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.
Lizzy watched as he disappeared down the drive, unable to shake the stench of him. Or the hard glint in his eyes when he’d looked at her. There might be a tattoo parlor and a brand-new café downtown, but Dennis Hanley’s snub made it clear that some things in Salem Creek would never change.
She was still scowling when she spotted Evvie prowling what remained of the vegetable garden in her faded chintz apron. The garden was nothing like it used to be, but it had fared better than much of the farm, and still boasted a decent selection of berries and vegetables.
Evvie dropped a fistful of string beans into her apron pocket and looked up, appraising Lizzy through narrowed eyes. “You look like someone ran over your best pig.”
Lizzy scowled at her. “I look like . . . what?”
“It’s something my daddy used to say. It means down in the mouth. I take it things didn’t go well with the chief.”
“That’s one way to put it. Apparently, the case was closed years ago, and he has no intention of reopening it. His exact words were sometimes justice takes care of itself.”
Evvie’s expression hardened. “How did you leave it?”
“I told him I was going to do a
