Rachel Goddard 01 - The Heat of the Moon

one. A dry sour taste in my mouth. The smell of disinfectant and alcohol. A murmur of voices nearby. Blinding light that made me squeeze my eyes shut again after one quick blink.
    And pain. A deep throb that seemed to pulse toward me from a great distance, washing over me in waves.
    “Rachel?” a female voice said.
    I opened my eyes again, just a slit, and saw a sharp-featured young woman with black hair.
    She peered into my face. “You’re in the hospital, Rachel. You had surgery on your arm.”
    Mother.
    The full force of memory hit me. I cried out.
    “Just try to lie still,” the nurse said. “Just rest.”
    Mother’s dead.
    I opened my eyes wide, staring around at half a dozen empty beds, a big central desk with a young woman behind it, a silent television set that flashed images in a corner.
    “Would you like to see your fiancé?” the nurse said. “I can’t let him stay more than a minute, but he’s been waiting all this time and he wants to see you.”
    Fiancé? Bewildered, I didn’t answer.
    The nurse moved away, her shoes slapping against the floor.
    My left arm felt heavy and stiff. I looked down in faint surprise: my forearm was encased in a cast and my hand was thickly bandaged, the bluish fingers sticking out from layers of white. The source of the pain.
    In my mind I saw a flash of steel and Mother’s tormented face.
    The nurse reappeared with Luke at her side. “We’re about to take her upstairs to a room for the night,” she told him. “So I can’t let you stay long.”
    He leaned to kiss my cheek and whispered against my ear, “In case you haven’t heard, we’re engaged. I had to say that to get in to see you.”
    For a moment the warm, sweet smell of him replaced the sharp hospital odors.
    “Mother?” I whispered.
    “Shh. Don’t think about that now.” He stroked hair off my cheek. “I want you to come home with me when they release you. I’ll be here first thing in the morning.”
    Where was my sister? Where was Mother? What had they done with her?
    Luke kissed me and was gone. The nurse seemed to be adding something to my IV. As she and another woman rolled my bed down a hallway, I lapsed into sleep again.
    ***
    When I woke the next morning Michelle was hanging clothes in a small corner closet. The bed next to mine lay empty, made up.
    “Mish?” I said, the word thick and toneless. I pushed hair off my face and rubbed at my eyes, fighting off grogginess. An IV needle was taped to my hand, and with every movement I dragged the long IV tube back and forth over the sheet. It made little slipping sounds.
    “You’re awake,” Michelle announced. She faced me, her body stiff and straight, hands locked before her in a tight grip. “I brought you some clean clothes.”
    Memory rushed back and I moaned under the assault. “Mother—”
    “They’re doing all kinds of tests on—on her body.” Michelle broke off and ducked her head, but I’d already seen the tears glittering along her lashes. “We have to wait for them to finish before we can schedule the funeral.”
    “Funeral,” I repeated, stunned by the meaning of the word.
    “I’ll make the arrangements. I’m sure you don’t want to be bothered with any of it.”
    “Mish,” I said, “please don’t talk to me this way.”
    She stared past me, toward the window, and was silent for a moment. In the glare of morning sun she looked haggard, exhausted. When she spoke her tone had softened. “You need to rest and get better. You’ve got some damaged muscle in your arm. You’ll be in the cast for three weeks, then you’ll need physical therapy, but they say you won’t lose mobility.”
    I nodded, biting my lip. I wished my sister would come to me, put her arms around me.
    “I called your friend Damian last night,” she said, “and asked him to go get your animals. He did it right away. So you don’t have to worry about them.”
    “Thank you.” Where, I wondered, were her strength and clear-headedness coming from? Did she have a reserve that I’d never suspected?
    She stepped closer and said, “The police were at the house most of the night.”
    “The police?”
    “They said they have to investigate any violent death. And a knife wound.” Her gaze flitted to my arm and away again. “They went over every inch of the kitchen and bathroom.”
    Alarmed, I struggled to push myself up. “The newspaper story—”
    “I took it.” Her gaze wandered the room, avoiding my eyes. “They never saw