Jodi Thomas - Rustler's Moon

Angela picked up the fishing picture as his worry over the accounts seemed to echo in her memory. She wished she could have helped him. “I love you, Dad,” she whispered to his picture.

Absently, she flipped over the frame to see if the note she had put in the back saying how she loved him to the moon and back was still there.

She opened the frame and a small piece of paper fell out. She recognized her writing and the hearts drawn all around the edges.

Smiling, she pulled it out and noticed, in deep pen marks, someone had scribbled something on the back of her note. The note was addressed “To my Angel” and dated three days ago. The day he died.

“You have to get away from here,” the note read. Three words were printed in all capitals. “RUN DISAPPEAR VANISH. Your life depends on it. Trust no...”

He hadn’t finished. Something must have stopped him. Maybe a noise in the alley that interrupted his thoughts. She imagined him hastily returning the unfinished note to the frame, then going to investigate.

For a while she looked from the picture to the note, to the ledger. Florida was her home. Why would he tell her to run?

He must have known he was in danger. The police said the phone line to his office had been cut, but the muggers couldn’t have known he’d left his cell at home that night, as usual. And even if he knew he was in danger, why would he tell her to run or disappear?

A chill slid along her spine. Her father had hidden the note. He’d been afraid someone would find it. Someone besides her.

Bits of conversation they’d had over the past few weeks circled in her mind. He’d suggested she apply for a curator job in Texas he’d seen online, even posted the job opening on the note board in the kitchen to remind her. He’d told her it would be good to get away. He’d brought home a little trailer he’d picked up at a yard sale and tucked it away in a garage full of other useless junk. He’d transferred all his stocks to her name, claiming he no longer had time to keep up with them.

Maybe he never guessed he would be mugged, but suspected his heart might give out. Or had he feared violence might be coming his direction? Now, looking back, she wondered if he had wanted her to leave Florida so he could do the same. But why? He had a job for life. Even if Uncle Anthony was shady in his dealings, Benjamin would never have turned in his own brother.

She’d thought all his changes were part of the grieving for her mother, but now she reconsidered. Her forever-organized father must have had a plan, but what?

Slowly, she saw the answer. Not in the picture, or the note he’d written, but in the ledger. The numbered account where he’d transferred the money was hers, and the amount was exactly what he’d loaned his brother years ago. He didn’t even calculate the interest he was entitled to.

Her father might not have ever been able to leave Florida, but he was telling her to and making sure she had the funds to do it.

No, not telling, demanding. Even from the grave.

Angela stood, put the note back behind the picture, stuffed the frame and the ledger into her purse, and walked out of her father’s office.

How could she disappear? Everyone she knew lived in Florida, which admittedly wasn’t too many. She’d had a few jobs in college, but she’d always worked alone in the back of a museum. She had no real friends she could call on, and all the family she had left belonged to her uncle Anthony. Even at the funeral they’d treated her as if they thought she might try to claim part of the Harold Antiques Company now that her father was dead.

She needed answers and couldn’t think of leaving before she had them. Tomorrow she’d begin. She might be a mouse of a warrior, but at dawn she’d begin her quest. Once she had answers to why her father had left such a strange note, she’d take his advice. She’d vanish. There was nothing left for her here. Her relatives wouldn’t miss her. Her job had dwindled to part-time. She hadn’t had the time to develop even one friendship since she’d returned from college.

As she crawled into bed in the tiny room that had been hers most of her life, she didn’t stop the tears. She could almost see her father standing in the doorway whispering to her. “Good night, dear one. May the angels watch over you this night.”

He may never have talked to her about anything more serious than what they planned to have for dinner, but she never doubted his love. Even the day he died, he’d been thinking of her.

“Good night,” she whispered as if his shadow were still lingering in the doorway.

* * *

A LITTLE AFTER SUNRISE, Angela emerged from her room. As she entered the kitchen of her parents’ beach house, she found her aunt sitting at the dining table as if waiting for her to join her. A half-empty cup of coffee was near her elbow. She’d opened three days’ worth of mail and scattered it across the table like trash.

Crystal Harold was Uncle Anthony’s third wife, so Angela thought of her as her aunt-trice-removed. Never helpful. Never friendly. Never caring. If Crystal was on Anna Marie Island, it was because Uncle Anthony had sent her.

Of course she had a key, even though she rarely visited. The house and the car her father drove were all part of Harold Antiques’ holdings. Just one more way Anthony kept her father tied to the business.

“Where have you been, dear?” her aunt said in her cold voice. “I thought you’d come straight home after the funeral yesterday. I waited here until after dark.”

“I just drove around,” Angela said carefully, remembering the note. Trust no one.

“Well, I came by to tell you that you can stay here as long as you like. The house belongs to the company, as does most of the furniture, but your uncle and I want you to know that no matter what you are still family. Of course, after a month you’ll need to start paying rent and your father’s car has already been picked up. I’m sure with your degree in museum studies you’ll find work somewhere. Maybe not at a museum like you planned...” She looked Angela up and down and added, “Although running a museum gift shop would suit you. Those kind of people wouldn’t care about how you dress or that you’re shy as a crab. Museum-goers probably expect the staff in those places to be a little quirky or odd.”

Crystal’s dragon fingernails tapped against her cup. “I never have seen the point of museums or art galleries for that matter. Who wants to look at something you can’t buy? Anthony must have told your father a dozen times to make you get a degree you could use, like accounting. Then you could step into your father’s role with us.” She made a sound as if half coughing to disguise a laugh. “Well, not today. Someone broke the windows to the accounting office early this morning. Wet papers scattered everywhere. If I believed in ghosts, I might think your father went back one more time.”

Angela shook her head. She didn’t believe in ghosts and even if she had, Angela guessed the last place her father would return to would be the office.

“You could get married, Angela.” Crystal’s mind bounced again. “You’re pretty enough in a plain kind of way.”

“Gee, thanks,” Angela managed, already knowing that she didn’t fit Crystal’s ideal look for marriage material—tall, tan and blonde. Her aunt had even mentioned once that she should consider cutting her strawberry-colored curly hair and wearing a wig. She’d bought Angela a year’s worth of spray tans saying that “any little bit might help.”

Crystal had always behaved as though she felt sorry for her. “It’s not your fault, Angela. Not everyone can be blessed with beauty. You’re smart, though. There’s bound to be one man in Florida into that kind of thing.” Crystal downed the rest of her coffee as if waiting to be thanked.