Moonshadows Read Free

voice. “As well you should be. After all, your family is largely responsible for all of us being here. It must cost a fortune to keep this place running.” She tilted her head and let her hands come to rest on the table. “I’m sure Mrs. Lancaster could stop the funding any time she wanted to.”
    “Being a Lancaster has nothing to do with it,” Janet said. “And I would in no way be insubordinate to you. I ask for nothing more than might be given to Chelsea or Hilda.”
    “Of course,” Miss Austin said. “You have my permission to leave early. Were it possible, I’d offer you the whole day, but you know that wouldn’t be practical.” Janet thought she detected a hint of mockery in her words. “So you may leave at four, and have a nice weekend.” Her voice was honeyed with a sincerity that never quite reached her guarded eyes.
    “Thank you,” Janet said. “I’m sorry I blew up. I guess I’m a little worried about Grandmother.”
    The coffee cup in the older woman’s hand rattled against the saucer. “I thought you said she was okay.”
    “Well,” Janet said, nibbling her lip, “she assured me she was. But I didn’t like the way she sounded on the phone last night, and I can’t help but worry. After all, she’s almost ninety.”
    “I’m sure she’s fine.” Amanda Austin’s voice was clipped and brittle. She patted Janet’s arm. “But you go on up there and see for yourself.”
    The show of compassion was interrupted as Chelsea stuck her head through the door.
    “Good morning all,” she greeted.
    Chelsea Parker was a fixer. A healer. Her very presence had a kind of cleansing effect. She was Janet’s best friend, and they were as different as beer and champagne. Where Janet was jazz and denim, Chelsea was symphonies and silk. Chelsea only succeeded to prove the point that class was born and not bought. She reminded Janet of Grace Kelly in the movie Rear Window.
    Standing directly behind Chelsea was the fourth and final member of the staff, Hilda Jamison. Hateful Hilda , Janet secretly thought of her. Bird-like and peckish, she was middle-aged, perhaps, although it was hard to tell. Janet thought she was the reincarnation of Mrs. Danvers from the movie Rebecca . Stooped and hunched beneath woolen plaids, she seemed to be in a permanent state of despair. Janet wondered if she ever laughed.
    Janet grinned at Chelsea.
    “Well, hi there,” she said, stepping to the sink, dumping the last of her coffee down the drain and giving the cup a quick rinse. At the door, she reached for Chelsea’s arm.
    “How’d you like to do me a favor this afternoon?”
    Chelsea laughed. “I’m all yours.”
    “I’m going to Heather Down and I’ll be leaving work at four. Could you keep an eye on the reference section for me? I think some history students from the community college will be coming by and may need some help.”
    “It’s done,” Chelsea said with a wave of her hand. “And tell Mrs. Lancaster hello for me.”
    Janet smiled. “Thanks.”
    Hilda swiped by them, mumbling to herself. “... better not expect me to do the work of Miss High-and-Mighty.”
    Chelsea whirled around. “Don’t stress yourself out, Hilda,” she said. “She doesn’t.”
    Hilda harrumped and slouched away, her rounded shoulders slumping lower into herself. How pitiful she looks , Janet thought and wondered what bitterness had crept into her life and stolen away her spirit.
    But she had no time for Hateful Hilda . There were more pressing things on her mind, and she wanted the second hand on the clock to sweep around the dial faster and faster. And the apprehension about her grandmother continued to grow.

 
     
     
     
TWO
     
    A t four-thirty Janet pitched a weekender onto the black leather seat, slid in behind the steering wheel, and tugged the Orioles baseball cap down against the evening sun. She drove past the trendy boutiques and quaint shops of Middlebrook and headed toward Briar’s Point.
    Driving up the