I jerked my hand away. "Everybody has that.
"No.
Kizzy showed me her palm. No star. No line. I shook my head in denial, suddenly uncomfortable with the whole spooky business.
Kizzy slipped the moonstone pendant from around her neck. Once again, she took my hand and turned it palm up. I knew what was coming and felt powerless to stop it. I watched, hardly daring to breathe. She dropped the moonstone onto my palm, the glistening silver chain pooling around it. She gently closed my fingers.
"And now, it's yours.
Chapter Four
I have a confession to make. The moonstone scared the crap out of me! Come on, I'm just a kid, and it's not like it had an owner's manual. What did Kizzy expect me to do with a big old hunk of costume jewelry that apparently ruined her mother's life? Rub the stone, twirl around three times and wait for a genie to appear? Hang it around my neck and wear it to John J. Peacock High School? I don't think so!
Such were my thoughts all day Friday. That is, when I could concentrate, what with visions of Carrie crucifying her mother with kitchen tools slow-dancing in my head. Yeah, my overnight stay at Kizzy's concluded with a viewing of Carrie. The old Stephen King horror movie creeped me out, but Kizzy said it was a crucial part of my education.
"It's important that you remember the consequences of misusing power," Kizzy insisted when the movie ended. She said that right before I took "the vow." Really. I know it sounds hokey, but I placed one hand over my heart, raised the other to heaven and promised to do no evil deeds. When I asked her to explainwere the evil deeds I'd sworn not to do related to my telekinetic power or the moonstone?she said, "All will be revealed at the proper time."
As for the moonstone, it wasn't a tough decision. I needed no more magic in my life. When I got home from school Friday, I stuffed it in a tube sock and stowed it in the storage space under my sofa bed. Alongside the photo of the man I believed to be my father, a photo I'd secretly lifted from Faye's hiding place.
Since I've been old enough to notice the blank space on my birth certificate, I'd hammered away at Faye with variations on the "Who's my Daddy?" theme. Other than heaving a disgusted sigh and saying, "Give it a rest, Allie," Faye's lips remained sealed.
On Saturday morning, otherwise known as "dump day," Faye and I were chugging along, towing our house behind us, me behind the wheel, Faye in the passenger seat. I drove because Faye thought if anyone saw her driving, she'd be considered fit and healthy and God knows, the last thing she wanted to be was healthy. Her wrong-headed logic was about to bite us in our collective butts.
Since I didn't have a license, I got real uptight during the first part of the journey to Friendly Fred's Trailer Park, where we emptied our tanks every week. In order to access the sparsely-traveled back road, I had to drive the first mile on the two-lane highway that connected Peacock Flats with Peacock Heights.
I was doing fine until we happened upon Lewis and Clark, Uncle Sid's Labrador Retrievers, who love to roam. They turned up in places like the wading pool in the city park or the annual Fruit Bowl Parade. During last year's parade, they'd trotted happily alongside the royal float, a giant fruit bowl with Queen Peach, Princess Plum and Little Miss Maraschino Cherry atop. When the float stopped so the girls could throw candy, Lewis and Clark peed on the giant fake grapes and scarfed up all the candy.
I was almost to the turn-off when I spotted the dogs standing in a driveway barking furiously at some old guy trying to retrieve his newspaper. I couldn't just drive by and leave them. Could I?
I pulled over onto the narrow shoulder which left most of the truck on the highway. Didn't take me long to figure it out the problem. One of dogs had dropped a tennis ball on the driveway and the barking meant, "Aw, come on. Throw it for us."
But Old Guy didn't get it. He was flapping his robe and yelling, "Shoo! Get out of here you bleep, bleep, bleep'n flea bags." He'd pause occasionally to call over his shoulder, "Vera, call 911! Tell 'em we've got mad dogs in our driveway!"
Fortunately, Vera was nowhere in sight. I climbed out of the truck. "Sir," I yelled. "They just want you to throw the ball. If you throw the ball, you can get your paper."
So he threw the ball. Out in the middle of the highway. Lewis and Clark bounded after it. Before long, they were playing keep-away on the yellow line. Cars from both directions screeched to a halt.
I grabbed Lewis by the collar and yelled at Faye, "I could use a little help here.
Faye slid down in her seat. "I can't. Somebody might see me.
"Oh, right," I muttered. "Government spies.
Faye's convinced the Feds had people lurking around Peacock Flats trying to catch her in the act of behaving like a normal person, so they could deny her application for disability.
With just one dog wrangler on the job, it was a good five minutes before I got them up and over the trailer hitch and loaded in the back of the pickup. Not an easy job, especially with the guy in the Lexus honking his horn, flipping me off and yelling, "MOVE THAT TRAILER!" Who says country folk are nicer than city folk?
Right away I knew I was busted, what with cell phones, Old Guy and very possibly Vera. With "MOVE THAT TRAILER" ringing in my ears, I vaulted into the truck and landed on top of Faye, who had moved to the driver's side during the roundup. She yelped in surprise as I scrambled over her to the passenger side. "Go! Go!" I screamed.
One of my legs was still draped across Faye's lap, the other wrapped around the stick shift on the floor. From my semi-reclining position I yelled, "Clutch, hit the clutch," as I tried desperately to find first gear. I felt beads of perspiration popping out on my forehead while Faye muttered, "Oh God! Oh God!
After a series of fits and starts we lurched out onto the highway with a parade of cars following us. We'd just ground into third gear when we heard the siren. Luckily, our turn-off was just ahead. Faye turned too fast then over-corrected. With the trailer fishtailing violently behind us, we skidded to a stop on the gravel road.
Faye and I peered in the oversized side mirrors and saw Deputy Richard Philpott marching toward us, one hand resting on his holstered gun. That's right, none other than evil troll Cory Philpott's father, Peacock Flats' only law enforcement officer. But really, was creating a traffic jam on a rural highway a shooting offense?
Faye pinched her cheeks and fluffed her hair. "Just stay cool, Allie. I'll handle this.
"Go for it," I said.
I felt a wave of relief. Faye, unlike me, knew how to flirt. First, the smile complete with deep dimples in both cheeks, then the sideways glance, her innocent blue eyes peeking shyly through long, fluttering lashes. If she wanted to, Faye could charm the devil himself. But, unlucky for us, we had Deputy Philpott to deal with, not the devil.
He was a little guy trying to look big with his Stetson hat and high-heeled cowboy boots. He wore mirrored sunglasses, which he totally didn't need because his enormous hat blocked the sun as well as most of his face. What with the big hat and sunglasses, the only facial features visible were a pair of dry lips and a pointy chin with a wispy beard.
I fought back a gurgle of inappropriate laughter. "Baaa, it's Billy Goat Gruff," I bleated softly in Faye's ear while we untangled our legs.
Through a fit of giggles Faye hissed, "Not a good time to be a smart ass, Allie.
"Morning, ladies. License and registration, please," he blared in a rich, deep voice so filled with authority that Faye and I sobered quickly.
He shifted a toothpick from one corner of his mouth to the other while Faye leaned into the open window and did her thing. While she chatted him up, I retrieved Faye's license from her purse and dug around in the glove compartment for the registration.
Deputy Philpott carefully examined the documents before handing them back to my mother. Then he thrust an arm through the window and pointed at me. "Now yours, missy," he boomed. "I have it on good authority you were behind the wheel when the unfortunate dog incident occurred in front of the mayor's house.
"Mayor'
s house," Faye repeated. "Great. Just great.
I startled babbling, "Well you see, sir, I usually don't drive but my mother's not feeling well and it's really important that we get to the trailer dump because if we don't, well, you know, things start backing up and...
"Silence!" he barked.
I bit back a hysterical snicker. The Wizard of Oz was alive and well, right there in Peacock Flats.
Philpott stared at me for a long moment. "You're Allie, right? The girl who busted my son's nose?
Faye spoke up quickly. "She was provoked.
Philpott said, "Yes, I'm aware of that." He paused and stroked his sparse chin whiskers. I held my breath, my heart in my throat. Finally he said, "Young lady, I'm familiar with your situation. You think I've never seen you driving on Saturday morning? I've always looked the other way because of, uh, your situation. But the mayor's really steamed. I'm going to have to write you a ticket.
He reached for the ballpoint pen in his shirt pocket. Faye moaned.
"I'll be fifteen next week. I promise I'll get a learner's permit," I squeaked.
I hated the desperation I heard in my voice. But the fact was, we didn't have the money to pay the fine. Sure, Faye could borrow it from Grandpa Claude. But Faye hated Grandpa Claudeshe won't tell me whyand borrowing money from him sent her into a fit of non-stop crying followed by non-stop cursing followed by two days of deep, death-like sleep. I couldn't take it. I had to do something and quickly. I leaned toward the open window and focused on the deputy's pen.
No ticket, I thought, my gaze burning into the pen. No ticket.
I heard a faint buzzing noise, punctuated by the painful thudding of my heart. I concentrated harder. The buzzing grew louder while the edges of my vision darkened until I saw only the pen backlit by an eerie, greenish light. No ticket!, I thought desperately.
Time seemed to stand still for a moment and then, in slow motion, I saw the deputy's hand move into the glowing light surrounding the pen. When his fingers closed around it, the pen squirted out of his grasp and shot upward like a rocket. The three of us watched as it soared upward in the brilliant morning sun, did a couple of lazy loops and plummeted to the ground.
Faye gasped in surprise. Philpott's jaw dropped and his toothpick fell to the ground.
"What the..." he began.
"Wow," I said. "How did that happen?
He lowered his sunglasses and stared at me with pale, suspicious eyes. "Never happened before." He shoved his glasses back up and bent over to pick up the pen. As he reached for it, it skittered away. "Halt!" he ordered, bounding after it. He reached for it again only to have it roll out of reach. And again. Finally, with a roar of rage, he lifted a booted foot and stomped it, one, two, three times. Breathing hard, he unholstered his gun and pointed it at the thin, inkfilled tube and the splintered plastic shell.
"I think it's already dead, sir," I chirped.
Faye, who'd been watching in open-mouthed horror, shot me a warning look.
Philpott walked back to the truck and peered through the open window. He stroked his wispy beard. He looked a little pale. "Young lady," he said. "Let's make a deal. Promise me you'll get your learners' permit, and I'll tell the mayor I threw the book at you.
I nodded my head so hard I probably looked like one of those bobble-head dolls. Thankfully, the aura that accompanied my telekinetic power had vanished.
"Yes sir, I certainly will.
"Are you aware you have to be signed up for drivers' education before the state of Washington will grant you a permit?
My heart sank. The class cost money we didn't have.
"It just so happens," the deputy continued, "that I'm qualified to teach the class. I know you can drive, Allie. Stop by my office and I'll give you the official letter. But, no driving until you get your permit.
I quickly agreed. After expressing our gratitudeFaye patted his cheek and told him he was a prince among men we were off to complete our mission. Faye was uncharacteristically silent for the remainder of the trip. In fact she didn't speak again until we parked the trailer next to Blaster's pasture.
She turned off the ignition, folded her arms and gazed at me through narrowed eyes.
"Okay, Allie, what's going on? I know you made that pen move."
Chapter Five
I stared at Faye while my mind searched for an explanation. Something other than the truth. I was pretty sure Faye couldn't handle the truth. But, I'm a lousy liar and Faye could spot a lie before it left my lips.
"Let's trade information," I said.
Faye blinked in surprise. "Trade?
"Tell me about my father.
Faye's cheeks flooded with color. "Are you trying to make me sick, Allie? I mean, sicker than I already am?" Her eyes flashed with anger.
Faye, the master manipulator. I reached for the door handle. "I'll unhitch.
I hopped out of the truck and unloaded Lewis and Clark who, true to their names, raced off to explore new territory.
I removed the safety chains and unfastened the electrical hook-up, wrapping the cord carefully around the tongue of the trailer. Resentment began to simmer just below the surface and I kicked a tire in disgust. I hated the way we lived. Faye and me. It was totally upside down. Faye was the mom. Right? The one who was supposed to take care of me, the kid. Didn't work that way in my world.
Kizzy told me I needed to cut Faye some slack. She said my mother was trying her best considering what she'd been through. After a series of loser boyfriends, Faye was starting to get it together. That's when boyfriend number eight, Jeremy, delivered the knock-out punch. She'd been working at the Quik Mart and managed to put a little money away so we could get a real roof over our heads. Jeremy, the rat, found the money and took off with it. Goodbye apartment. Shortly after, Faye saw a segment about fibromyalgia on Oprah and took to her bed. Now it's me taking care of her.
"Okay, pull it forward," I called. I tried to keep my voice calm even though, by this time, I was furious at Faye for being furious at me. She thought if she copped an attitude I'd back off. Not this time. So what if I found out my dad was a serial killer? I could take it.
Without a glance in my direction, Faye started the engine and pulled the pick-up into its usual spot. I heard the truck door open and close. I ignored her and hooked up the water hose and cranked down the leveling jacks. As I set up the concrete blocksour front porchFaye shot me a disgusted look and trudged to a saggy lawn chair. She sat down with a weary sigh. That sigh said it all. I knew I'd won.
Before she could change her mind, I unlocked the trailer and retrieved the photograph hidden next to the moonstone.
I set the snapshot, face up, on the spool table next to Faye. Even though the colors had faded, I could tell the man in the picture had dark, curly hair and green eyes exactly like mine.
Faye glared at me. "You've been in my stuff.
I glared right back at her. "What choice did I have? The only thing you ever told me about my Dad is that he's swarthy." Anger and frustration, my daily companions, boiled over into that single word. At that moment, it signified all that was wrong between us. "You wouldn't even tell me what swarthy meant. I had to ask my teacher. Jeez, did it ever occur to you I might want to know where I come from?
My voice quavered with pent-up emotion. It felt like a big wad of cotton was stuck in my throat. Do not cry, Allie.
"I mean, look at the two of us," I said. "It's like we're not even related. You're little and pretty with blond hair and blue eyes. I'm tall, skinny and dark. Yeah, swarthy! Maybe I'm not yours at all. Maybe somebody didn't want me and left me in a garbage can. Maybe you found this swarthy little baby and, and...
My voice squeaked then faded away altogether. Faye stood up and reached for me. She pulled me into her arms and hugged me, which was kinda awkward because I was way taller than her. I felt her warm breath and hot tears on my neck.
After a long moment she whispered, "Of course you're mine, you silly little girl. Don't ever doubt it." She
released me. "Besides, if I'd found you in a garbage can, I'd never have let your grandpa name you 'Alfrieda Carlotta.' Isn't that enough proof?
She smiled through her tears and I giggled. "I guess so." I swiped at my eyes.
Faye settled into the lawn chair. I gave her the picture and perched on the spool table. Her hand shook slightly as she examined the photo. I stared at her face, trying to read her expression. She bit her lip and blinked hard. Regret? Anger? I couldn't tell.
"It says 'me and Purdy' on the back," I pointed out, hoping to prime the pump. "Is that his name? Purdy?
I knew the details of the photo by heart because I looked at it every night before I went to sleep. Faye was dressed in jeans and a skimpy top, an explosion of frizzy blond hair cascading over one shoulder. Something about the curve of her cheek, the sweet, trusting look of innocence in her face always clutched at my heart. She smiled up at a tall, dark man who stared straight ahead. His right arm was draped around Faye's shoulders, the left extended toward the camera, palm out. I took the gesture to mean he wasn't pleased about having his picture taken.
Faye sighed and handed the photo back to me. "Mike Purdy. That's your dad's name. Everybody called him Purdy. This was taken before..." Her voice trailed off.
"Before what? Before you were pregnant with me?" I heard the urgency in my voice and hoped it wouldn't shut Faye down.
"No," she said. "Before things went to hell. I knew I was pregnant when this picture was taken." She clutched my hand and finally met my eyes. It was like looking into an ocean of pain."I was happy about the pregnancy, Allie. I want you to know that.
I swallowed hard. "What happened?" Once again, my voice was choked with tears.
"I'm not proud of my past," Faye said. "Things were bad at home. I couldn't take it so I ran away when I was seventeen.
I wanted to know more about Grandpa Claude, who I'm not allowed to visit, but held my tongue.
"I hitched a ride to Seattle and got a job at Denny's, washing dishes. One of the waitresses liked to party. That's how I met Purdy. He had a small apartment in the university district. I moved in with him. He said he was a student, but I never saw him open a book.
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