The Heat of the Moon: A Rachel Goddard Mystery (Rachel Goddard Mysteries) by Sandra Parshall Page A

also looked at me that way, I told myself I was imagining things, going paranoid. I couldn’t stand the thought of them murmuring together over my emotional wounds.
    “When did she tell you about it?” I asked. “Saturday?”
    “That doesn’t matter.” Michelle leaned into the space between us. The strand of hair loosened and brushed her cheek again. “I understand why it upset you. Mother’s sorry she told you now. If you were able to deal with it you would’ve remembered it on your own. Sometimes forgetting is a blessing—”
    Parroting Mother, her very words.
    I sprang to my feet, wanting to run out. But need kept me where I was. “All right, since you two have been analyzing the whole thing, analyzing me, tell me something. If I was such a mess, why did Mother leave me alone? How long did it take, burning all those pictures? And where were you when I was doing it? You were practically a baby. Did she leave you in the house with your mixed-up sister—”
    “Rachel, Rachel.” She rose and crossed to me with three quick steps. “Mother wasn’t at home when it happened. It was the nanny, she wasn’t careful—”
    “Mother said she left me alone—”
    “Well, you must have misunderstood her. It was the nanny. Mother fired her for it.”
    I gaped, hardly knowing what to think. The Mother-like mask faded and in her face I saw my sister again, just Michelle, beseeching, anxious.
    “Why are you bringing all this up?” she said. “Can’t you see how much it hurts Mother? It tears her apart, having it all dredged up. Can’t you see that?”
    “Of course I can, it makes me feel awful. But we’re talking about something major that happened to me. Don’t I have a right to know about it? And don’t we both have a right to know more about our—”
    Michelle’s hand slipped into mine, and I was silenced by a sudden disorienting memory of her as a tiny child, little hands reaching for me, fingers clutching.
    “Please don’t dwell on it,” she said. “Please, Rachel. Don’t torment yourself.”
    I backed away, freed my hand. “I’m sorry I bothered you.”
    As I opened the door to leave I heard her sigh, softly.
    ***
     
    I paced my room, propelled by the questions that slammed around inside my head. Every answer created another doubt. Why hadn’t Mother told me about a nanny? I was positive she’d said she was the one who left me alone. Could I have misunderstood because I was upset when she told me about it? If it was a careless nanny who allowed me to destroy the pictures, could the same person have let Michelle and me get caught out in a storm? But why would our careful mother hire somebody like that?
    It was such a long time ago. Maybe she’d been a different person then, not as watchful and thorough. Or was she so grief-stricken herself that she hadn’t been thinking normally, had taken risks with her children? I could imagine what would happen if I went to her and tried to probe this subject. She would turn sad, reproachful eyes on me and the words would freeze in my throat.
    I flopped onto my back across the bed. She was downstairs in her study, the room she now locked because I couldn’t be trusted to stay out of it, the room whose closed door I casually ignored.
    I was exhausted by the effort of pretending nothing was wrong.
    Sitting up, I reached for the cell phone on my night stand. I had the next day, Wednesday, off work, and I would put the free time to good use. Theo Antanopoulos, Mother’s old friend and former professor, might have the answers to some of my questions. I flipped open the phone and punched in his number.
    ***
     
    “What a treat!”
    Theo stood in the morning sunshine outside his red brick townhouse, one arm flung wide and waiting to hug me. His other hand leaned on a four-footed metal cane. I walked into his hug and kissed his cheek just above the white beard.
    “What a pleasure to see you,” he said, patting my back. “Did you have to park far away?”
    That