Lizzy stiffened. She wasn’t scared. But things were starting to get messy, and on more fronts than she’d counted on. “I’m not scared. It’s just . . .”

Evvie folded her paper and tossed it to the end of the table. “There’s no shame in being scared, little girl. Not with what’s been going on around here. But if you’re thinking of throwing in the towel because people are in a snit, that’s a whole nother kettle of crawdads.”

Lizzy would have smiled at Evvie’s colorful turn of phrase if she weren’t so distracted. “I’m not scared, Evvie. I’m just wondering what I’m really accomplishing. All I’ve managed to do so far is remind everyone why they don’t like us. But as far as the actual case goes, what do I know now that I didn’t know when I got here? That Heather Gilman was a wild child who broke curfew and drank with boys—like half the girls in Salem Creek. That she dumped her BFFs with no explanation, and one of her old friends thinks she might have been afraid to go home.”

“It’s more than the police managed to find out.”

“Maybe, but what does it prove? Mrs. Gilman said herself that she doesn’t believe her husband was capable of hurting their daughters. And let’s not forget that he has an ironclad alibi for the night they went missing. No wonder the police won’t reopen the case. If Fred Gilman is really in the clear, there’s nowhere else to look.”

“So that’s it? You’re going to quit? Just go back to New York?”

Lizzy’s face softened. She reached across the table and laid a hand over Evvie’s. “This was never supposed to be permanent, Evvie. You know that. At some point, I’m going to have to throw in the towel and go home.”

Evvie poked out her lower lip. “This is home.”

“It was—once upon a time. It’s where I grew up. But sometimes growing up means growing out of things.”

“You can’t grow out of your home, Lizzy. Home is in your blood. It’s not just where you live, it’s who you are.”

“New York is who I am now, Evvie.”

There was a beat of hesitation before Evvie spoke again, as if she were weighing her next words. “What about Andrew?”

Lizzy withdrew her hand and picked up her mug, carefully avoiding Evvie’s gaze. There was no way she could know about last night. And what if she did? It was a kiss. One innocent, ill-advised kiss. “What does Andrew have to do with anything?”

Evvie pursed her lips thoughtfully. “I wonder.”

A ping from Lizzy’s cell phone spared her from having to respond. She tapped the message open, already knowing it would be Luc.

Call me, Lizzy. I mean it.

Evvie’s eyes narrowed. “Something wrong?”

“It’s just work. I need to make a call.”

She waited until she was upstairs to dial Luc’s cell. She had nothing new to report, no return date she could give, but his message was clear enough. He’d run out of patience.

Luc didn’t bother with hello when he answered. “Do they not have cell phone towers in New Hampshire?”

Lizzy suppressed a sigh. “Hello, Luc.”

“I’ve been leaving messages for over a week. Were you ever going to call?”

“I’m calling now.”

“To say you’re coming back?”

“No. But I am meeting with the Realtor tomorrow. Then it looks like I’ll be heading to the bank to arrange for a loan so I can swing the repairs and property taxes until we find a buyer. It shouldn’t take long to hire the contractors once I have the funds. Andrew can give me some recommendations on who to use, and keep an eye on the workmen.”

Luc huffed into the phone. “How ’bout I just write you a check for the taxes, and you leave today?”

“I’m not letting my boss pay the taxes on my grandmother’s farm.”

“It’s your farm now, Lizzy. And we both know I’m more than just your boss. Stop being stubborn and let me help you.”

Lizzy counted to ten, annoyed by his presumption. “I’m not being stubborn, Luc. It’s a kind offer, really, but this is my problem.”

“I’m curious,” he said coolly. “You dragging your feet wouldn’t have anything to do with Andrew, would it? It feels like maybe your attention’s being . . . diverted. Please tell me you’re not thinking of throwing away your career to chase some silly happily-ever-after with the boy next door.”

Lizzy struggled to control her temper. He was pushing her buttons, bullying her because she wasn’t jumping to attention every time he called. As if her salary somehow entitled him to a say in her personal life. “We agreed when we stopped seeing each other that we’d keep it professional, Luc. My happily-ever-after is none of your business.”

“We didn’t stop seeing each other. You stopped seeing me. But if you want to keep things strictly professional, I can do that too. I have a company to run, Ms. Moon. When I gave you that promotion, I expected to get my money’s worth. And instead of gratitude, I get the runaround.”

Gratitude?

Lizzy sat with the word a moment, stung by the transactional sentiment behind it, and by his condescending use of her last name. “You didn’t give me anything, Luc,” she said finally. “I earned that promotion, and you know it. Not because I was your girlfriend for six months, but because I worked my tail off. And because I’m good at what I do. According to HR, I have six weeks of vacation saved, plus ten days of sick leave. Which means I still have three-plus weeks left. Pay me for them. Don’t pay me for them. However you want to handle it. But I can’t leave here right now.”

She didn’t wait for a response before ending the call. Her hands shook as she stared at the blank screen. Had she just quit her job? Before she could examine the question further, the phone went off again. She expected to see Luc’s number pop up, but the call was local.

“Hey, it’s Chuck Bundy.” His tone was overly bright, and vaguely annoying. “I know we’re scheduled for tomorrow, but I’m wondering if we should maybe slow things down a little. I’ve been crunching the numbers, looking at what else is on the market, and my gut’s telling me we should wait.”

Lizzy felt her stomach drop. “Wait for what? We’ve been playing tag for weeks.”

“I know, and I’m sorry about that. It’s just that given the history of the farm and, well . . . the talk lately, maybe now isn’t the best time.”

“This is about the article in this morning’s Chronicle, isn’t it?”

“Ms. Moon.” There was a pause, the flick of a lighter, a breath being pulled in, then let out. “I told you what we were up against the first time we spoke. There’s already a glut of rural properties on the market, and let’s face it, it was going to be hard enough to find a buyer when all we were dealing with was the Gilman girls, but throw in an arsonist and church ladies talking about ghosts, and we’ve moved into radioactive territory. I know you’re in a bind, and that this isn’t what you want to hear, but I have to be honest. We’re moving too fast.”

Moving too fast?

This was starting to feel like a breakup call, a fresh spin on the it’s-not-you-it’s-me line. “You’re backing out?”

“Technically, there’s nothing to back out of. We haven’t drawn up a listing agreement yet, and frankly, I don’t think we should right now. I’d be happy to refer you to someone else if you’re determined to go ahead, but fifteen years in the business tells me it would be a mistake. If you list now, it’s going to sit, and the longer it sits, the less it’ll be worth. The prudent thing to do is let the dust settle, and take another look in six months, maybe a year.”

Six months? She didn’t have six months. And she certainly didn’t have a year.

“Right,” Lizzy said numbly, as she ended the call. “I’ll let the dust settle.”

Rhanna was standing over a stoneware bowl, pouring honey into a measuring cup, when Lizzy entered the shop. She had tuned Althea’s old radio to the oldies station and was crooning along to “Monday, Monday,” her gauzy skirt swishing around her ankles as she swayed to the music.

Lizzy stood quietly, watching her work. Evvie was right. She had been busy, and astonishingly productive. In less than two weeks, the shelves had filled with tonics, massage oils, and salt scrubs, each hand-labeled and finished with a raffia bow.

“This is amazing,” Lizzy said softly, spinning in a slow circle.

Rhanna started, clearly surprised to find she had company. She reached for a towel to wipe her hands, then turned down the radio. “Sorry. I didn’t hear you come in. I’m playing with a new oatmeal soak. It’s a tweaked version of one I found in Althea’s book. I’m going for something warm and spicy for fall—or maybe Halloween. We could call it A Wicked Good Soak. What do you think?”

Lizzy mustered a smile. She’d never seen Rhanna this enthused about anything. But she was forgetting that by Halloween none of them would be here.

Rhanna pointed to the wire racks where Louise Ryerson’s soap sat curing. “The bars came out perfectly. Maybe we should make another batch. Apparently, the word is out.”

“The word?”

“That the Moons are back in business. Evvie’s been fending off customers left and right.”