andrew’s, and what would stay. Her stomach rumbled as she pulled out a parcel wrapped in white deli paper and opened it. She rolled a piece of swiss cheese and clamped it between her teeth, then rolled another. She hadn’t eaten since Andrew’s scrambled eggs this morning.

Had that really been only this morning?

She pushed the thought aside, focusing on her to-do list instead. It was a little after three. If she played her cards right, she could spend an hour in the barn, then another hour or two scrubbing fingerprint dust, and still make it to Andrew’s by dark. It would feel strange sleeping alone in Andrew’s bed, an uncomfortable reminder of just how careless she’d been with his feelings—and her own. But the truth was, she was still a little jumpy after last night.

She was rewrapping the cheese when she paused. Something—what was it—had caught her attention. Something she should be noticing or remembering. She looked down at the deli paper she’d been refolding with a sudden flash of clarity. Not art paper. Butcher paper. The kind that might be used at a meatpacking plant.

On impulse, she tore off a small square and held it to the light. Heavy but not expensive. No watermark. She closed her eyes, remembering words scrawled in red crayon.