Page 48 of Fire on the Moon

“The bullet passed through the outer side of my upper arm.”

“And you didn’t leave any of your blood there?” Frank asked urgently.

“I don’t think so. We wrapped my arm in undershirts from Tuckerman’s drawer. I guess we’ll find out if I missed a drop.” Switching topics, he asked, “Can you have Teddy find out some more about him? And the guy Francesca hit with the flowerpot?”

“Yes. And I’ll try to keep tabs on the police investigation as best I can.”

When they’d exchanged as much information as either of them knew, Zane clicked off and lay back with his eyes closed. He needed to rest, but he couldn’t relax until he knew Francesca was safely back on the boat.

###

When she stepped off the dock, Francesca turned and glanced at the houseboat. It looked so innocent floating there. Would you ever guess that the couple involved in a break-in and murder last night were hiding out onboard? Well, the guy was. The woman was going out to get some food. As she walked the short distance to the parking lot, she scanned the area, trying to take the kind of precautions that Zane would. Nobody else was around.

Once in the car, she headed for the small shopping center where they’d seen the grocery store. It was less than a mile away, and she wasn’t going to get lost on the short trip.

The strip mall wasn’t like anything she’d seen back home. It had a strange mix of stores besides the grocery and the restaurants, there was a women’s clothing shop, an appliance store, a place that sold seashells, and a cigar store.

A TV was playing in the window of the appliance shop, and a picture of a newscaster standing in front of a house caught her attention. Francesca realized with a little gasp that it was the house where she and Zane had gotten into a lot of trouble the night before. She couldn’t hear what the woman was saying through the window, but as she looked more closely she saw crime scene tape on the door of the house.

The images shook her. Obviously the murder was the big news around here.

She walked away quickly, feeling like she should rush back to the boat and tell Zane. But what was there to report, really? She had considered making a pot of chicken soup they could both enjoy, but she changed her mind when she stepped into the medium-sized grocery store.

The layout was unfamiliar, and she didn’t know where anything was located. Instead of trying to gather all the ingredients for anything homemade and cooking it in an unfamiliar galley, she went to the aisles with canned goods, picking up chicken noodle soup, beef stew, and a couple of other staples.

What else should she get? Probably something for herself, but she wasn’t all that hungry. Still, she had to eat, so she headed for the deli department and selected a couple of ready-made chicken sandwiches. Because she knew Zane liked meat, she also put several packages of cold cuts into her cart.

When she returned to the front of the store, she saw there was only one checkout counter open, and she had to wait behind several women with full baskets who chatted with a hefty redheaded lady working the cash register and bagging groceries. Each transaction seemed to take a century, and she wanted to scream at everyone to hurry up.

Clenching her teeth, she kept her cool, and finally got to the front of the line.

The women in front of her had seemed to know the checker. Maybe a stranger could just transact her business and get out of there quickly.

But when Francesca approached the register, the woman, whose name tag said “Louise,” asked, “You new in the neighborhood, honey?”

Francesca’s mouth had turned so dry that she could barely speak. Act normal she warned herself. “We’re vacationing in the area.”

“You and your husband. Or do you have kids?”

Francesca dragged in a breath. “The four of us.”

Louise looked at the food on the moving belt. “You’re not getting much.”

“We brought a lot of stuff with us. But Henry asked for the soup, and Josh wanted the stew,” she said, wondering how long it would take to ring up her purchases.

“You got a store card?”

“No. I’m paying in cash.”

“You can fill out a form.”

“No thanks. I’m in a hurry.” She dug out a couple of bills and paid. Relieved to be out of the store, she headed back to her car.

The TV was still on in the appliance shop. She wanted to march on past, but she couldn’t help stopping when she saw the newscaster still standing in front of Tuckerman’s house. Then the scene grew dark, and she stared at what appeared to be a cell phone video. It showed a man and a woman from the back, staggering together down the sidewalk.

Oh my God. It was them—from last night. They stopped beside a car. The man, who looked sick or injured, got into the passenger seat. The woman went around to the driver’s side.

The only good news was that it was dark and the video was taken from the back.

As the car started up, the focus switched to the license plate. Her heart stopped, then started to drum inside her chest. Looking over toward their rental, she saw the same license number as though it were in a flashing neon sign.

---