The so-called curse had produced the desired effect, emptying the shop in a matter of minutes. But there’d been undesired effects as well, like the police showing up to investigate a threat reported by a half dozen townspeople. In the end, nothing came of it. There were no laws on the books regarding curses, threatened or otherwise.
Word of the incident spread like a wildfire, and the outcry for something to be done about that Moon woman and her girls quickly swelled. The day after the vigil, Rhanna packed her van, pocketed Althea’s emergency cash from the stoneware jug on top of the fridge, and disappeared, leaving her mother and daughter to deal with the fallout.
And now, eight years later, one of those Moon girls was about to walk into the same shop and ask for change. The thought made Lizzy’s palms clammy. Perhaps she’d just risk the ticket. But that was ridiculous. Instead, she turned and made herself push through the door with its tinkling brass bells.
The shop hadn’t changed much over the years: black-and-white floor tiles, scarred bistro tables lined up along yellow walls, potted ferns suspended from macramé hangers. Lizzy scanned the chalkboard menu while she waited in line, but her gaze kept straying to the woman working the register. She wasn’t wearing a name badge, but she looked vaguely familiar.
Lizzy watched as she rang up the man ahead of her, barked out his order to the barista—maple scone and a half-caf macchiato for Brandon—then opened a roll of quarters while he slid into the pickup line. She was still fumbling with the change wrapper when she closed the register and finally looked up. “What can I get for you, hon?” Her smile wavered, the crumpled coin wrapper in her fist forgotten. “Lizzy Moon . . . It is Lizzy, isn’t it?”
Lizzy squared her shoulders, trying to read the woman’s expression. Was it fear? Disdain? In the end she decided it didn’t matter. “Yes, it’s Lizzy.”
The woman’s face softened. “I heard you were back. I was so sorry to hear about your grandmother passing. She was a fine lady. A fine, fine lady.”
“I’m sorry,” Lizzy said, flustered at this unexpected show of kindness. “I thought you looked familiar, but I don’t remember your name.”
“I’m Judith Shrum. I was a customer of your grandmother’s. Always knew just how to fix me up. Good as any doctor, if you ask me.” She leaned forward, dropping her voice to a whisper. “All those busybodies flapping their yaps about those poor girls. They had no idea what they were talking about. Anyone who knew Althea Moon—I mean really knew her—knew she wasn’t capable of such a thing. Even their mother knew it.”
Lizzy seized on Judith’s words. “Mrs. Gilman?”
“Susan. Yes, poor thing. We were friends, though we don’t see each other much since she moved. Not that I blame her. She had a hard time of it. She told me once that she never felt right about what people were saying about your grandmother, how it just never sat with her. It seemed like—” She went quiet as a girl in a smudged apron and Brewed Awakening T-shirt sidled past with a spray bottle and cloth, resuming only when she was sure the girl was out of earshot. “It always seemed to me like she had her own ideas about what happened.”
“What . . . kind of ideas?”
Judith shrugged. “She never said. It’s only a feeling I had. And then one day she just stopped talking about it. Stopped talking about everything, really. Like she’d tuned out the whole world. Again, not that I blame her. I did wonder, though, if her going quiet had to do with Fred. Bit of a bully, that one. I was sad when she moved, but I’m glad she’s away from him.”
Lizzy peered over her shoulder, relieved to find that there was no one lined up behind her. “Do you still see her?”
Judith shook her head wistfully. “No, but we still talk. She lives in Peabody now. She’s a hairdresser. Doing all right for herself too. She was seeing someone last time we spoke, which made me glad. She deserves some happiness after everything, a fresh start with fresh memories.”
Lizzy nodded. She understood better than most that sometimes a fresh start meant leaving a place. She also knew how hard it could be to look old memories in the eye. Was it fair to force herself into Susan Gilman’s world, to rip the scab off a wound that might finally be healing? She’d made that mistake with Susan’s ex, and it hadn’t gone well. But if she passed along her cell number by way of Judith Shrum, the decision would be Susan’s to make. Perhaps the years had rendered her more willing to share her ideas about the fate of her daughters.
An hour and a half later, Lizzy left Chuck Bundy’s office with a virtually untouched vanilla latte and a throbbing pain behind her right eye. As expected, the prospects for an easy sale were far from rosy, though he’d been careful to remind her several times throughout their conversation that he was speaking only in hypotheticals as it related to her particular property.
She’d gotten a crash course in real estate, learning the many pitfalls inherent in the sale of distressed properties, and how price could vary wildly based on the number of comparable listings currently on the market. When asked about the possibility of a quick sale, he’d been coolly evasive, suggesting they set up a time for him to come out and look around. Once he knew what he was dealing with, he’d give her a list of options, and they’d come up with a battle plan.
In the meantime, he’d given her some homework: documents she needed to locate; calls she needed to make; forms she’d
