No one was really surprised that Rhanna turned out to be a problem. She’d shown her colors early on. Troubled, the guidance counselor at Salem Creek High had labeled her in her freshman year. Disruptive and a handful. In her sophomore year she quit school to become a folk singer, only to turn up pregnant a few months later. There’d been a fresh round of whispers when she handed the baby off to Althea to raise. But it was her grand finale at the coffee shop that had left the entire town slack-jawed.
The last thing Lizzy needed was a repeat performance of her mother’s greatest hits. And that’s what would happen if Rhanna got wind of her recent preoccupation with Heather and Darcy Gilman, and then connected the dots to the fire. She had agreed to one night. As long as she stuck to that, she wouldn’t need to say anything. Rhanna would leave and that would be that. But could she do that? Make her leave, today, with no money and no place to go?
Help her find her way back if that’s what she wants.
Althea’s words were still fresh. So were Andrew’s. But what about what she wanted? Why should Rhanna be allowed to complicate things?
She was still wrestling with the question, head bent as she checked off items on the packing slip, when the shop door creaked open and Rhanna appeared. She was barefoot, dressed in a short denim skirt and a tie-dye T-shirt knotted at the waist, and carried a mug in each hand.
“I thought you might like some coffee.” She held out one of the mugs, going out of her way to avoid brushing Lizzy’s fingers.
It was a thing she had: an aversion to being touched. Haphephobia, they called it—an anxiety disorder usually associated with sexual assault and other physical traumas. But Rhanna hadn’t experienced any physical trauma when her symptoms appeared. Lizzy had chalked it up to Rhanna’s chronic need for attention, expecting that, like so many of her mother’s ploys, it would eventually fall by the wayside. Apparently, it hadn’t.
She was holding her mug with both hands now, inhaling the steam with an expression of pure bliss. “I take it Evvie isn’t a morning person. I think I got five words out of her while the coffee was brewing. And that was her telling me to be sure to wash my mug when I was finished. What’s with the accent?”
“It’s Creole mostly. She’s from Baton Rouge.”
“Baton Rouge? How in the world did she end up here?”
“She keeps bees and sells the honey. Althea started carrying it in the shop. One day she invited Evvie for a visit, and they hit it off. She never went back.”
Rhanna shook her head. “Leave it to Althea to buddy up with a Creole-speaking beekeeper from Louisiana.”
Lizzy flashed her a look. “Was that snark?”
“No.”
“Because I don’t really think you’re in a place to judge anyone. You weren’t exactly the poster child for normal.”
Rhanna pressed her lips together, managing to look chastened. “It wasn’t snark, Lizzy. I swear. It’s just that she’s . . . unexpected.”
Lizzy had to give her that one. Her own first impressions had been similar. Now, here she was, defending Evvie like a mama bear, wanting Rhanna to see her as she did: generous and wise—an extension of the Moon clan. “If we’re talking unexpected, you should see her with her bees. She doesn’t wear a stitch of protective gear. No gloves. No netting. Nothing. She just sings to them.”
Rhanna squinted one eye. “Did you just say she sings to them?”
“I did. It’s eerie, but beautiful too. They swarm all over her, and not one sting.”
“Peter, Paul, and Mary . . . ,” Rhanna said softly, as if unable to imagine such a thing.
The expression brought a smile to Lizzy’s face. It was Rhanna’s signature expletive—a hippiefied version of the ever-popular Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, which Althea had forbidden her to utter, asserting that the Moons did not take the name of anyone’s god in vain. Apparently, she’d had no such compunction about taking the names of sixties folk singers in vain.
“You like her,” Rhanna said.
“I do. And I’d appreciate it if you’d show her some respect. She was good to Althea, and she’s been good to me.” She took a sip of her coffee, eyeing Rhanna over the rim of her mug. Coffee. Chitchat. What was she up to? “I’m surprised to see you. I didn’t think you were up yet.”
“I’ve been up for hours, actually. I got some meditation in, did a little yoga, then went out to the orchard.”
Lizzy paused, mug halfway to her mouth. “Why?”
“You said it burned. I needed to see it.”
“You didn’t believe me?”
“Of course I believed you. I just needed to see it for myself. To get a vibe, you know.”
“A vibe?”
“It was on purpose, wasn’t it? Someone set it?”
“You got that from a vibe?”
“No, from the way you were acting last night. I could tell there was something you didn’t want me to know. So what’s the deal? Why were you trying to keep it from me?”
Well, that certainly hadn’t taken long. Lizzy blew out a breath. “Because I was exhausted and I didn’t want you flipping out.”
Rhanna nodded. “Fair enough. So what happened?”
“The investigators found two bottles in the rubble. One still had a rag stuffed into the neck. It was soaked with kerosene. That’s all we know at this point.”
It was mostly true. That was all they knew for certain. The rest was just speculation.
Rhanna was staring at
