The Lunatic Detective

by Sharon Sala

  “I’m not sure what my field of study is going to be,” Tara said quickly, hoping it took the pressure off of him having to come up with an answer that didn’t embarrass him. “I mean, what kind of a career can I have and still be me?”

  Flynn’s eyes narrowed as he realized she was talking about that psychic side of her.

  “So, isn’t there something you could do that would utilize your, uh, skills?”

  “Hmm, let me think? Fortunetelling? No. I could be a therapist and speed treat patients by cutting through all their baloney and getting to the real problems underneath. I’m sure that would make me super popular. Or I could be a human lie detector for the FBI. Or work for a big city police department with lots of unsolved murders. The ghosts can tell me their stories and I’ll pass them on to the police. Who will, of course, believe me when I tell them I talk to ghosts and read minds.”

  He laughed out loud. “I see your point.”

  Tara grinned. “I’m glad you find that amusing.”

  “Sorry,” he said. “It’s just, I don’t know . . . it’s just amazing what you do and I’m sort of in awe.”

  That’s cause he wants to kiss the pizza off your face and—

  Millicent!!! Get lost, Tara thought, and then wiped her mouth quickly. “Ooh, that was so good, but I’m stuffed. You were right. The Hideaway’s pizza is totally the best ever.”

  Flynn grinned. He was still smiling at her when she felt something that made it impossible to smile back.

  Someone was dying.

  The spirit of a little boy was suddenly hovering in the air over a table, looking down. It was the little boy from across the aisle.

  Without giving herself time to think, she bolted out of her chair and caught the little boy’s body just as he began sliding lifelessly out of his booster seat. She didn’t have to do the normal methods of CPR, checking for a pulse or signs of breathing, because she already knew he had neither. She also knew without having to look that something was lodged in his windpipe.

  “He’s not breathing!” Tara cried, as she flipped him over, balancing him tummy side down on her arm, with his chin resting in the palm of her hand. Quickly, she braced the baby and her arm against her leg then began hitting him between the shoulder blades.

  Once. Twice. Three times she whacked the child in the middle of the back while his Mother was screaming in her ear, and his father was trying to grab the baby out of her arms.

  “Don’t! Don’t!” Tara cried. “He’s not breathing.”

  Then the mother focused on the baby’s face and saw that he was already turning blue. She screamed. “Robby! Robby! Oh my God, Beau, she’s right! Robby’s not breathing.”

  Tara repositioned the baby once again and then gave him another sharp whack in the middle of the back, unaware that the room had gone silent. It was as if everyone was holding their breath along with the child who couldn’t breathe.

  Please, God, don’t let this little boy die, Tara thought as she hit him once more. Then suddenly something popped out of the little boy’s mouth and onto the floor. Within seconds, the toddler began to wail.

  Tara pulled him upright, then sat him down on the side of the table. From the way he was crying, it was obvious his airway was no longer blocked. Now that the danger had passed, she felt weak in the knees.

  “I think it all came out,” Tara said, and set him in his mother’s lap.

  “Oh . . . thank you, thank you,” the mother said, as she ran her hands over the little fellow’s face. Then she clasped him to her and looked up at Tara. “How did you . . . ? I didn’t know he was—”

  Tara just pointed to the floor and the round black olives that had popped out of the little boy’s throat.

  “I saw him put them in his mouth. He didn’t even chew them,” Tara said. “That’s why they got stuck going down.”

  The father was horrified. “He loves grapes. He probably thought they were grapes.” Then he grabbed Tara’s hand and began thanking her again and again.

  Now that it was over, Tara was a little embarrassed and worried what Flynn would think. She’d made such a scene, he would probably—

  Flynn put his arms around her and gave her a big hug.

  “Way to go, Moon girl,” he said softly.

  Tara sighed. It was going to be all right, after all. She slid back into her chair without looking around, although she could hear people all over their dining area praising her quick thinking.

  They all thought she’d seen the little boy put the olives in his mouth. She hadn’t seen the child do anything but go airborne over their table. If they knew what she’d really seen, they would surely freak.

  Moments later, the manager of The Hideaway appeared, making sure that the parents didn’t require emergency services. Once he was satisfied all was well, he shook Tara’s hand, then picked up the ticket the waiter had put on their table.

  “Your dinner is on the house.” He patted Tara’s back once before walking away.

  “That was cool of him,” Flynn said.

  Tara rolled her eyes. “Can we leave now?” she whispered, anxious to get away from the curious stares.

  “Absolutely,” Flynn said.

  The best thing was that he had his arm around her shoulders all the way out the door, which told her in more than words that he wasn’t embarrassed by what she’d done. They got all the way to the car before Flynn spoke.

  “You are amazing,” he said softly, then slid his hands beneath the hair at her neck and kissed her.

  Tara sighed, then leaned into the kiss. He tasted like pizza and Coke and Flynn, a lethal combination. When he finally pulled back, they were both a little rattled by the intensity of the moment.

  “Flynn . . . I—”

  “Ready to go bowling?” he asked.

  Thankful he’d changed the subject, she managed to nod.

  “I can’t wait to see what you do for an encore,” he drawled.

  Tara doubled up her fist and punched him on the arm, and the tension of the moment was gone. But even as she was getting into the car and closing the door, she felt the remnants of the hate she’d felt before the little boy choked on the olives. She looked over her shoulder as Flynn pulled away from the curb, but, like before, saw nothing suspicious.

  “You okay?” Flynn asked.

  Tara turned back around and made herself smile. “Yes, great.” She’d had enough drama for one night. She hoped it was over.

  “So we’re off to Frontier Lanes,” Flynn said. “It’s on the way out to Boomer Lake, and I think I should warn you, I’m pretty good.”

  Tara grinned. “I think I should warn you . . . I’m not.”

  Flynn laughed out loud and Tara shivered. He was so cute when he did that.

  And I think I should warn you I’m back.

  Tara resisted rolling her eyes. Of course you are. Just when the going gets good.

  It is my intent to make sure nothing goes too far or gets too good.

  Great. Good grief, Millicent. You’re as bad as Uncle Pat. What do you think I am?

  Human.

  Oh.

  I rest my case.

  “Are you all right?” Flynn asked.

  Tara jumped. It was a little difficult to juggle a silent conversation with a ghost and a real one with a hottie.

  “Yes, sure. Why do you ask?”

  “You just got all quiet. Thought you might still be a little shook about that kid.”

  “I might have been quiet in the car, but I was not quiet in my head.”

  Flynn frowned. “What do you mean?”

  Tara sighed. “You don’t want to know.”

  Flynn stopped for a red light, then glanced at her profile. “You know something? I just realized you look a little bit like Angelina Jolie.”
/>
  Tara’s eyes widened and her mouth made a perfect little O. “You have just made my day. She’s my absolute favorite actress ever.”

  Flynn grinned. “Glad to oblige. She’s pretty hot, too.”

  Tara blushed when she realized he’d just implied that both she and Angelina were hot.

  “I guess,” Tara said. “But the reason I like her best is because she adopts babies that no one else wants.”

  The smile slid off Flynn’s face as he got it. “Sorry,” he said softly.

  Tara frowned. “Why? You don’t have anything to be sorry for.”

  He shrugged. “I keep forgetting it’s just you and your uncle.”

  Tara nodded.

  “No grandparents? Aunts? Uncles? Not even some cousins?”

  “Nope,” Tara said. “How about you?”

  “Mom’s parents live in Lawton. That’s south toward the Texas border. Dad’s mother is still living, but she’s in an assisted living center in Oklahoma City. She’s had a couple of strokes and isn’t well. Mom has a brother and a sister, and my Dad has two brothers. I have cousins all over the place, but not in Stillwater.”

  “Do you see your family often?”

  “We try. The deal is, we know they’re there. After meeting you, I’ve begun to realize how lucky I am, and that I’m wasting some precious time that I might not be able to get back by assuming they’ll always be there.”

  “Yeah. You should visit them when you can, especially the older ones,” Tara said.

  There was as long moment of silence between them before Tara broke it with a question that had been on her mind for days. She knew Flynn’s father was in prison for burglary, and she knew his parents were divorced. And during the hunt when Bethany had gone missing, she’d picked up on the fact that Flynn’s father had cancer and told him she knew. They’d never spoken about it again.

  “Flynn, can I ask you something?”

  “Yeah. I guess,” he said cautiously.

  “It’s about your Dad.”

  He made a face.

  “Have you told your Mom about his cancer?”

  Flynn sighed. “No.”

  “Are you going to?”

  He shrugged, and then braked for a stop sign before turning right. He didn’t answer.

  Tara frowned. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to intrude. It’s just that I’ve been thinking about it, and wondering what I would have done in your place. That’s all.”

  Flynn’s eyes narrowed, and then he signaled to shift lanes before finally turning off the streets and into the parking lot of the bowling alley.

  “We’re here,” he said, as he put the car in park and killed the engine. Then he grabbed Tara’s hand to stop her from getting out. “Wait. I wasn’t ignoring you. I just don’t know how to answer, because I haven’t decided what I should do.”

  “It’s not really my business, and I’m sorry I asked,” Tara said.

  “No. I think maybe I need someone else’s input here. If you were me, what would you do?”

  Tara thought for a couple of moments, then turned sideways in the seat until she was facing Flynn.

  “Did your parents really love each other?”

  He nodded. “Yeah. I think Mom still loves him, but he nearly destroyed us, financially and emotionally, when he got hooked on Meth. That’s why he started stealing. To pay for his drug habit. Mom didn’t divorce him until he finally went to prison.”

  “Then I’m thinking she would want to know. I’m thinking that if there was unfinished business between them, that it would be really sad that she never got a chance to . . . to . . . I don’t know . . . maybe tie up loose ends? Do you know what I mean?”

  Flynn nodded. “I never thought of it like that. Thanks, Moon girl. Mom’s off tomorrow. I’ll talk to her then.” Then he grabbed her hand. “Let’s go in. I’m feeling real lucky tonight.”

  Nobody gets lucky on my watch.

  Tara laughed.

  Flynn grinned, thinking she was laughing with him.

  A short while later, they had their bowling shoes on, an alley assignment, and were picking out bowling balls.

  GET THE RED! I LOVE RED!

  Millicent’s voice came unexpectedly, making Tara jump. She almost dropped the bowling ball she was testing onto her foot. Can you please not shout in my ear?

  Sorry. I just got excited.

  “Did you find one that feels good?” Flynn asked.

  Do not answer that.

  Calm down, Millicent. He’s talking about bowling balls.

  Oh. My dad.

  Tara rolled her eyes. It’s not my dad. It’s ‘my bad.’

  I do not err.

  Tara chose to ignore Millicent’s last remark and focused on Flynn instead.

  “I think this one will work.” She carried the ruby red bowling ball to their lane and put it in the rack.

  “You go first,” Flynn said. “Throw a couple of warm-up balls.”

  “Okay,” Tara said. “But I’m warning you, this may prove embarrassing. To both of us.”

  Flynn grinned as he slid into the scorekeeper’s seat. “It’s all in good fun, Moon girl. No pressure. Okay?”

  She nodded, picked up the red bowling ball, and took her position at the front of the alley. Her first ball went a little bit airborne, then hit the lane with a thump before wobbling halfway down the lane and ending up in the gutter.

  “I warned you,” Tara muttered, as she turned to look back at Flynn. “Wipe that grin off your face, mister.”

  He chuckled. “I can’t. You’re too cute when you’re ticked.”

  Tara stifled a smile and then caught her ball as it returned, and gave it another try.

  Tara’s ball actually spun down the lane with decent speed and took out six pins. “Hey, Moon girl, way to go,” Flynn said.

  Tara grinned. “That’s what I’m talking about,” she said, and traded seats with him. “Your turn to warm up.” She gave his backside an appreciative look when he bent over to release his ball.

  I saw that.

  Tara grinned. So did I, thank you very much.

  And so their game began. By the time they were ending their third and final game, Tara knew she was in serious like with Flynn O’Mara. And at the same time that revelation hit, she felt a dark, sick hate pouring through her body.

  She grabbed onto the back of her chair to keep from staggering, and then turned around to look behind her. Before she could focus, she started to faint.

  Chapter Three

  Nausea rolled through Tara so fast she thought she was going to throw up.

  You need to get out.

  Tara heard Millicent’s warning, but she couldn’t move. Instead, she staggered, then slid down into a seat and put her head between knees. She didn’t see Flynn drop to his knees in front of her, but she heard his voice in her ear.

  “Tara! Tara! What’s wrong?”

  She mumbled something incoherent, and he quickly felt her forehead. She knew she didn’t have a fever.

  “Did something you ate make you sick? All those red pepper flakes?”

  She shook her head without lifting it.

  “Moon girl, talk to me,” he begged.

  “Someone . . . someone wants me . . . dead,” Tara whispered.

  “What the hell?” Flynn stood abruptly, scanning the crowded bowling alley, looking for something—anything. “What do I need to do?”

  “Out. Get me out.”

  Flynn yanked the rented bowling shoes off her feet and tossed them in the seat, then slid her feet into her shoes. Moving frantically, he slipped his hands beneath her arms and pulled her upright.

  “Lean on me,” he said urgently, and together, they started toward the door.

  Hurry,
Tara, hurry.

  Tara’s head was down, her eyes were closed, and even though she could hear Millicent’s warning, she staggered more than walked.

  They were more than halfway to the door when someone came up behind Flynn. It was Nikki Scott and her boyfriend Corey Palmer.

  “Flynn! What’s up with Tara?” Nikki cried.

  “Help me get her outside,” Flynn said.

  Corey got on the other side of Tara and quickly slid his arm around her waist. At that point, her feet left the ground as they carried her toward the door. Nikki ran ahead to open it.

  Tara was numb. She knew she was moving, but she couldn’t focus. She couldn’t even call out for Henry or Millicent. Never in her life had she felt this helpless.

  The wind had come up since they’d gone into the bowling alley, but she needed more than fresh air to recover.

  “Are you feeling any better?” Flynn asked, as he and Corey got her to his car.

  “Purse . . . in the—” Tara mumbled.

  Nikki held up the little shoulder bag Tara had with her. “I’ve got it.”

  No. No. That wasn’t what she meant. But she couldn’t get the words out of her mouth in the proper order. Too many thoughts flew through her mind. She kept getting flashes of someone with a scar on his face and blood all over a floor. Screams, one after another, echoed inside her head.

  Flynn unlocked the car and they quickly slid her into the passenger seat.

  “Are you gonna take her to ER?” Corey asked.

  “No . . . not hospital . . . purse. Need . . . purse,” Tara said.

  Nikki gasped. “I think she means there’s something in her purse she needs.” She started digging through it, looking for something obvious, like a bottle of pills. “She doesn’t have anything in here that would be medicine. Maybe we should call her Uncle.”

  Tara grabbed for the purse like a drunk trying to hold onto thin air. “Purse . . . hand me.”

  Flynn yanked the purse out of Nikki’s hand and plopped it in Tara’s lap, then put her hand on it.

  “Here it is. Show me. Show me. What do you need?”

  Tara’s head lolled forward. She felt boneless, but she could see her purse. She thrust her hand into the depths, and began to fumble through it. When she finally felt a chain between her fingers, she felt a surge of power through her body. She curled her hand around the chain and pulled it out.