HALF-MOON

by Helen H. Fanick

My sister Andrea and I didn't want to go to Aunt Libby's that evening, since she lived thirty miles out in the country, and the weatherman predicted thunderstorms. We went anyway. We couldn't figure out any other way to learn what Aunt Libby wanted to talk to us about. It had to be important, since her long-lost stepson and his wife were in town.

The half-moon hung low in the sky as we left Pine Summit. I reminded Andrea of what our grandmother used to say, that the time of the half-moon is a time of strife and turmoil. Andrea smiled. She never put much stock in signs and superstitions, since she's well educated and a retired math teacher.

Right away, the storm blew up out of nowhere and hid the moon. We drove through the downpour for about ten minutes, and then the wind and lightning subsided, leaving a soft rain falling.

“Do you suppose Ezra Staggers will be at Aunt Libby's tonight?” I asked. Ezra was Aunt Libby's hired man. He always gave me the willies, the way he crept around, not wanting to look me in the eye, like he was guilty of something. He was the only one who could stand being around Aunt Libby since she got so cranky in her old age, though, and he lived in a room in the barn where he could be on hand to look after her.

“Ezra probably will stay in his room tonight,” Andrea said. “It sounded as if this is a family matter.”

The rain stopped by the time we drove up the lane to Aunt Libby's two-story farmhouse. We were early—Andrea always insists on getting everywhere early—and we let ourselves in. Aunt Libby was so frail, we didn't want her to have to get up and answer the door.

I went into the living room to look for her, and Andrea checked the kitchen. “She's in here,” I called. “She's gone to sleep watching TV.”

Andrea joined me, and we stood looking down at Aunt Libby for a moment. Andrea touched her hand, and then checked her pulse. “She's gone,” she whispered. She turned off the television.

The body was cold. “She must have passed away watching Oprah or Montel.”

We shed a few quiet tears, then I called Alice Marie, Aunt Libby's daughter, who was just ready to come over anyway.

“What's that smell?” I asked when I joined Andrea in the kitchen. “Is it lemon?”

“It's lime. Someone's been squeezing lime juice. The scent's stronger in the sink. They must have put the rind down the disposal.” Andrea filled the percolator and plugged it in.

“Aunt Libby hasn't cooked in years. Could she have been making a dessert for this evening?” I opened the refrigerator. “There's nothing in here.”

I looked at the clock. “Aunt Libby never set her clock forward for Daylight Saving Time. It's an hour slow.”

Andrea glanced at her watch, then back at the clock. She didn't say anything, but I could see she was giving the matter some thought. Then, before I could find out what she was thinking, we heard a knock at the door.

Aunt Libby's stepson, Jack Quinn, and his wife Eunice introduced themselves. Aunt Libby had married Jack's father, Andrew Quinn, after Jack moved to Texas . There had been no contact for many years, and as I told Andrea earlier, it's mighty strange these folks showing up now, with Andrew gone, to see Aunt Libby.

When Andrew Quinn died, no will was found, even though we heard rumors there was one. Aunt Libby had continued living on Andrew's farm. The house was too remote to be desirable, with everyone moving to town these days, but with timber prices what they are now, the land was worth a small fortune.

Jack Quinn was an ordinary-looking man with glasses and thinning hair. He wore jeans, cowboy boots, and a corduroy sports jacket. It was Eunice who really raised my eyebrows. She was a tall woman with bleached hair and enough gold jewelry to take her to the bottom if she ever fell into the lake. She had it all, from her big hoop earrings to her wristwatch to the bracelet sparkling on her left ankle.

Alice Marie showed up right away and set in to sobbing over the loss of her mother. Jack patted her shoulder and said a few words of comfort. Ezra Staggers sidled in and hovered at the edge of our group, looking uncomfortable and offering coffee.

The sky had cleared and the half-moon had disappeared behind the hills by the time the mortician took Aunt Libby's body and we started home. I reminded Andrea of the strife and turmoil the half-moon brings, but she only nodded and seemed to be lost in thought. I really can understand at times why Andrea is a spinster.

Even more turmoil began two days later, on the morning of the funeral. Alice Marie called to let us know the sheriff's office phoned, and the autopsy showed Aunt Libby had been suffocated.

“Ezra couldn't stand her complaining any longer,” I told Andrea as we drove to the church.

Andrea laughed. “That's a possibility, I suppose.” And then she did something really strange—she pulled in at the liquor store and dashed inside.

“What in the world are you doing?” I asked, when she came back empty-handed.

“Just checking on something. Things are beginning to add up.”

“I know. Ezra bought three bottles of cheap wine, and when he's tried, he'll plead insanity.”

She smiled and kept on driving. And I noticed the same smile on Andrea's face when we gathered at Aunt Libby's house after the funeral. She stood by the ancient upright piano, which no one had played in years, and leafed through Aunt Libby's old hymnal.

Friends and neighbors had loaded the kitchen table with food. We all dug in heartily as we exchanged stories of pleasant early times with Aunt Libby. It was only when we cleared up the kitchen that I noticed Andrea was nowhere in sight.

Finally, all the friends and neighbors left. Only the family and Ezra remained when the study door opened and Andrea came out, the hymnal in her hand. “Please, everyone, have a seat in the living room.” Years of teaching math gave Andrea an air of authority, and we followed her to the front of the house.

She stood in front of us. “We all know by now that Aunt Libby was murdered.” She looked at each of us, and I felt a chill run up my backbone. Andrea had it figured out already. I was sure of it.

“When we arrived the other day and found Aunt Libby on the couch, we noticed the scent of lime in the kitchen. Aunt Libby hadn't cooked in years, and Ezra certainly isn't into using limes.” She looked at him, and he shook his head and shrank back against his chair.

“That lime was used to make a margarita.” Andrea said the word carefully, giving it a bit of a Spanish inflection. “I checked at the liquor store in Pine Summit and found they had sold a bottle of tequila on the day Aunt Libby died—the first anyone could remember selling in ages. Of course, tequila is one of the ingredients in a margarita.”

I couldn't resist a glance at the Texans. They sat on the couch and looked relaxed.

Andrea continued, “The manager said he sold that bottle to a tall, blonde woman who wore a lot of gold jewelry.”

Eunice jerked upright. “I bought that bottle for Jack!”

He turned to stare at her. “What bottle?” He looked at Andrea. “I was asleep at the motel all afternoon. It's a long drive from Texas .”

“I know you're innocent, Jack,” Alice Marie spoke up. She turned to stare at Eunice. We all turned to stare at Eunice. I was wondering at the same time why Alice Marie seemed to know Jack so well and why she was so sure he was innocent.

“I checked with the power company while I was in the study,” Andrea said. “There was a power outage in this area the afternoon of the murder, during the thunderstorm. When we noticed Aunt Libby's electric clock was an hour slow, I thought at first she had failed to change it when the time changed. Then I realized Eunice must have set it in order to stop the maddening blinking those clocks do when power has been interrupted. Eunice's watch was still on Texas time, an hour earlier than ours.” Andrea lifted Eunice's arm. “You're still slow—by one hour.”

Eunice yanked her arm away. “Jack's on Texas time, too.” Her voice had a real chill in it now, and another shiver ran up my back.

“Jack isn't wearing a watch,” Andrea said. “He wasn't wearing one that day, either. You came here and fixed yourself a margarita and chatted with Aunt Libby. Maybe you gave her one, too, to get information from her about this property.

“When she told you she found the will, and that Andrew left the farm to her, you decided to smother her and let intestacy take its course. That would have meant Jack got the property when her legal right to live here expired along with her. The only thing you couldn't get her to tell you was the location of the will.” Andrea pulled a yellowed paper from the hymnal and opened it.

“Aunt Libby put the will in her hymnal for safekeeping until she could talk to us.” Andrea spread another legal-size paper before her. “Aunt Libby's will was in the hymnal, too. It leaves the property to Alice Marie.”

Eunice jumped to her feet. “You aren't going to pin this on me. I'm going back to Texas .” She headed for the door.

“I made another call while I was in the study.” Andrea nodded toward the window.

We all turned to see the sheriff's car sitting outside. Eunice opened the door. Her gold seemed a bit tarnished as they led her away.

To my way of thinking, things turned out pretty well after that. Eunice confessed to being an accomplice in the killing and blamed the actual deed on Jack, hoping for a plea bargain.

It turned out that Jack had an excellent alibi, one that shocked Andrea and me, I admit. Alice Marie had been corresponding and talking on the phone with Jack for months, trying to arrive at a fair arrangement for selling the timber. It was just one of those things. He wasn't thrilled to death being married to Eunice, and he and Alice Marie hit it off right away, even on the phone. He hadn't spent the afternoon sleeping at the motel after all. He was with Alice Marie, “going over papers,” they said.

Eunice is in jail, awaiting trial. The judge set a high bond, fearing she would run to Texas first chance she got.

Jack filed for divorce right away, and he and Alice Marie have been together ever since. It looks like there won't be any problem with sharing the decision on the timber, and I think that's nice.

“Do you suppose they really were ‘going over papers' that day?” I asked Andrea as we sat on her deck one evening.

Being a bit straight-laced, Andrea didn't comment, but only smiled.

“At least, the time of the half-moon's over. We have a full moon tonight, and as grandmother used to say, it's a time of romance and good fortune. Alice Marie said she'd be over tomorrow to deliver the jewelry Aunt Libby left us.”

Andrea smiled again, and she looked like she was beginning to believe in the influence of the moon.