"Don't tell me you're letting that mess get to you."
I opened my lunch bag and pulled out food I didn't want. I considered buying dessert—key lime pie today. "Is Mrs. Brennan here?"
"She's taking a leave of absence," Luke said.
"What?" Ione said. "Why?"
"Are you kidding?" Luke said. "A kid died after eating something she cooked. She's probably the number one suspect."
Embry sat back and folded his arms. "Why would she want to kill Desmond? It doesn't make sense."
"What motive would she have?" I said. "And more important, why would she do it, knowing she'd be the main suspect?" I looked at Ione. She kept her eyes on the cup of yogurt she was stirring. She slowly raised her head and looked at me.
"I didn't kill him, if that's what you're thinking."
I gaped at her. "I don't think that."
Luke gave an exaggerated sigh. "Take a pill, Hamilton."
Embry stared at his girlfriend. "Guinan doesn't think you killed Desmond."
"On to more important things." Luke said. He went over the Post story and reminded us that he was right about the oil.
"But that doesn't mean someone tried to murder him," Ione said.
Luke gave me a deadpan expression. Is she for real?
"Murder or not," Embry said, "they definitely intended to cause him harm. But who'd do something like that?"
I leaned forward. "Does this mean you no longer think Luke tainted the canola oil?"
Embry glanced at Luke. "Unlike some people, I admit I don't know what happened. I'll let the evidence speak for itself."
"I have a confession," Ione said. She stared down at her well-stirred yogurt. "I saw Luke pour the oil on his tie. As far as I could tell, that's all he did."
Luke snorted and shook his head.
Embry's face paled. "Why didn't you say anything at the cafe?"
She shrugged.
"She enjoys the drama of it all," Luke said. "Isn't that right, Hamilton? You like seeing the two of us sniping at each other."
I looked at each them, not even wanting to understand the weirdness between them. "I'm not hungry," I said, stuffing my lunch bag into my back pack. I left the lunch room and stopped at my locker to get my jacket.
"Mind if I walk, too?"
Luke stood behind me. I didn't respond. He didn't speak until we were outside.
"Can I ask you something?"
The cool air felt good on my face. I shoved my hands in my coat pocket.
"Did you really do your thing? You know, 'read' his body? And before you ask, yes, I believe you're clairvoyant."
I stared into Luke's eyes and sensed no deception. This should have comforted me. It didn't. "I am so sorry to disappoint you, but I don't know who killed Desmond."
"What did you see...I mean, hear?"
I had nothing to hide, did I? "He was thinking, 'I don't want to leave you.'"
Luke waited. "Is that all?"
"He wanted to make up for something. He wanted someone to know him."
"No names?"
I gave him a weak smile. "That would be too easy, wouldn't it?"
His brow furrowed in concentration. "I think you need to tell the others what you just told me."
I groaned. "Why?"
He looked into the distance. "Somebody might know something. In fact, I think you should broadcast it to the whole school."
I shook my head, my heart fluttering. "No way."
"Guinan, somebody murdered my best friend. If what you heard can help..." He rubbed his eyes.
"I guess it can't hurt," I said under my breath.
He touched my arm. "I understand why you're hesitating. Coming here was your chance to start over, to leave all that behind. You'd be pointing a spotlight at yourself and confirming to the whole school you hear dead people."
I winced.
"Everybody reads the Malcontent," he said. "I'm going to e-mail the blogger and tell him what you heard." He waited to see if I'd object. When I didn't, he began to walk away.
"Luke, do you know who runs that thing?"
He faced me. "Wish I did. By the way, do you want a ride to the funeral tomorrow? It's at ten."
The funeral. This was the first I'd heard about it.
Seeing my confusion, he said, "There was a notice on the school web site. I'll bet most people don't check it, but I do. Every morning."
"What about Gabby Meyerson?"
Luke cocked an eyebrow. "What about her?"
"I thought she was your girlfriend."
He laughed. "She's not really my girlfriend. Besides, she says she doesn't do funerals."
And I do? I didn't know whether to be flattered or alarmed. I chose somewhere in the middle. "I'll meet you at your house."
***
Sinder ran up to me so fast between classes, she almost knocked me down. "I'm so sorry," she said, covering her mouth. "Are you okay?"
I hitched my book bag up, which I'd retrieved from Mr. Grier's office that morning, to my shoulder. "Sure."
"I knew it," she said. "Desmond spoke to you. Guinan, you are the real thing."
An hour ago, the Malcontent had posted what I'd told Luke about hearing Desmond's thoughts. I regretted giving him permission. So far, one girl wanted to hire me to contact her dead brother. Another said her grandfather fought in Vietnam. He was presumed dead, but his body was never recovered. Could I find out where his corpse was? I disappointed both with my replies.
Now Sinder stood before me, eyes welled with tears and hands clasped together under her chin. "I'm in awe. Really. I wish I had your gifts."
"If I could give them to you, I would. Gladly."
"I'm not going to bother you about starting a coven anymore," she said. "I don't want to disturb the power, your energy flow, with my nonsense."
I wondered if she was the one who sent the blogger the tip about my leaning over Desmond's body. Had she returned to the lunch room by then?
"Are you going to the funeral tomorrow?" she said.
"Of course."
"I was thinking we could go together. I don't want to go alone."
I didn't want her to go alone, either. It was unthinkable that she'd attend her best friend's funeral by herself. "I'm riding with Luke. I'll ask him to pick you up."
Her face fell. "No, thanks."
"Sinder, come on. Why don't you like him?"
"Duh. He's arrogant. And I thought he was a bad influence on Desmond. Luke was so much wilder, you know. He used to have a drinking problem."
Drinking problem? "But he's only sixteen."
Sinder snorted. "A cousin on my mother's side was an alcoholic at eight years old. It can happen to anybody."
"Does Luke still drink?"
She shrugged. "All I know is Desmond stopped."
"It sounds like Desmond was a good influence on him," I said, smiling.
She narrowed her eyes. "Look, I know you like Luke, but—"
"As a friend," I said quickly.
"Okay," she said, rolling her eyes. "But your friend isn't who you think he is." She started walking away.
"That's it?" I said. "You're going to leave me hanging?"
She stopped and gazed at me. "I believe the best way to truly know someone is to discover who they are for yourself. Know what I mean?"
I realized my mouth was gaping. I headed to my next class and half-listened to a lecture on Greek mythology and daydreamed about Zeke. I wished he were here now, to walk beside me among these strangers. I wondered where he was right this moment, whether Tim was actually giving him a similar lecture.
When the final bell rang, I jumped up from my seat as if it were on fire. I returned to my locker to retrieve a book for homework. I unlocked it, and a white envelope fell to the floor. Someone must have slipped it through a slit on the door. I picked it up and turned it over. It was blank. I opened it with a shaky hand. A few dried flower petals fluttered to the floor. Faded orange. A marigold? I unfolded the paper and read the typed words:
When you die, no one will hear your thoughts.
Chapter Ten
"You're right about one thing," Granddad said. "Anybody who followed the case could have done it."
I sat on the edge of my bed and watched him pace. I'd shown him the petals and the note as soon as I got home. But I hadn't shown my mother. I didn't know whether to be scared or angry.
"Someone's idea of a stupid joke," I said.
He nodded and brushed a hand across his head. "You have to tell your parents."
"No way," I said in a low voice.
He stopped and shook a finger at me. "Guinan, they have to be involved in this. They need to know."
I shook my head.
"I know you're nervous, hon, but forget about the past. They're your parents. They love you."
My lips trembled. I knew exactly how they'd react, and maybe they'd be right. Who was I to second-guess whatever they decided to do? Why was I so afraid of letting them in?
"Maybe we could just—"
"No," Granddad said. He slid my desk chair close to the bed and sat. "I can't tell how wonderful it is that you can confide in me, but it's time to let them in."
"They'll freak out."
He touched my arm. "Probably."
Panic rose from my stomach to my throat.
"What are you terrified of?" he said. "What do you think is going to happen?"
I studied the floor. My brain felt foggy and unfocused. "Later. I'll tell them later."
"Guinan, if something happens to you, I'll never forgive myself. You want that on your conscience?"
I knew it didn't fit the situation, but I laughed and felt the tension release.
He grunted. "I'm glad you see the humorous side of things. So, when are we telling your parents about this?"
I let out a long sigh. "Soon. I promise. I just can't handle everything at once."
Looking unconvinced, Granddad rose from the chair, returned it to the desk, and rubbed the back of his neck. "At best, someone's playing games with you. At worst, it's a warning."
"Trust me, okay?"
He scoffed. "Can't you do the same with your parents?"
I opened my mouth to speak, but I didn't know what to say.
I stayed awake most of the night wondering if Embry, Ione, Sinder, or Luke put that envelope in my locker. Why would my friends do that to me? But I'd only met them a few months ago. Did they really consider me a friend?
***
Tuesday morning, I walked to Luke's house. The first thing I did when he opened the door was stare him down. No time for subtlety.
"Did you put that envelope in my locker?"
"What envelope?"
I narrowed my eyes. I opened myself up and grabbed onto his emotions. Surprise. Confusion. And, troubling, more fascination. But no deception.
"Someone put an envelope in your locker?"
"Luke!"
He held up his hands. "Hey, I don't know what you're talking about." I told him about the marigold petals and the note. "Sounds like a prank to me."
I gaped. "My would-be murderer's favorite flower? 'When you die, no one will hear your thoughts'"?
Luke scratched his cheek. "Well, when you put it like that...maybe you're reading more into it than—"
"Yeah," I said, throwing up my hands. "Maybe I'm taking a possible death threat too seriously. And I sense what I can only describe as fascination coming from you. I don't understand why."
He raised his eyebrows. "You don't understand why I'm enthralled by you?"
I blinked and bit the inside of my jaw. I headed toward the street where his car was parked. Luke closed the door to his house, caught up with me before I reached the car, and opened the passenger-side door. I got in and sat stiffly, staring out of the window.
"That really freaked you out," he said.
I looked at him. "I'm more angry than afraid."
He sighed. "You suspect me, don't you? You think I killed my best friend, and that I'm taunting you?"
I gaped. "I don't think you killed Desmond."
He raised his eyebrows. "And the note?"
I couldn't imagine that, either. My non-answer must have satisfied him, because he moved on.
"Let's look at this from the killer's point of view," he said. "The person wanted to kill Desmond. Tried to make it look like an accident. You're psychic but apparently don't know who did it. So why put the note and flower in your locker to give you something to work with?"
"I don't know."
"I think someone besides the killer left the note and flower to mess with you."
Luke's assessment brought up old feelings of uselessness. I wanted the sort of psychic ability that gave me definitive answers. I wanted to know who put peanuts in Desmond's food. I wanted to know when something bad was going to happen and receive clear instructions on how to prevent it. Instead, I flailed, and I guessed, along with everyone else.
"Jones?"
I looked at Luke. In the seconds we held eye contact, his uncertainty hung in the air like a vapor, then dissipated.
"You don't believe it's just a prank, do you?" I said.
He sighed. "I know this. I'll try my best to protect you."
We arrived at the church fifteen minutes before the service started, and the sanctuary was filled to the brim.
"Are Desmond's parents really important or something?"
"No," Luke said. "I think the news story drew some of these people."
We found a place to sit in the middle of a pew in the middle of the church. I excused myself several times as I carefully stepped over people's feet. When we settled down, I exhaled loudly and glanced at Luke. He looked good in his tailored, dark-blue suit. His cell chirped. He answered it, and the color drained from his face. He raised his head and looked toward the front of the church.
"That's all right. Yes, I see. Tell his mom I'm fine back here. I have a friend with me. Right. See you later." He blew out a breath and turned off the phone. "That was Matt, one of Drake's cousins. Mrs. Drake said I could sit up front with the family if I wanted."
"I don't mind if you go."
He shook his head and stared straight ahead. "I can't."
The service lasted an hour. Afterward, people formed a line facing the front of the church. Body-viewing time. I wanted to leave the building, as I had at Kate Mansfield's funeral, but Luke held on to my hand.
The family remained standing at their pew, and people approached them as they passed the casket. It reminded me of a receiving line. Luke must have read my confusion.
"It's customary at this church for attendees to give the family condolences before leaving for the cemetery."
As we neared the family, my eyes alighted on Desmond's mother, her hair pulled back in a severe bun. Next to her, Desmond's father wore a wan smile. He was almost gaunt. I mumbled something like, "So sorry for your loss."
Luke let go of my hand and hugged Mrs. Drake. She was calm, almost stoic. He whispered something to her, and she nodded. I greeted the rest of Desmond's family and felt a tap on the shoulder.
"Wait for us," Embry said in a low voice. Ione trailed behind him. Her face was so white and movements so jittery, I thought she'd faint at any minute.
Luke and I waited off to the side, watching the family. "They don't deserve this," he said. "This should not have happened."
"The police will sort it out," I said.
"They'd better. Because if this turns into a cold case, I'll—"
"You guys going to the cemetery?" Embry said, loosening his tie. He'd quickly filed past the family.
"Of course," Luke said. "Aren't you?"
While they glared at each other, I watched Ione. Mrs. Drake held her hand and whispered to her. The woman ignored the people streaming past her. Ione stood stock still.
"Don't turn it into a big thing, Luke. I just asked, okay?"
Ione didn't speak at all. She just listened.
"If you don't want to say goodbye to him," Luke said, "just run alo
ng home."
"I'm going to let that slide. This is upsetting for all of us."
I moved closer to Ione and Mrs. Drake and made out some of the woman's words. "...glad to know your brother is well. I was thinking about..."
"You've got some issues, Luke."
Ione swayed.
"Embry," I said, "I think you'd better—" Before I could say another word, Ione slumped to the floor. People gasped.
"My God," Embry said. He was at her side and lifting her head from the floor.
"Give her some air," someone said.
"Let's get her to the library," a man said. "There's a sofa in there."
Embry picked her up and followed him.
Luke and I looked at each other. "What was that about?" he said.
"Let's find out."
We trailed them down a long hallway. They entered the last room on the left. Luke and I remained just outside the door. Ione had regained consciousness. The man left the room and returned with a glass of water. She took it with a trembling hand.
"I didn't eat this morning," she said. "Stupid."
"I wonder if she's pregnant."
Luke and I turned at the same time. Sinder stood behind us. She wore a long, dark-green, long-sleeved dress that seemed to be made of velvet, and her hair looked like she hadn't brushed it in days.
"Ione's upset," Luke said.
"Oh, really?" Sinder said. "More upset than me? Than you, his best friend? Fainting. What drama."
When the man saw that Ione was all right, he excused himself.
"Would you feel better if I fainted?" Luke said after the man disappeared into the sanctuary.
She crossed her arms and rolled her eyes. I stared at her and wondered what effect she was trying to achieve with the wild hair and smoky eyes, at a funeral, no less. "You give off a lot of negative energy for someone who says she practices good magic."
She blanched. "I do practice good magic. I just don't like Ione Hamilton."
"Or Luke Chapman," I said. I didn't know where this sudden anger came from. "Do you like Embry? Or me, for that matter?"
Sinder brushed her hand down her dress and stood straighter. "Guinan, you're new. You don't understand the dynamic. All is not what it seems."
Mourning Moon (A Guinan Jones Paranormal Mystery #2) Page 6