by Sharon Sala
She dressed in shorts and a clean tee and headed for the kitchen, her bare feet making little splat, splat sounds on the old hardwood floors. A rumble of distant thunder rolled through the air.
Henry sailed down the hall, passing Tara on the left.
“I know, I know. You don’t like thunder, right?”
Henry shifted from ghost to ectoplasm and disappeared.
He’s entirely too sensitive.
“Now, Millicent. You know Henry doesn’t like storms.”
They displace his energy.
“I know. Henry doesn’t like to be displaced.” Tara opened the refrigerator where she saw the bakery box with the carrot cake on the bottom shelf. “Score!”
I always favored chocolate.
Tara pulled out the box, then the jug of milk. “Yum,” she said, as she cut a piece of cake and poured milk in her glass. Then she scooted into a chair at the table and took her first bite. “Double yum.”
How rude.
Tara heard a soft pop, then Millicent was gone.
She was putting her dirty dishes in the dishwasher when she heard her uncle’s footsteps coming down the hall.
“Morning, Uncle Pat,” she said, as he walked into the kitchen.
His steps were slow and his eyes were red-rimmed and watery. When he walked past her and went to the cabinet where he kept his whiskey, she frowned, then looked away. It was times like this that she wished she was older. She didn’t know what to do or say to him now.
“How long has it been raining?” he asked.
“I don’t know. It was raining when I woke up.”
He poured a shot of whiskey into a juice glass, then filled it the rest of the way up with juice. “This weather definitely puts a kink into my plan to plant the mums.” He downed the juice like medicine, in one gulp.
“Maybe it will pass later on,” Tara said.
“Yeah. Maybe. Have you eaten?”
“Yep. Cake and milk.”
“Not exactly a balanced breakfast,” he said, as he started the coffee pot.
And neither was the shot of whiskey, Tara thought, but didn’t say it. “Au contraire,” Tara said. “The cake had eggs, a good source of protein. Butter, a necessary oil. Flour in lieu of bread. Carrots from the vegetable menu. Crushed pineapple from the fruit section. And milk, which is dairy. A perfectly balanced meal.”
He laughed. “If you ignore all the sugar. So, how about we eat out at noon?”
Tara was relieved the awkwardness of the moment had passed. “Got a place in mind?”
“Want to try Mexico Joe’s? It’s owned by the same guy who runs Eskimo Joe’s. I’ve been hungry for fajitas.”
“Oooh, good choice. Remember what good ones we used to get at Ninfa’s?”
Pat smiled. “Ah. Houston. I liked it there.”
“That was where I got chicken-pox,” Tara said. “Talk about miserable.”
Pat slid his arm around her shoulders and gave her a hug. “I’ve put you through a lot, haven’t I, honey?”
Tara shrugged. “I admit I don’t love moving like you do, but I love you, Uncle Pat, and wherever you go, I go.”
Pat shook his head, and then pulled her into his arms and hugged her again.
“Love you, little girl.”
“Love you, back, Uncle Pat,” Tara said softly.
Chapter Four
Tara was downing her third tortilla-wrapped chicken fajita when the skin suddenly crawled on the back of her neck. Without making a fuss, she looked up, sweeping the area with a steady gaze. There was a young man she didn’t know sitting in the booth beside her.
Tara jumped. It wasn’t as if she’d never seen a ghost before, but they didn’t always pop up right in her lap. It was obvious he was trying to get her attention, but she had a fajita to chew and swallow and an uncle to consider, not to mention the other diners all over the restaurant.
I know you’re here, she thought, but give me a break. It’s Sunday. Supposed to be a day of rest and all that stuff. Consider me off the clock, okay?
Her spoon slid toward her elbow and dropped onto the floor.
“Oops.” Tara looked up at her uncle. “Clumsy me.”
She bent over to pick it up, and as she did, found herself eye to eye with the persistent spirit.
“What?” she hissed.
Tell my mother I didn’t commit suicide. Tell her it was an accident.
“You okay down there?” Uncle Pat asked Tara.
“Yep. Just fine.” She straightened back up and laid the spoon on the table.
At that point, Uncle Pat’s phone began to ring. He glanced down at caller ID, then grinned sheepishly. “It’s Mona. I’ll take it outside. Be right back.”
“Okay,” Tara said. Mona’s timing couldn’t be better. The moment her uncle was gone, she focused on the spirit. “I don’t know your Mother,” Tara said. “And even if I did, I can’t just go up and tell her something like that.”
She’s sitting at that back booth. She’s the one with the red blouse and sad face.
“Rats,” Tara muttered, then turned to look over her shoulder. Sure enough, there was a small, slim woman with short brown hair sitting all alone in the back booth.
She’s waiting for my sister. Please. While she’s still by herself.
“You don’t understand,” Tara whispered. Then she took a bite of fajita hoping that chewing would mask the fact that she was talking to herself. “Saying it doesn’t make it so. I have no proof.”
I fell asleep at the wheel in broad daylight the morning after I broke up with my girlfriend. Everyone thought I drove into that tree on purpose, but I didn’t. Tell her to call a man named Dr. Ira Pershing in Oklahoma City. He’ll confirm I was being treated for sleep apnea.
Tara sighed. “I don’t even know your name.”
David Morris, but everyone called me Butch.
“What’s your mother’s name?”
Sherry Morris.
Tara groaned, then took a sip of iced tea, wiped her mouth with a napkin, and grabbed her purse just as Pat came back to the table.
“Everything okay with Mona?” she asked.
He nodded. “She wants me to come over tonight. Said Flynn had to work, but she didn’t. We could watch a movie together at the house. I told her I’d see.”
Tara rolled her eyes. “Call her back and say yes. I’m not a baby. I do not need a sitter.”
He grinned sheepishly.
“Uh, Uncle Pat, I see a friend I want to say hi to,” Tara said. “Hold down the fort.”
Pat nodded, already in the act of calling Mona as Tara left the table.
The moment Tara started toward the table where Sherry Morris was sitting, she could feel her sadness. She didn’t know how this was going to play out, but she knew from experience that the fastest way to get rid of a troubled spirit was to help them.
Without hesitation, she slid into the booth where David’s mother was sitting.
“Excuse me,” Tara said softly. “I know this is rude of me, but aren’t you Butch Morris’s mother?”
Tara flinched as she saw shock and then sadness pass over the woman’s face.
“Yes, I am,” Sherry Morris said. “Did you know my son?”
“Yes, I met him once,” Tara said. “I just wanted to say how sorry I was for what happened.”
Sherry nodded, but her lips were pressed together so tightly that they were white, and Tara could see her body physically shaking. Here was where it got tricky.
She slid her hand over Sherry’s hand. “You know Butch didn’t kill himself, don’t you?”
Huge tears welled and spilled over Sherry Morris’s cheeks. “I don’t want to talk about this,” she said. “Please. You have to go now.”
> Tara sighed. “I know what I’m talking about. Butch wanted me to tell you that he’d been diagnosed with sleep apnea, but hadn’t told anyone. I don’t know why.”
Sherry gasped, then suddenly she was the one holding on to Tara. “He wanted to fly. For as long as I can remember, the only thing he ever wanted to be was a pilot. He’d been taking lessons for over six months.”
“Ah,” Tara said, suddenly understanding why David Morris wouldn’t have told. “People who fly planes can’t have sleep apnea, can they?”
“No. No, they can’t,” Sherry said. “Dear Lord, dear Lord, are you sure?”
“He said to tell you to call a Doctor Ira Pershing in Oklahoma City. He could confirm this.”
Sherry Morris started to shake. “You’re sure? You wouldn’t lie to me about this, would you?”
“No, ma’am.”
Tears were still flowing, but there was a light behind them, as if a terrible burden had been lifted.
“What I don’t understand is why would Butch tell you and not his family? Were you two dating?”
“No, ma’am. I never met Butch . . . when he was alive.” Then Tara stood. “He’s okay, Mrs. Morris. He just wanted you to know the truth.”
Tara started to walk away when Sherry stopped her with a cry. “Wait! Please!”
Here it comes. She sighed, then turned around. “Yes, ma’am?”
“What do you mean you never met him when he was alive? How else would you have known to tell me?”
Tara didn’t answer. Instead, she watched comprehension dawning on Sherry Morris’s face as the silence lengthened.
“Oh. I don’t believe . . . Oh my God. Can you really . . . ? Dear Lord . . . is he—”
”Standing behind you,” Tara said softly. “He wouldn’t cross over until you knew the truth. Tell him goodbye, Mrs. Morris. He’s been waiting for you to tell him goodbye.”
Tara turned around and walked back to the table. Her eyes were brimming with tears, but in a good way.
“Did you eat that last tortilla?” Tara asked, as she slid into her seat.
Pat Carmichael looked guilty, then nodded. “I’ll get more.”
Tara eyed the icky remnants of the congealing grease on the chicken and peppers and then shook her head. “No thanks. I’ll settle for some ice cream, later.”
“Deal,” Pat said, then noticed Tara’s teary expression. “Is everything all right?”
Tara blinked, as if surprised by the question. “Yes. Why?”
“You look like you’ve been crying.”
She rolled her eyes. “Oh. That. Yeah, uh, my friend accidentally squirted lemon juice in my eyes. It’s almost quit burning.”
“Ouch,” Pat said. “You sure you don’t need to go to the ladies room to wash it out?”
“No. I’m fine. I’m ready to go when you are.”
“Then home it is,” her uncle said.
Tara looked back once toward Sherry Morris’s table as they were walking out the door. Her daughter had joined her and they were head to head, talking a mile a minute. Just as she looked, she saw a bright flash of light and then a pop. David Morris’s spirit had finally crossed.
Safe travels, Butch, she thought.
Monday was Career Day at school. Recruiting officers from different branches of the Armed Forces elicited serious, thoughtful looks from students who were well aware that joining a branch of the armed forces meant going to war. Detectives Rutherford and Allen, from the Stillwater Police Department, who Tara had met when Bethany had been kidnapped, were on hand representing law enforcement. There was a father who was a long-haul trucker, a beautician from one of the local beauty shops, and several professors from Oklahoma State University who were pushing higher education in their chosen fields.
Tara listened with interest and a little bit of fear. The future was an unknown, and unknowns were always uncomfortable, especially when her only natural skills involved seeing ghosts. She knew she was going to have to find something worthwhile—something interesting—that would become her career.
So when she walked into third hour and found a pair of men standing near the teacher’s desk, she slid into her seat with a feeling of anticipation, wondering what they had to offer that she hadn’t already seen.
When class began, the teacher introduced the first man, who turned out to be a lawyer, Tara wondered if Flynn had heard him yet. She knew he was interested in getting into law or law enforcement. She listened politely, but she didn’t think law was the field for her. It would be too frustrating to always know the truth behind a crime or a trial and not be able to prove it.
The second young man, Nate Pierce, turned out to be an assistant professor in the geology department at OSU. She wasn’t sure she her career path included geology, but Tara realized he might have other information she needed. He spoke for about ten minutes and then took questions. Tara held up her hand when he’d finished answering the last one.
“Yes, miss?” the professor asked.
The moment Nate Pierce looked into Tara’s eyes, she got a flash of sadness so deep she wanted to cry. It took her aback so much she actually choked on her first word, which made everyone laugh. That gave her the moment she needed to get herself together.
“Sorry,” Tara said. “Nothing like choking on your own spit.”
That brought another round of laughter, and to her surprise, she felt a lightening of Nate Pierce’s sadness. She sighed. No biggy making a fool of yourself if it changes that kind of grief.
“Okay, as I was trying to say earlier,” Tara said, “you were talking about Ground Penetrating Radar and how cool it was that you could, in effect, ‘see what was underground’ sort of like an x-ray machine seeing the bones inside our bodies.”
“Yes?”
“So here’s my question. Exactly what does it show?”
Nate frowned. “I’m not sure what you’re asking.”
Tara bit her lip. Here’s where it might get tricky. “Um, is it ever used outside of the geological field? For instance, I was watching a documentary on TV not too long ago about a serial killer, and the film clip had to do with trying to find the bodies of the victims the killer had buried. What I’m asking is . . . can you see bodies—actual bodies? Could it be used for something like that?”
“It’s not exactly like x-rays in that aspect, but the GPR will show if the earth below has ever been disturbed. Here’s what I mean. You know the earth is in layers, right?”
Tara nodded.
“Okay. Picture this. Someone made a three-layer cake. Before they could take it to the party, something fell on it, messing part of it up. So the baker put everything back together as best he could. He pushed everything back where it belonged, put a fresh layer of icing on it, and on the outside, it looks good as new, right?”
“Right,” she echoed.
“But when it’s cut, it will be obvious that the original cake had been damaged because the layers are not in alignment. Understand?”
“Yes. Yes. So, if anyone had ever dug a hole, like to plant a big tree, or lay foundation for a house that’s no longer there, or even a grave, you could see that place. You might not know what the displacement had been for, but you could tell where the displacement had happened and the shape of it, right?”
He grinned, and Tara felt his genuine delight, which she knew came from being a teacher who’d shared knowledge with a student who got it.
“Right!” he said.
“One last question,” Tara asked.
“Yes?”
“Does the OSU geology department have GPR?”
“Yes.”
“Cool,” she said. “Thanks.”
A few minutes later, the session was over. Then the bell rang, signaling the end of class. The teacher was thanking the career day sp
eakers as students filed out of class. As Tara passed by, she caught Nate Pierce watching her.
She smiled quickly, then walked away. Professor Pierce didn’t know it, but he hadn’t seen the last of her.
Beyoncé was playing on Tara’s iPod as she walked home from school. She’d said goodbye to Flynn at the schoolyard. He had a test to study for, and she was on a mission. For the time being, she was keeping her plan to herself. And, before she went home, Tara was stopping by the Geology department on the OSU campus. She wasn’t sure how she was going to make it happen, but now that she had a way to find the location of DeeDee Broyles’ grave, she wasn’t passing up the opportunity.
Living on Duck Street made her trip to the campus easy, since Duck Street bordered parts of it on the east. She’d used one of the computers at school to get a map of the campus. As soon as she reached the intersection of Duck Street and Miller Avenue, she headed west on Miller toward the geology building.
Students were thick on the sidewalks, which meant classes were changing. Tara knew she was taking a chance on catching Nate Pierce in his office, but she was too far along now to chicken out.
She met and then passed a trio of young men who eyed her appreciatively, but she kept on walking. She had enough on her plate without all that. Besides, she had Flynn. A short while later she’d reached the Noble Research Center where the Boone Pickens School of Geology was located. She’d found the building. Now all she needed was to find the man.
She braced herself and went inside, asked the first person she met where Nate Pierce’s office was located and was directed up to the second floor. She took the stairs before she chickened out. A couple of minutes later, she’d located his office.
“Please let him be there,” she said, as she started to knock.
Yep. He’s there, and he’s cute.
Tara flinched. Just when she thought she’d snuck around and done something on her own. She should have known you can’t escape someone you can’t see. Millicent! Do not, and I mean it, do not mess this up. It’s important. I’m trying to help DeeDee, okay?