Fire on the Moon. V. J. Banis

have happened to me.

      Perhaps Carlotta didn’t know Neil at all. Who on earth was he? Obviously Carlotta hadn’t intended him to meet me. Why did he?

      I couldn’t see that it made much difference now, though. I was safe and sound. And the sun was being unreasonably kind. It proved to be the friend I needed just then. My head nodded, my muscles relaxed and I closed my eyes. I slept.

      A buzzing interrupted my sleep. My eyes flew open. The sky was darker, the air crisper and less comfortable. I shivered, pulling my night dress down over my knees.

      The buzzing came again. Someone was ringing the doorbell. I jumped to my feet and hurried from the terrace. I couldn’t answer the door in the outfit I was wearing. I dashed up the stairs, glancing at my watch as I went.

      It was almost five. Surely it wasn’t Carlotta. She would have her own key. But then I thought of the key in the potted cyprus—the one I’d dropped into my handbag. Possibly Carlotta didn’t carry a key and relied upon that one.

      I went to the window of the bedroom and looked down onto the front terrace. It wasn’t Carlotta. It was a man. I could just see the top of his head and his automobile—a sleek, bright sport car, its top down, its motor running, its radio playing.

      One glance in the mirror told me I wouldn’t answer the door. I looked a fright. My hair was disheveled, my face puffy from sleep. I was hardly dressed to receive a gentleman caller.

      I stood at the window and waited. He rang several more times, each time holding his finger on the bell a little longer. Finally he stepped back and looked up. I backed away from the window, but didn’t know whether or not I’d been fast enough to escape his notice. I must have been, because he turned and got into his car.

      When he looked in my direction I saw his face. He looked a bit like the man who’d driven me to the villa, but this man was younger, slighter of build and even better looking than Neil—if that was possible. What I really was saying to myself was that this man didn’t have an ugly scar on the left side of his face.

      The sound of the car’s motor drifted into the distance. The quiet was suddenly deafening. I turned from the window and again verified the time. I’d have time for a bath before Carlotta arrived.

      * * * *

      I was seated at the dressing table putting on the last of my makeup when I heard her car pull into the drive. It skidded to a halt just as I looked down. Carlotta got out from behind the wheel, picked up a huge handbag and started up the stairs onto the terrace. I saw her stop at the potted Cyprus and fumble around.

      The key.

      I rushed from the room and down the stairs just as I heard her call my name and bang the large, brass door knocker. I had to smile. Carlotta wasn’t the type to trust the subtle sound of an electric buzzer.

      I pulled open the door and threw myself into her arms.

      “Jen,” she cried. We hugged like two school girls who hadn’t seen each other since graduation. “Oh, Jen,” she said, fighting back the tears. “You’re here at last—and I wasn’t here to meet you.”

      I held her at arm’s length. “You get younger and prettier with the years,” I said.

      “And you just get prettier.” She looked me up and down boldly. “Yep, you’ve filled out in all the right places, thank heaven. I was afraid that family of yours would keep you skinny and willowy like the rest of that social set you spin around in.”

      She hugged me again and led me through the foyer into her lair. She slipped out of her chic light coat and tossed it over the back of one of the French chairs. She was just as I remembered, short and a bit on the stocky side, yet with an unmistakable air of elegance. Her clothes were expensively cut. She pulled off her wide-brimmed hat and tossed it on the chair with her coat and bag. One would not describe Carlotta as beautiful—she was handsome with bright blue eyes, a regal forehead, a square chin and a flawless creamy complexion.

      “I thought Philip might still be here,” she commented.

      “He didn’t meet me,” I said.

      She turned sharply. “He didn’t meet you? Why that no-good louse. But how did you get here? I hope you didn’t take one of those infernal taxi cabs? They cheat the life out of you if you aren’t familiar with the rates.”

      I laughed. “No, someone by the name of Neil picked me up.”

      Carlotta stared at me. Her eyes were wide with what appeared to be shock, or fear. Her eyes moved nervously from side to side. “Neil? Good lord. I knew I should have stayed and met you myself. Wait until I get my hands on Philip Alenquer.”

      “But it’s all right, Auntie. Neil was a bit surly, but he got me here in one piece, for which I’m grateful.”

      “That isn’t the point,” she said. “Neil Alenquer isn’t anyone to trust. He’s just not the kind of man I want to have around you.” Her expression was ominous. I’d never seen Carlotta look like this before.

      I was innocently confused. I could see no reason for her sudden alarm. “He seemed a perfect gentleman,” I said. “He was surly and a bit forceful and silent, but otherwise he seemed harmless enough.”

      “Well, he isn’t harmless. Just remember that.” She leveled a finger at me, then resumed her pacing. Suddenly she stopped, whirled around to face me and put her hands on her hips. “He’s a murderer, that’s what he is,” she said.

      CHAPTER THREE

      My hand went to my throat. I stared at her.

      “Oh, I’m sorry, kid,” she said, turning away from me. “I shouldn’t have said that. It isn’t altogether true—at least nobody could prove anything.”

      She came to me and put her arms around me. “I’ve upset you. I wish I hadn’t. Forget what I said. Come on, let’s get you settled. I want to stretch out in a tub then have a couple of stiff belts before dinner. My housekeeper’s off for a couple of days so you’ll have to put up with my cooking.”

      I wasn’t listening. All I could think about was that I’d just spent a wild ride with a so-called murderer. In spite of the covering up Carlotta was now doing, I couldn’t ignore what she’d said. It was horrible. I’d been with a murderer—alone with a murderer.

      Carlotta took note of my dismay. “I didn’t mean all that,” she said. She looked embarrassed. “I sometimes wonder which is worse, my big mouth or my bad temper. No wonder I turned out to be an old maid.”

      I shook my head. “But he seemed so harmless,” I said. “Who did he kill?”

      “Oh, nobody, child. Nobody at all. Neil’s wife died and the local gossip is that he was responsible. Of course he wasn’t,” she added emphatically. “There was an investigation and everything, but nothing was ever proven. I didn’t mean what I said. Put it out of your mind.”

      Carlotta was avoiding my eyes. There was more to her story but I could see I’d have a hard time getting it out of her. She looked most uncomfortable, so for her sake I tried to do what she asked, to push it out of my mind—for the time being. However, the more I tried, the more it remained. I’d have to pretend to forget, I decided.

      “I’m not here a day and already excitement is crowding in on me,” I said, smiling. “Mystery. Intrigue. All I need now is the romance.”

      Carlotta smiled too, looking relieved. “Oh, I’ve arranged for a bit of romance too. I’m afraid, however, my original plan along that line got off on the wrong foot.”

      “That Philip Alenquer fellow? Is he the one you intend throwing at me?”

      “Now, I wouldn’t throw anybody at anybody. I’ll just introduce you, that’s all. From that point on you’re on your own.”

      “Auntie, you know I’m not ready for any of your matchmaking.” I meant it.

      She