The Heat of the Moon: A Rachel Goddard Mystery (Rachel Goddard Mysteries) Read online

  Maude. I should check on her before I went home.

  No. I couldn’t. Seeing her would bring it all back, I’d get swept up again.

  “Oh, for God’s sake,” I muttered, jerking open my locker door. This was ridiculous. I was an adult, a professional, and I’d be damned if I’d let myself behave this way.

  I was yanking a comb through my hair when Dr. Campbell walked in.

  “Just checked on the basset,” he said. “She’s stabilizing already, she looks good. No sign of internal injuries.”

  “Oh, that’s great,” I said, momentarily forgetting my self-consciousness. “How bad’s her leg?”

  “Comminuted fracture, just the diaphysis involved. Tony thinks she’ll be able to handle anesthesia by morning, then he’ll go in and put a plate on it.”

  “Can I do anything to help?”

  He shook his head. “It’s under control. Go on home.”

  I covered my relief with activity, dropping my comb into my purse, swinging the bag out of the locker and over my shoulder.

  Dr. Campbell took a couple of steps beyond me, headed toward the coffee maker in the corner. Then he stopped, backed up and openly studied my face. I met his gaze, annoyed by this scrutiny and equally irritated at myself for bringing it on.

  Breaking eye contact, I banged the locker door shut. “Don’t worry about me, Dr. Campbell. I’m fine.”

  “Okay. Good.” He watched me turn the locker’s key. “You know, I wish you’d call me Luke.”

  How many times had he asked me to use his first name? I wasn’t sure why I hadn’t been able to do it, why I drew this line between us and balked at crossing it.

  I nodded, gave him a quick smile and said, “Well, good night.” I forced myself to add, “Luke.”

  “Good night, Rachel.”

  I drove home at dusk, up Chain Bridge Road past the low buildings that made up McLean’s Central Business District, then along narrow residential streets shadowed by tall trees. The rain had slacked to a drizzle. Dark pools of water glistened in the gutters. In every yard, masses of azaleas appeared as shapeless dripping mounds, their gaudy blossoms ravaged by rain and dulled by twilight.

  Alone with my thoughts, I couldn’t banish the image of my little sister, a child again, crying in the rain, and I couldn’t fight off the unaccountable desolation that enveloped me. The press of hot tears against my eyelids surprised me. It had been a decade since I’d cried about anything.

  Then something cold slithered through me, my throat constricted, and although it made no sense at all I was suddenly desperate to see my sister, I had to get home and make sure she was all right.

  Chapter Two

  I was hardly conscious of parking my car behind Michelle’s in the driveway, flinging open the kitchen door, hurtling past Rosario where she stood plump in a white apron at the island counter.

  “No snacking from the dinner platter,” she said the moment she saw me. She held out a saucer with something on it, I didn’t see what. “Here is for you, special.”

  “Not now, Rosie.”

  I was already in the hallway when I heard her exclaim, “You, not hungry? Call the record books!”

  I sprinted up the stairs, my footfalls muffled by the thick carpet, calling out, “Michelle! Mish! Are you here?”

  Second room on the left, the door standing open. I stumbled to a stop in the doorway, grasping the frame.

  Michelle sat at the dresser wearing a pink silk robe, a blusher brush in one hand. Her blue eyes were wide with surprise when she turned to me. “What on earth? Is the house on fire?”

  Laughing breathlessly, I crossed to the bed, sank onto it and lowered my face to my knees.

  “Rachel?” Michelle prompted. “What’s wrong?”

  Straightening, I shook my head. I was amazed by my own behavior, and couldn’t explain my enormous relief at seeing Michelle safe in her blue bedroom. “Nothing. Nothing’s wrong.”

  Avoiding her skeptical eyes, I ran a hand over the cool surface of the blue satin bedspread and realized my palm was sweaty. I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Are you going out somewhere—Oh, that’s right. Kevin’s coming over.”

  My odd entrance apparently forgotten, Michelle shifted her attention back to the mirror and dusted her cheeks with a blush of color. “It’s ridiculous how excited I am about seeing him again. The boy I went to the senior prom with!” She laughed. “I feel like I’m back in high school, getting dolled up for a date.”

  I watched her apply rose-pink lipstick, then release her blond hair from a clip and shake it loose over her shoulders. My sister wasn’t a school girl; she was twenty-three years old and a graduate student in psychology, following in our mother’s footsteps.

  When we were kids I was the one Michelle followed, padding after me through water and woods. She dutifully studied the birds I pointed out, she cringed when I handed her live frogs and snakes to examine but held them anyway, all the while emitting a faint high mewl from the back of her throat.

  For years she was held fast by an inexplicable fear that I would leave her, that one day I wouldn’t come home from school, that every separation was permanent. “Promise you’ll come back” was always her parting plea. I would have done anything to make her feel secure.

  If she was coddled and indulged, allowed to become demanding and temperamental, it was my fault as much as Mother’s. I wasn’t jealous of Mother’s special tenderness toward my sister. Michelle was the fragile child we both doted on.

  Her dependence on me lessened as we grew up, but the bond didn’t go slack until I went away to vet college in upstate New York. Michelle, nineteen and already a student at George Washington University, bawled like a heartbroken baby when I got in my crammed-full car and backed out of the driveway for the trip to Cornell that first year. The sight of her sobbing in Mother’s arms stayed with me for weeks and made me sick with guilt.

  Her resentment over my desertion solidified like a clear sheet of ice between us. I couldn’t break through it. Michelle grew closer to Mother, and gave up any pretense of sharing my interests. My summer breaks at home didn’t restore our attachment. I worked at the clinic as a tech, she took supplementary courses and worked at a school for autistic children, and we didn’t see a lot of each other.

  Then came my long final absence. After graduation I stayed on for a six-month internship in internal medicine, and for a year and a half I saw Michelle and Mother only briefly, at Christmas and when they traveled to Cornell to watch me receive my doctorate.

  Returning to McLean for good, moving back to Mother’s house, I hoped Michelle and I could form a new kind of friendship, as adults, equals. But here we were four months later, and I still had the odd sensation that we were simultaneously close and distant, intimate strangers.

  I wanted her to have what would make her happy, and at the moment that seemed to be a reunion with Kevin Watters.

  He’d grown up on this street, two houses down from us, but his family moved to Chicago while he was in college and we hadn’t seen him since. Now he was back to take an associate position in one of the big D.C. law firms.

  I’d always liked Kevin, a big handsome jock who was a lot smarter than he looked, but the last thing I wanted was to spend an evening listening to him and Michelle catch up. Sighing, I lay back on the bed and closed my eyes.

  The scene arose in my mind, complete with the sounds of thunder and my sister’s terrified wail, the cold wet feel of rain plastering my tee shirt to my back. I sat up.

  “Mish, do you remember—” I wasn’t sure how to phrase it. “Do you remember ever being left out in the rain when you were small, maybe two or three?”

  She gave me a quizzical look. “Well, I remember leaving my bike out in the rain once. Does that count?”

  “I’m serious. Do you remember anything like that? Stranded outdoors in a thunderstorm? You used to be afraid of storms—”

  “Mother got me over that.”

  “But do you—”


  “No, I don’t, because it never happened. Mother wouldn’t have let it. What brought this on?”

  I shrugged. “Oh, just a dream I had.”

  “Dreams aren’t usually a replay of reality.” Michelle peered in the mirror, turning her face this way and that. “I’m so pale. I just fade away next to you and Mother. But I look like a clown when I put on a lot of makeup.” Her gaze shifted to meet the reflection of my eyes. “You’re beautiful with or without makeup. And you know, you ought to have a man in your life. Time’s passing, Rachel. Remember your biological clock.”

  I laughed, startled by the abrupt change of subject. “Can it wait till after dinner? You know, I figure at twenty-six I’ve still got a few good years left. What do you want me to do, anyway, prowl the singles bars?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.” She rose and moved to her closet, shrugging off the robe on the way. “Don’t a couple of single men work at the clinic?”

  “Uh huh, and neither one is the least bit interested in women.” But there was also Luke Campbell. He was well into his thirties and not married, yet somehow I knew beyond doubt that he wasn’t gay.

  “Oh, for God’s sake!” Michelle cried. I looked up. She stood at the closet in her slip, holding a blue dress. “I told Rosario to take this to the cleaners. What’s wrong with her?”

  “I imagine she’s been busy cooking this special dinner you wanted.”

  She yanked the dress off the padded hanger, threw the hanger on the carpet, and marched to the door. “Rosario!” she shouted. “Come up here. I want to talk to you.”

  “Michelle.” I stood. “For heaven’s sake. You’ve got a closet full of clean dresses.”

  Michelle glared at me. In a moment Rosario was at the door, wiping her hands on a kitchen towel.

  “Didn’t I tell you to take this to the cleaners?” Michelle demanded.

  She shook the dress in Rosario’s face. With calm dignity Rosario took the dress, raised her chin, and said, “I will take it to the cleaners on my way home. You will have it back tomorrow, Friday.”

  “If you remember to pick it up,” Michelle said.

  “I will remember. Good night.” With the dress over her arm, Rosario walked away.

  I followed her to the top of the stairs. “Rosie, I’m sorry,” I said helplessly.

  “You have not one thing to say sorry for.” She glanced back in the direction of Michelle’s room and muttered, “La princesa.”

  I walked back to my sister. “You know,” I said, “sometimes I think two different people live in there.” I tapped her forehead, making her flinch. “One of them is a perfectly nice grown woman. The other one’s about two years old and needs a spanking.”

  She tried to stare me down but couldn’t. Cheeks flaming under the pink blusher, she ducked her head and said nothing.

  I raked back my bangs and let out a long breath. “I’d better go down and feed my animals, then take a shower. I smell like a wet dog.”

  Michelle was silent until I reached the stairs, then she called after me from her door, “Put on a dress for dinner, will you?”

  “Si, princesa,” I muttered.

  ***

  Company was a rarity for us, and Rosie had overreacted, filling six big vases with spring flowers and setting them about the living room. The air was sick-sweet with the clashing fragrances of hyacinth and freesia. I knew Mother would think it was all too much, so I removed four of the vases and tossed the scented flowers in the trash, leaving two arrangements of white and yellow tulips.

  Mother’s living room, rich and elegant, needed no embellishment. The walls were creamy yellow, the carpet was a carved Oriental, the furniture was upholstered in a Chinese design of flowers and birds on a Mandarin red background. Every little jade figurine, every porcelain bird, every candlestick and ginger jar had its place, and if Rosario shifted something when she cleaned, Mother soon moved it back where it belonged. She did this unobtrusively and without comment, maintaining the order she desired while she avoided hurting Rosie’s feelings.

  I’d long ago stopped wondering why Mother cared so much about the appearance of the house when hardly anyone except the three of us and the housekeeper ever saw it.

  Mother arrived home ten minutes before Kevin was due, yet she managed to change and be at the front door, cool and unrushed, to greet him. She’d traded her navy business suit for an emerald silk sheath that accentuated her willowy figure and brought out the high color of her complexion. I was sorry she hadn’t taken the time to loosen her hair. It was a glorious auburn, darker than mine, and gleamed when it spread over her shoulders, but for work she twisted it in a knot at the nape of her neck and it was still that way now.

  “It’s wonderful to have you back,” she told Kevin, pressing his hand in both of hers.

  Her smile was warm, her voice welcoming, but when she turned to close the door behind him I thought I caught a flicker of something in her eyes—what? dislike? displeasure? It was gone almost before I had time to register it.

  Kevin, brought up to be a gentleman, gave Mother his full attention for a moment of pleasantries. I was next. “Rachel! Look at you!” he said. He threw his arms around me in a bear hug and lifted me off my feet, making me laugh. “You look fantastic!”

  “I wore a dress just for you,” I said, and grinned past his shoulder at Michelle.

  She rolled her eyes but gave in and grinned back.

  Having done his duty to Mother and me, Kevin focused on the real object of his interest. He caught Michelle’s hand and they stood smiling wordlessly at each other. A good-looking couple, the delicate blond and the tall muscular young man with wavy brown hair.

  I glanced at Mother. Her face was expressionless as she watched them.

  All through the pre-dinner chat, then the meal itself, Michelle was absorbed in Kevin and I was absorbed in the study of our mother. After a lifetime of observing every nuance of Mother’s behavior, I still couldn’t figure out what she was thinking half the time. I knew something was wrong now, I knew I was the only one picking up the vibrations, but I couldn’t pin it down.

  Mother asked after Kevin’s parents, who now lived in Chicago. She showed a flattering interest in his new position as an associate in a D.C. law firm. He asked Mother about her work, and she replied that yes, she still specialized in treating people with phobias. Kevin followed wherever Mother took the conversation, but his eyes kept straying to Michelle. Mother’s gaze also slipped toward her again and again, lingering for a second each time, assessing.

  Seated next to Michelle on the living room sofa after dinner, Kevin grinned and said, “Just look at the three of us, all grown up. A veterinarian, a soon-to-be doctor of psychology, and a lawyer. I could swear it was only yesterday I was picking up Michelle for the senior prom.”

  He smiled at her. She beamed.

  “Hey,” he said, “have you still got those pictures Rachel took on prom night?”

  “Sure we do,” Michelle said, already rising, walking to a chest in a corner. She pulled open a door and slid out a thick blue album. “We’ll probably be embarrassed to look at them now.”

  She dropped the album into Kevin’s hands and sat close as he leafed through it.

  Mother’s mouth tightened faintly, a shadow seemed to pass over her eyes. I remembered prom night. Mother told them to be home at the ridiculously early hour of midnight. Midnight came and went. Mother paced, fretted, and snapped at me when I said I was sure they were fine, just caught up in the fun. At a quarter to one they burst through the front door, Kevin babbling his apologies, Michelle in tears because they’d witnessed an accident in which a classmate was hurt. Mother enclosed Michelle in her embrace and said a curt good night to Kevin. She was cool to him after that, as if she blamed him for the anxiety she’d suffered while he and Michelle were giving statements to the police at the accident scene.

  When they found the prom photos, Kevin hooted with laughter. “Oh, man,” he said, “look at me, all puffed up in my ren
ted tux. I really thought I was something. King of the penguins.”

  “God, my hair,” Michelle groaned.

  “Your Princess Diana phase,” I said. “Short and stiff.”

  “Well, our kids’ll get a kick out of these pictures someday,” Kevin said.

  I shot a glance at Mother, her frozen smile, the unsmiling dark eyes.

  Kevin thumbed toward the front of the scrapbook, past photos in which Michelle and I, and sometimes Mother along with us, grew progressively younger. On the album’s first page was a picture of us when we were about three and six, both gap-toothed, both with our hair in braids. Whenever I looked at that picture I was suffused with a longing that had no name or object, and I felt it now, even though I was seeing the photo upside down from several feet away.

  “Hey, where are your baby pictures?” Kevin said. He grinned at Michelle. “Don’t I get to see you on a bearskin rug?”

  Mother stood so abruptly that all three of us looked at her. “Would anybody like more coffee?” she said. “Kevin, wouldn’t you like another slice of Rosario’s apple cake?”

  “Oh, boy, I shouldn’t,” he said, a hand on his flat stomach.

  Mother smiled. “Just a small piece.”

  He laughed. “You talked me into it, Dr. Goddard.”

  “I’ll help you,” I said, rising to follow her.

  While Mother cut the cake for Kevin, I placed the silver coffee pot, still half-full, on a tray with fresh cups and saucers.

  “Mother,” I said, “where are our baby pictures? I’ll get them out, if Kevin really wants to see them.”

  She turned on me a look so raw, so wounded, that I almost sputtered an apology. I’d violated an invisible boundary, and I’d done it knowingly, intentionally.

  Before I could speak, Mother composed her expression around a tight smile. Her voice was flat and cold. “I’m sure he’s not the least bit interested in our old family pictures, and I’d appreciate it if you didn’t bring it up again.”