Page 66 of Blood Moon

“Yes. A handmaiden of the devil. He’s been called to set them straight. He’s been sanctioned to kill them in order to—”

“Punish them.”

“Or to purify and save them.”

“What about Crissy Mellin?” Beth asked. “Was she interested in anything like that?”

“I never knew to ask, but we’ll ask Carla if and when we get to talk to her.” He’d been riffling through their notepads and pens, empty water bottles, the detritus of their hours of work at the computers. “Where’s my phone?”

“End table. Who’re you calling?”

“Morris in Galveston. She’s the one who tipped the blood moon aspect to Barker and the other two detectives.” He pulled up his recent calls and clicked on her number. After several rings, the detective answered amid a lot of background racket.

“Gayle, it’s John Bowie. Bad time for you to talk?”

“Bath time. One tub, three brothers. Hold on while I relinquish refereeing to my husband.”

While they waited, John put the call on speaker so Beth could listen in.

Once back, the detective started by asking if he had received the file she’d emailed. “I did. Thank you.”

“Anything new turn up?”

“Nothing new, but I’ve been thinking of the perp as the one with an obsession for blood moons. But what if it’s the women who have the obsession? He targets them because of it.”

“I’m listening.”

“You said you found nothing suggesting that Dobbs was into mysticism, the occult, astrology, any of that.”

“Nothing.”

“What about Larissa herself? Did she have any interests in that arena? A zodiac tattoo? Anything like that?”

“I got no indication of it. I asked her parents and friends about her interests, hobbies. Nothing like that was mentioned. The posters in her bedroom were of hunky men in G-strings and idols like Beyoncé. Nothing witchy or out there. I don’t think Larissa was that cerebral. Sorry, John.”

He looked at Beth, his disappointment plain. “It was a long shot.”

“A good idea, though.”

“I thought so. I envisioned each of the women caught unaware, abducted while moongazing.”

“Doubtful they would have been doing that in Jackson or Shreveport.”

“Why’s that?”

“Our blood moon here in ’22 was seen against a night sky. But the ones in 2018 weren’t that awe-inspiring in this region. The one in January occurred around eight o’clock in the morning. And because of the Earth’s positioning, it was only a partial eclipse.

“Shreveport’s in July of ’18 was also partial. It, too, occurred in daylight. On other parts of the globe, those blood moons were brilliant. In the southern US, not so much.”

Chapter 18

Beth woke up. Noticing light beneath the bedroom door, she got out of bed and pulled on Aunt Gert’s robe. After securing it with the tie belt, she tentatively opened the door. The only light on in the main room was the wall sconce with the Mardi Gras beads.

John’s back was to her. He sat at the dining table, fully clothed, elbows on the table, head in his hands.

Detective Morris’s explanation hadn’t been what he’d wanted or expected to hear, but he’d politely thanked her for the clarification and apologized for imposing on her. Then he’d ended the call and, with exaggerated control, as though his phone were made of hand-blown glass, he set it on the table.

Beth had extended her hand toward him, but he jerked his arm out of her reach. “John, it’s in my notes.”