Black-Eyed Moon (A Guinan Jones Paranormal Mystery #1)

by Callista Foley

  I shrugged. "Just what you'd expect. Grief, anger."

  "I'm trying to wrap my head around this," she said. "Zeke needs me, and he's shutting me out."

  His world had been turned upside down, but during times like this, you seek comfort from those who care about you. Maybe he was just too embarrassed by it all or busy comforting his mother and helping with the twins.

  Part of me was glad he was too preoccupied to spend time with Tamzen, and that made me feel like a really awful person.

  ***

  After I dropped Tamzen off, I headed home. I groaned when I remembered I needed to pack. As I turned the corner onto my street, my breath caught in my throat. Zeke's Jeep was parked in front of my house. I had a wild urge to whip the car around and flee in the opposite direction. But I gripped the wheel and sat straighter in the seat. He doesn't bite.

  I pulled into the driveway. We got out of our cars at the same time.

  "Hey," I said, trying to act like this was a normal occurrence. I watched him walk up the driveway. He stopped a few feet from me. Tendrils of sweat-dampened hair stuck to the side of his face.

  "I want to ask you something," he said. Sunglasses blocked his eyes.

  "Okay."

  He walked toward me until we were inches apart. He removed the glasses. His eyes were red-rimmed. "You knew about my father?"

  I nodded.

  "Why didn't you tell me?"

  I opened my mouth to speak, but I didn't know what to say.

  "You knew he was screwing around. You didn't think that was something we needed to know?"

  "I didn't think it was my place, Zeke. I can't go around sharing people's private business—"

  "Private business?" he said, his eyes widening. "You spend time in our house babysitting and having tea with my mother. My father cheating on her was none of her business?"

  My stomach lurched. "That's not what I meant. Look, let's get out of the heat. You want to come in?"

  Without waiting for a response, I marched to the front door. When I stepped inside, the cool air hit my face in sweet relief. I headed for the kitchen and heard the front door close behind me. Zeke hadn't been inside our house in awhile.

  "Still feels like the Arctic in here," he said.

  I grabbed two bottles of water from the fridge, handed him one, and leaned against the counter. A sharp memory flitted across my mind: the two of us licking chocolate chip cookie dough from a bowl.

  He cleared his throat. "So?"

  "A few weeks ago, I sensed your father was hiding something that involved another woman. There was something about it that made me suspect he was cheating on Tessa. But I didn't know that for sure. I didn't even tell my grandfather."

  "You could have told me."

  His earnestness confused me. "You hardly talk to me anymore."

  He raised his arms in frustration. "What does that have to do with anything?"

  "You called me a witch, okay? Many, many times. You think I was going to give you more reasons to call me that?"

  "I'm sorry I called you a witch," he said, his expression softening. "It's really stupid. I was angry back then. But this is different. This concerns my family."

  I cocked an eyebrow. "Remember the last time I sensed something that concerned your family? You'll recall that's why you stopped talking to me."

  He shook his head. "You were reading me. You know I hate that."

  "I didn't mean to read you," I said, with a note of pleading in my voice. "I was only trying to—"

  "I don't care about any of that right now," he said, waving his hands.

  I took a calming breath. "All right. I had planned to talk to my grandfather about what I'd sensed, to ask him what I should do. Then the murder happened."

  He waited. "And?"

  "And, well, the truth came out. Turns out most of the town knew, anyway."

  Zeke flinched. I knew he was thinking about that news story. "But you're my friend. You could have said something."

  I am? I squeezed the cool water bottle. "I honestly didn't think I could."

  He nodded, opened his water, and drank half of it in one swallow. "That's my fault. But now, right here, you can be honest. Did you see my father..." He stopped abruptly.

  I closed my eyes. He was going to ask the same thing Eric asked.

  He continued. "You read that story, heard the rumors. "Did my father kill her?"

  I opened my eyes and reluctantly looked into his. "I don't know."

  He tightened his lips. "What did you see?"

  I knew it was wrong. I knew I shouldn't have. But I did. "I think she was supposed to meet him or Eric out there."

  His face crumpled, and I thought for a second he was going to cry.

  "But it doesn't mean your father killed her," I said quickly. I changed the subject. "Tamzen and I were at the mall today. We saw Eric on the way out. He must have followed us all the way to Chelsea. He wanted to know what I told the police about him."

  "What happened?"

  "He got mad, grabbed my arm."

  Zeke's jaw clenched, and he let out a sharp breath. After several seconds of silence, he said, "I remember Adam asking Kate out after she and Eric broke up."

  "They'd broken up?" Eric hadn't mentioned it.

  He nodded. "Adam asked her out. She had this disgusted look on her face. Everybody laughed, and he went away mad. Eric found out about it and was pissed."

  I furrowed my brow. "You think Adam killed her?"

  "Just throwing out ideas. Anybody but my father."

  His cell phone rang. He pulled it out of his pocket and stared at the screen.

  "Is it Tamzen?" I said.

  He looked up at me sharply and shoved the phone back in his pocket. "I'm late for practice," he said, draining the bottle and setting it on the counter.

  I walked him to the door and longed to say something comforting. Instead, I watched him retreat.

  Upstairs, I checked my e-mail and groaned when I saw the e-ticket my parents bought. For a moment, I pretended I was a private investigator with only a few days to solve a murder. Where would I start? Kate had embarrassed Adam. Would he kill her for that? Would Eric kill her for breaking up with him? What and where was the murder weapon? Had the police found evidence tying the murder to someone?

  It was stupid idea. The police were equipped to investigate and solve the murder. But I was something they weren't.

  I was a human lie detector. The drawback? I couldn't sense what people were lying about. Before I could talk myself out of it, I was in the car driving to the baseball diamond, thinking about my approach. Casual or in your face?

  ***

  For an hour, I sat with my back against a shady tree and watched the team practice, cursing myself for not bringing a bottle of water to cool me down. I was amazed that people did anything in this humidity, let alone run around a field. By the time practice ended, my T-shirt stuck to me. I quickly wiped my face and walked causally to where the team had gathered. I ignored Zeke's questioning expression and strode up to Adam.

  "Hey."

  He looked at me, confused.

  "I wanted to ask you something."

  We held eye contact. I had the element of surprise on my side, but I knew he'd avert his eyes soon. I took a deep breath and let his emotions wash over me. Pain. Sadness. No. Deeper than sadness. Grief. Was Adam grieving over Kate?

  "What do you want?" he said. "Freak."

  "Hey!"

  The voice belonged to Zeke. Adam looked at him, breaking our eye contact. "Defending your other girlfriend, Hicks? Nice."

  I didn't want to see any disgust on Zeke's face, so I studied Adam's. His sneer read more like fear than contempt. I was putting him and myself on the spot. I should have spoken to him privately. Too late. But what the heck?

  "Can we talk in private?"

  "No," he said, poking a finger in my chest. Hard.

  It happened in seconds. Zeke reached around, grabbed Adam's finger, and twisted it. Before I could thi
nk about trying to separate them, someone grabbed my arm and pulled me from the fray. Adam jerked his hand out of Zeke's grip and pushed him.

  "Come on fellas," one of the players said, stepping between them.

  "I'm sorry," I said. "I'm just trying to—"

  "Wait a second," Adam said, jerking away from the guy trying to hold him back. "You're trying to read my mind, see if I killed Kate?" He mumbled under his breath.

  Instead of running to my car, I held my ground. "I can't read people's minds, but I know you're sad about something."

  He raised his eyebrows raised. "I might just be sad that she's dead. Ever consider that?"

  "It's deeper than sadness," I said. A slight weight pressed down on my chest. "It's grief."

  Adam glanced around the group, then cut his eyes back to me. "A year ago this month, my father died."

  Abel Carver, who'd taught history at the high school, died of colon cancer. He'd lingered for months, wasting away at home. At the funeral, I'd expressed condolences to his wife and sensed a great deal of relief.

  The silence was heavy, oppressive.

  "Hicks or that loud-mouth friend of yours must have told you Kate embarrassed me when I asked her out." He looked at me. "You really think I'd kill her over that?"

  "Sorry, man," Zeke said, but Adam ignored him.

  "Anything else you need to know?"

  I said the only thing I could say. "Sorry."

  He scowled, pushed past the group, and headed to his car. I avoided looking at Zeke's eyes.

  "What do you think you're doing? You practically accused him of murder to his face."

  "My parents are making me leave Ridge Grove," I blurted out.

  He took a step back. "Why?"

  "Because of the murder."

  "Do you want to leave?"

  "Of course, I don't. No choice. I mean, I can refuse, I guess."

  He chuckled. "With your mother? Once Saundra Jones makes up her mind about something, it's set in stone.

  Chapter Eight

  I made it a habit not to talk on my cell while driving, but when I saw Tessa's number, I answered as though it were a lifeline. Her voice sounded scratchy and strained. Whatever was going down at their house, I wanted to help.

  Zeke's car wasn't in the driveway, and I felt both relief and disappointment. Tamzen was probably comforting him right now. A familiar stab of jealousy burrowed into my chest. Maybe leaving Ridge Grove for a while was for the best.

  The police car Tim usually drove home wasn't there, either. I couldn't imagine he was at the police station. I hadn't had a chance to ask my grandfather about his status, but I was almost certain Tim had been given some time off. I rang the bell and waited, hoping he wouldn't be the one who answered it.

  When his form filled the doorway, my knees went weak. I forced a smile. He held the door open and swept his hand in a come-in gesture. I stepped over the threshold, averted my eyes, and mumbled thanks. He disappeared down the hall, and I headed to the kitchen.

  Tessa sat at the table in front of her open laptop. I was about to sit down across from her when she stood and embraced me. I inhaled a familiar smell—ginger and lemon—and took in the unusual silence of the house. Her eyes glazed, she motioned for me to sit.

  "Are the twins napping?"

  "Yep. I wish I could."

  To avoid talking about the murder or the affair, I told her about my grandmother and Miss Patsy.

  She gave me a wan smile. "I know about that."

  My eyes widened.

  Tessa looked at me thoughtfully. Her hair was piled on top of her head, and her clean, porcelain skin was free of makeup. She looked like a china doll, the effect slightly marred by a faint red blemish above her forehead. "Your grandmother was capable of more than she let on."

  I leaned forward and rested my elbows on the table. Grandma had been like a puzzle box. I'd bombard her with questions, never knowing which one would open her up. Once she relented, she rewarded me with the tiniest bit of information. She apparently shared more with Tessa. Why had she shut me out?

  "You know why she was so reticent to talk about the clairvoyance, don't you?"

  I replied the only way I could. "No."

  "When she was about your age, she told a friend that she dreamed one of the church deacons was going to die of a stroke. Well, the friend told her mother, not taking it seriously, of course. A week later, the deacon died of a stroke. The girl's mother told Tilda's parents about the dream. They freaked out."

  I thought about what it would have meant at the time. "That was the late sixties, right? Weren't people more enlightened by then?"

  "You'd think," Tessa said, laughing. "Her parents knew she was...different. Up until then, they preferred to ignore it."

  Like parents, like daughter.

  "As is the case in a small town, word got around about the dream. Some considered it a gift, others a curse. Women from the latter group started coming over to the house after church to pray the 'devil' away. Tilda said she wasn't possessed, and that her abilities were a gift from God."

  My mouth was agape. I'd never gotten even the tiniest impression my grandmother felt that way. "What changed her attitude?"

  Tessa's expression became grave. "I'm part of a prayer circle, but I'd never try to convince a scared and impressionable teenager that she's evil."

  Good to know.

  "Her parents started to believe she was possessed," she said. "I think they were afraid of her, and that deeply affected her."

  I could relate to that.

  "When she..."

  I trailed off and followed her gaze to the door. Tim entered the kitchen. He tossed an empty beer bottle into the trashcan and retrieved another from the refrigerator. When I arrived, I hadn't noticed the bags under his eyes or his hair sticking up or the stains on his T-shirt. He glanced in our direction before leaving the room.

  When he was gone, I said, "How are things?"

  Tessa rose and filled the kettle with water. She removed two tea cups and saucers from the cabinet and dropped tea bags inside. "As you'd expect when a wife finds out her husband cheated on her. But I don't believe he killed that girl." She faced me and leaned against the sink.

  Neither did it, but I was basing it on feelings, not hard evidence. There was a rare awkward pause between us. Tessa cleared her throat.

  "There's something else you need to know about why Tilda's attitude changed. When her parents began to believe she was possessed, they sent her away."

  Just like my parents did.

  "Where did they send her?" I imagined her grandparents raising her as she'd do with her own grandchild.

  "To a mental hospital."

  The walls seemed to shift. "What?"

  "Some place in North Carolina. She was there about six months. After that, I doubt she shared her dreams with anyone but Isaac."

  I let it sink in. If her parents truly thought she was possessed, why send her to a mental hospital instead of an exorcist?

  Tessa continued. "When lived with them for a while, she opened up to me. I couldn't relate to the clairvoyance part, but I was all too familiar with the feelings of isolation."

  Why had Grandma opened up to Tessa and not me, her granddaughter and fellow clairvoyant? Maybe she thought I was too young, and she'd planned to confide in me when I got older. She never got the chance.

  I watched Tessa pour steaming water into the cups and bring both to the table. I stared absently at mine.

  "I agree with your grandmother about certain things," she said. My stomach dropped. A curse.

  "She came to believe that reading people's emotions was a violation."

  "I agree if the person doesn't want to be read. But what I do for my grandfather—"

  "Because a person's dead, reading his final thoughts doesn't matter?"

  My face grew hot. "It's just, well, knowing how someone died can't be bad."

  Tessa folded her arms. "In the case of murder, I'd agree. Even so, I doubt the police need
your help to solve the crime."

  I nodded in agreement.

  The police had more than enough to go on. Kate had rejected Eric and Adam, and someone wouldn't leave her alone. Then again, she'd probably rejected a lot of guys. Heads swiveled when she walked the hallways at school, her dark hair swinging down her back.

  I drank tea and shared theories about Eric and Adam, but Tessa wasn't in a theory-sharing mood. She repeated what she'd said about letting the police handle it.

  It hadn't escaped my notice that I sat across from someone who also had motive to see Kate dead. I couldn't let my love for the family blind me to other possibilities.

  The more I thought about my Grandma's stay at a mental hospital, the more I wondered whether they really sent her away because of a dream.

  ***

  Instead of heading home, I detoured to the police station. In contrast to the day Kate's body was discovered, the place was almost empty, except for Brenda the receptionist, Rory, and Skeeter Watson. I glanced at Brenda, who gave me a familiar look: eyebrows raised and lips pursed. She wanted to gossip about something. I sidled over and gave her a "What's up?" face.

  Eric Rodman had been in for questioning the day of the murder.

  "He said he quit the team because he was tired of it," she said, her eyes wide. "But of course, it's more to it than that."

  I leaned in conspiratorially and waited for her to spill the news.

  "I heard he got kicked off for using drugs."

  I, Guinan Jones, the girl with a sixth sense, tended to hear about these things third hand. Zeke hadn't mentioned this piece of possibly relevant information, and I'd never heard even a whisper about it. I knew of only one other druggie, and he was sitting in the same building.

  I gave her a questioning look and inclined my head in Skeeter's direction.

  "It seems his story of finding the body is somewhat implausible. He said he'd been in the woods that night and hadn't seen or heard anything unusual."

  Brenda paused to answer the phone. She transferred the call and continued.

  "Isaac thinks it's odd that Skeeter didn't discover the body until eight the next morning."