“Your tea, milady,” she announced poshly as she set the mug in front of Evvie. “Oops, forgot the honey.”
When she returned with the jar, Evvie was scanning the front page of the paper. She looked up, her expression somber.
Lizzy eyed her warily. “What?”
Evvie laid the paper flat, pointing to the front page headline.
ARSON SUSPECTED IN LOCAL FIRE
Salem Creek authorities have launched an investigation into a fire that occurred at Moon Girl Farm just before midnight on Saturday, August 7. The blaze is thought to have started in a small shed, then spread to the nearby apple orchard. There were no reported injuries, but significant damage occurred before crews were able to bring the fire under control. The cause of the blaze is not yet known, but the remnants of two incendiary devices have been forwarded to the state lab for analysis. It’s not the first time Moon Girl Farm has been in the news. In November 2012, the bodies of two teenage girls, Darcy and Heather Gilman, were discovered in a pond on the property. The murders remain unsolved, but suspicions swirled around Althea Moon, owner of the farm at the time. The recent return of granddaughter Elzibeth (Lizzy) Moon has sparked speculation that the fire is a result of renewed tensions. Sources report police are also investigating an earlier incident involving a straw doll and an unsigned note. Authorities are now considering the note a potential threat. One local woman, who asked that her name not be used, voiced her opinion on the possibility that the fire and the Gilman case might be connected. “I wouldn’t be a bit surprised. You can’t come back after all that time and stir up trouble, and not expect it to come back on you.” Attempts to contact the Gilmans for comment have been unsuccessful.
Lizzy pushed the paper back across the table with a sigh. “I suppose hoping Rhanna wouldn’t find out about all this was too much to ask. Have you seen her?”
Evvie shook her head. “She’s been in her room all morning, listening to that awful racket of hers. But you’re right. She’ll hear the talk soon enough. You can’t blow your nose in this town without somebody running their mouth about it.”
She was right. When it came to news, the Chronicle had nothing on the Salem Creek grapevine. Rhanna would hear it all—the doll, the note, the rumors that were apparently already beginning to bubble—and it wouldn’t be pretty when she did. The best she could hope for was to control how and when Rhanna heard the news.
“Right then,” Lizzy said, picking up the paper. “I’d better go fill her in on what’s been happening.”
Rhanna’s bedroom door was closed, a mix of Joplin and patchouli incense bleeding out into the hall from beneath the door. Lizzy tucked the folded Chronicle under her arm and knocked.
“Come,” Rhanna called over the gritty strains of “Piece of My Heart.”
Lizzy experienced a wave of déjà vu as she stepped into the room. Artist grotto meets head shop was how Rhanna had once described it. The walls were still apple green, still decorated with black-light posters and bits of beaded macramé. On the dresser, amid a puddle of tie-dyed scarves, a lava lamp undulated with bright orange goo.
“Hey,” Rhanna said sheepishly. She was sitting cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by a spill of paint tubes and colored pencils.
“What are you doing?”
“Laying low, mostly. I’m sorry about last night. I didn’t mean to get all wiggy and then walk out. I just . . . It’s still hard sometimes. But I went out this morning and checked on the soap. It looks good. I think we can pull them later on.”
Lizzy nodded, distracted.
“I’m trying, Lizzy. I really am.”
“I know you are.”
“So . . . am I out?”
“No,” Lizzy said evenly. “You’re not out. But we need to talk.”
Rhanna’s smile evaporated. She reached over and lifted the arm on the record player. Janis went silent. “Okay.”
Lizzy sat on the edge of the unmade bed. “I need to fill you in on some things that have been going on, and I need you to listen to me and not say anything until I’m finished. Can you do that?”
Rhanna clamped her lips tight and nodded.
“There’s something I should have told you before now. Since I’ve been back, I’ve been looking into what actually happened the night Heather and Darcy Gilman disappeared. It isn’t why I came back, but when I saw the pond again, I knew it was something I needed to do.”
At the mention of the pond Rhanna had grown visibly pale. Lizzy paused, waiting for some kind of response. When none came, she continued. “I went to see Randall Summers. He told me I was wasting my time, that in essence there was no investigation, and I should leave it alone. But I couldn’t. Andrew hooked me up with a detective, an ex–Salem Creek cop who actually worked the case. You might remember him. His name is Roger Coleman.”
Rhanna sat eerily still, but managed a nod.
“Things he said make me question how seriously the police took the investigation, things about Randall Summers. He still has all his notes from the case. He’s been combing through them, looking for anything they might have missed. In the meantime, I’ve been doing a little sleuthing of my own.”
Rhanna’s mouth dropped open. “You what?”
“I’ve been asking questions.”
“What kind of questions?”
“I met with Susan Gilman. I wanted to know about her husband, what kind of father he was, and if she thought he could have hurt their daughters. She doesn’t, but I’m not so sure. I paid him a visit, and to say he’s not a nice man is putting it mildly.”
“Lizzy, why haven’t you told me any of this until now?”
Lizzy looked down at her hands. It was time to be honest, brutally so if necessary. “I didn’t
