by Sharon Sala
“You are so amazing,” he said softly.
“For a lunatic, I guess I’m not half bad,” Tara said, and then laid her head on his shoulder and hugged him back. It felt good to have backup.
The number of police cars in front of the little house on Duck Street, the yellow crime scene tape that had been strung, and the Forensic van pulled up to the back gate caused an uproar in the neighborhood. By evening, a small crowd had gathered across the street, trading gossip about what might be happening, while the traffic in front of Tara’s house had increased three-fold.
Flynn had gone to Eskimo Joe’s to catch his Mom up on what was happening and come back with burgers and fries. Nate Pierce had come back. He spent half his time watching the police, and the other half watching Tara’s reactions to what was going on. She was aware that her ability to communicate with spirits fascinated him. She sensed he believed her, but as a scientist who dealt in facts that could be counted and analyzed, what she knew seemed impossible.
Tara tried to concentrate on homework, but it was impossible. She’d made half a dozen trips from the house to the dig site, and each time she’d gone outside, she’d seen DeeDee hovering somewhere nearby. Poor DeeDee. How bizarre would it be to watch your own bones being dug up? Even worse—OMG—how awful would it be to know all that was left of you were bones? Ugh.
She’d spoken to Nate Pierce a couple of times and offered him food, although he politely refused. The growing pile of dirt was encouraging, but the time they were taking was maddening. She understood the need not to damage evidence, but it was making her crazy. She also knew the crowd across the street was becoming a traffic issue. Between the extra cars parked along the curbs and the people who’d come out of their houses, it was absolutely nuts. She could only imagine what they must be thinking.
Finally, she saw Flynn’s car coming down the street, and ran across the yard and out the back gate to meet him. Before Flynn could park, Prissy and Mel, two of the girls who’d taken joy in making the first week of her life at Stillwater High a living hell, drove by in Mel’s car, gawking like everything. When Tara caught them looking at her, they turned their heads and accelerated. She sighed. No telling what kind of gossip was going around now. After all, she was the lunatic of Stillwater High.
“Hope you’re hungry,” Flynn said, as he got out of the car. “The burgers and fries smell good enough to eat.”
Tara nodded. “I could eat a little.”
Flynn frowned when she didn’t respond to his joke. “I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to put down the seriousness of what’s going on here.”
Tara shook her head and then smiled. “It’s okay. Let’s just get inside. All these people staring makes everything so intense.”
Flynn glanced over his shoulder at the people pointing and talking, even though no one seemed willing to be caught looking. He frowned. “Yeah. No wonder you’re bummed. Come on, Moon girl. Let’s go inside.”
They went into the house, and Tara locked the door behind her. The police were coming and going through the back gate or coming into the house though the kitchen door. There was no need to leave easy access to anyone else.
“I’ll get the food onto plates. You go get your uncle,” Flynn said.
“Right.” Tara hurried outside to where Pat was standing. She slid her hand under his elbow, then whispered, “Flynn’s here with supper.”
“Good,” Pat said. “As gruesome as this is, I’m surprised that I’m actually hungry.”
“I know. I think it’s because she’s been gone so long ago that it doesn’t seem real,” Tara said, then glanced at DeeDee, who was now hovering in the corner of the yard next to the old arbor. “Although, I guess for DeeDee, it might as well have been yesterday.”
Pat took her by the hand and led her away.”You have such a tender heart. This will be a tough night. Man, that smells good,” he said, as he walked into the kitchen. “Let me wash up and I’m there.”
He went straight to the kitchen sink and grabbed the soap, while Tara began fixing glasses with soft drinks.
“Hey, Flynn, what’s Mona think about all this?” Pat asked.
Flynn shook his head. “She said she’s just glad this isn’t our back yard.”
Pat frowned. “I can only imagine. She’s a little squeamish anyway. This would probably send her over the edge.”
Tara didn’t miss her uncle’s familiarity. Obviously, he and Flynn’s mom were getting even closer. She didn’t know how that was going to play out, but could see it becoming messy. What on earth would she do if Uncle Pat and Mona got married? Could she and Flynn actually find themselves having to live together—like stepbrother and stepsister? Bad vibes all around on that scenario.
Flynn brought the food to the table. “I don’t think they sent napkins.”
“Get some paper towels,” Tara said, pointing to the roll beside the sink. “And get the ketchup out of the fridge, will you?”
He nodded. “Sure. It’s freaky sitting down to burgers and fries while the cops are in the back yard digging up a body.”
“Tell me about it,” Tara said.
She watched the men eating, talking and arguing about an upcoming football game at T. Boone Pickens stadium on campus. OSU was playing Missouri. She wasn’t much of a football fan, but from the way Flynn was talking, he was. And her Uncle Pat liked to watch anything that involved team competition. She was so out of the loop here it wasn’t funny. But then she’d been out of the loop from the day she was born.
I get you.
Tara sighed. Thank you, Millicent. I get you, too.
Henry popped up in the middle of the table, sitting cross-legged beside the salt and pepper and blew Tara a kiss.
She laughed out loud. OMG—if the guys knew what was going on under their noses, they would freak.
Flynn looked up, smiled at her and winked, thinking she was laughing at something they’d said. Tara giggled even more, and took another bite of burger. The light moment gave her mood a much-needed boost.
They finished their meal, then Tara hit her homework. Flynn went home, Uncle Pat went back outside, and someone knocked on the door.
Tara started not to answer, then thought it might be a policeman and went to the door.
To her horror, she saw people getting out of a news van with a video camera and freaked. She slammed the door and locked it, then booked it through the house on the run. Once outside, she began yelling.
“Uncle Pat! Uncle Pat! There is a news crew on our front porch.”
Pat frowned.
“I’ll handle that,” Detective Rutherford said, and winked at Tara. “Don’t worry, kid. It comes with the territory when you’re famous.”
“I don’t want to be famous,” Tara said. “I just want justice for DeeDee.” Then she stomped back into the house and slammed the door.
Whatever Detective Rutherford said to the news crew seemed to satisfy them. A few minutes later, they were gone. Then night came, and the crowd across the street went home, hoping the local news would cover what was going on at the house on Duck Street.
Tara fell asleep on the living room sofa, too worn out to stand any longer beside the deepening hole. But Uncle Pat stayed, and to Tara’s surprise, he stayed sober.
It was twenty minutes after two in the morning when Uncle Pat woke Tara to tell her they’d found the first bone. One minute there’d been nothing but dirt beneath their feet, and then another careful shovelful of dirt was removed and someone yelled, “I’ve got something.”
Tara moved to the edge of the hole, watching as the investigator went down on his knees and began moving dirt with his hands until what had once been DeeDee Broyles’ forehead was revealed. The skull was small, and oddly pitiful to view. Tara realized what a tiny person she must have been.
Uncle Pat and Nate Pierce stood beside he
r staring down into the hole. All of a sudden, Nate looked up like he heard something in the air above him. Then he caught Tara’s eye.
“You were right,” he said.
“I know,” she said, her voice breaking.
Chapter Seven
Sometimes it sucked to be right. Tara stood beside the open grave, her arms wrapped around herself even though it was a warm night. She wished she could wrap her arms around DeeDee.
Suddenly, Tara looked up and caught Detective Rutherford staring at her. He stood with his hands in his pockets, shaking his head in disbelief.
“It’s time,” she said.
“For what?” Rutherford asked.
“Get Emmit.”
He glanced down at the skeleton slowly being revealed, then nodded. “Yeah.”
He took a cell phone out of his pocket and made a quick call. Since the police were still holding Emmit Broyles at the precinct for questioning, it was simple to get him here.
“Has Emmit said anything?” Tara asked, when Rutherford hung up.
“Denied the whole thing. Claims the only reason he says he doesn’t have a sister is because she ran away with a bunch of hippies when she was young. Says he hasn’t heard from her in years and doesn’t know where she is.”
“But we do, don’t we?” Tara said softly.
“Sure looks like it,” Rutherford said, then glanced at his watch. “They’ll be here soon.”
Tara looked back into the hole, staring at the skull, arm bones, and the partially revealed ribcage of DeeDee Broyles. “She’s not going anywhere.” Then DeeDee popped up beside Tara, swamping her with emotional gratitude. “At least not for a while,” she added.
Nate joined them, and they all stood guard above the hole, waiting for DeeDee’s resurrection and Emmit’s arrival.
Fifteen minutes later, two uniformed officers came through the back gate with Emmit Broyles between them. Emmit was already uneasy, but when he saw the lights strung up across the back yard, and that they were excavating, he stopped.
“Bring him over!” Rutherford called, but Emmit wasn’t moving.
The two officers grabbed Emmit’s arms and forcibly pulled him forward.
Uncle Pat put a hand on Tara’s shoulder. “Good Lord, Tara. You weren’t kidding when you said he’s scary. He’s huge. I can’t believe you faced him down alone.”
Nate just shook his head. “You’re going to be something else again when you’re all grown up.”
Tara was entirely focused on Emmit. She could feel his panic and the sickness in his belly, but she had no sympathy for any of it. All of her sympathies were with DeeDee.
“You have no right to treat me this way,” Emmit roared, and struggled to get free.
“There’s something we want you to see.” Rutherford pointed down into the pit.
It appeared as if Emmit would faint. He staggered, then pulled himself together and walked forward. When the officers reached the edge of the grave, they stopped.
Emmit wouldn’t look down. Instead, he glared across at Tara.
Now she felt something besides fear. His rage at what she’d done was huge. If he could have gotten to her, he would have put his hands around her neck and squeezed.
All of a sudden, Tara gasped. That was it! That’s how he had killed DeeDee. He grabbed her from behind and broke her neck. But why? The house was small. Even when it was new, it wasn’t like it would have been worth any kind of fortune. What could he have hoped to gain from her death?
He was stealing money from his job and DeeDee found out.
Tara gasped. Oh my God. Millicent was amazing. Tara met Emmit’s gaze without flinching, waiting for him to come undone.
Rutherford pointed down into the pit. “We found a skeleton in what used to be your backyard,” he said.
Emmit wouldn’t look.
“Lots of people have lived here since I did,” he said abruptly.
“We have reason to believe the body belongs to your sister, DeeDee,” Rutherford said.
“My sister ran away from home years ago,” he said, refusing to budge from his earlier story.
“That’s not what we think happened here,” Rutherford said. “We think you killed your sister in a fit of rage and hid her body in the backyard of the property that belonged to the both of you.”
“That’s a lie!” Emmit still wouldn’t look down.
Tara felt Uncle Pat move closer to her. Through all this mess, he’d surprised her by how amazing he’d been. He hadn’t once turned to alcohol and even though he had grounded her, he was still fiercely protective.
Rutherford continued to push. “Mr. Broyles, my question to you is, why would you kill your sister?”
Emmit turned on them all with a roar, screaming every word that came out of his mouth. “How many times do I have to tell you, I did not kill my sister!”
“You’re finally admitting you have one?” Tara said. “Then why did you lie to me when I asked you about her?”
Rutherford frowned. “Tara, I’m the one doing the—”
”You’re nothing,” Emmit shouted. “Why would I talk to you? Why would you need to know anything about my personal life?”
She hadn’t. DeeDee had sought justice. Tara spoke on her behalf because no one else could.
She yelled back at Emmit, as loudly as he’d yelled at her. “I told you that when I went to your house, remember? I told you the house was being haunted. You freaked because you knew who would be haunting it, didn’t you? Then you came to our house. You unlocked the front door and walked into a house that no longer belonged to you. You were trespassing. And you were looking for me. Why? Were you going to kill me, too? But you didn’t get the chance, did you? You opened that closet door and got more than you bargained for, didn’t you, Emmit?”
The derision in her voice dug at Emmit Broyles like an itch he couldn’t scratch. “Shut up! Shut up! I don’t know what you’re talking about!”
Tell them to look at the keys on his key ring.
Tara’s eyes widened. Again, Millicent to the rescue. She pointed at Emmit. “Detective Rutherford, if you would check the key ring in his pocket, I think you’ll find a key on it that will open our front door.”
Emmit jumped backward, but both officers grabbed him.
Rutherford held out his hand. “Mr. Broyles, kindly hand over your keys, please.”
“You can’t make me!” Emmit shouted. “Now, either arrest me or let me go.”
“Fine with me,” Rutherford said. “Arrest him.”
Emmit blanched. “No. Wait. I wasn’t—”
”Your keys. Hand me your keys,” Rutherford said.
Emmit threw them at the detective, who handed them to an officer. “Go see if any of these will open the front door.”
The officer nodded, and quickly left.
They didn’t have long to wait. Within a minute or so, he came outside and waved at them from the porch.
“Yes. He has a key that unlocks the front door,” the cop said.
Rutherford turned back to Emmit. “How do you explain that?”
But before Emmit could come up with a lie, he suddenly threw up his hands and screamed.
Tara flinched. DeeDee had appeared out of nowhere and was now hovering over the hole above her remains. Oh, wow! This was just what she’d been waiting for.
“Keep her away from me!” Emmit screamed, and tried to run. Again, the officers grabbed him, this time cuffing his hands together as they finally subdued him.
“Miss Luna is nowhere near you,” Rutherford said, thinking Emmit was talking about Tara.
But DeeDee continued to float closer.
Emmit screamed again, and then dropped to his knees. “Stop. Stop. Stay away from me!”
Rutherford fro
wned in confusion. He glanced at Tara, who was calmly watching from the other side of the pit. “Tara, what the hell, excuse my language, is going on here?”
“DeeDee. She’s here, and making sure Emmit can see her.”
“Oh, man,” Nate said. “And I thought this couldn’t get any wilder.”
Rutherford’s eyes widened and his mouth dropped. He spun abruptly, looking wild-eyed around the area.”I don’t see anything.”
“Broyles does,” Nate said.
The man was face down on the ground with his cuffed hands above his head, bawling like a baby. “Make her go away. Make her go away,” he kept begging.
Tara escaped Uncle Pat’s hold and circled the pit. She walked up behind Emmit, coming to a stop at his feet. “You have to tell the truth. She’s waited all these years for justice, and she’s not leaving until you tell the truth.”
Emmit screamed, pounding the ground with his cuffed fists. “She was my sister and she was going to tell. It wasn’t right! It wasn’t right! I begged her! But she said no. It wasn’t my fault. She should have kept quiet.”
Nate gasped again. “Emmit Broyles really did kill his sister.”
Rutherford grunted as if he’d just been kicked in the stomach. “You killed her because she was going to tell on you?” he barked. “What on earth did she have on you that was worth killing for?”
“He was stealing from his employer,” Tara said. “She found out.”
“Yes! Yes!” Emmit said. Then he groaned and rolled up in a ball on his side. “I did it. I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”
“Trouble is, he’s not sorry he killed his sister,” Tara said softly. “He’s just sorry he got caught.”
“Yeah, that’s my read on the situation, too,” Rutherford said, and pointed at the man on the ground as he spoke to his officers. “Get him up. Emmit Broyles, you have the right to remain silent. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford one, one will be—”
The detective’s words faded into the background as Tara focused on DeeDee’s frail spirit. She was still floating above Emmit’s body, but she was fading. Tara wanted to cry, but she told herself this wasn’t a bad thing. It was good. DeeDee was finally free to cross over. All she had to do was leave. But it felt to Tara as if she didn’t know how.