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

by Callista Foley

  "You sure he didn't force you into that truck?"

  "Of course, I'm sure."

  He ran a hand through his hair. "We've been worried about you. How could you get mixed up with Skeeter? He's a bum. Whatever he wanted to show you couldn't have been that important."

  "I think he's that way because he hasn't deal with the shooting. His wife left him and—"

  "Now you're a shrink?" Zeke said, his eyes widening. "He sells drugs. I know you're not feeling sorry for him."

  I opened my mouth to protest and decided against it.

  "What I can't figure out was which one of you Eric was after."

  I tried to remember if Skeeter mentioned anything. My head hurt from the effort.

  "Look," he said, "I'm not going to grill you. Not today." His face relaxed into a smile. "You're going to be okay, and that's all that matters now."

  He brushed my cheek with the back of his hand, and it sent a shiver down my back. I closed my eyes, then opened them again with some effort. His touch worked like a narcotic. "Yeah, I think I'll sleep."

  I felt his lips on my cheek. "Get well, Guinan," he whispered.

  I opened my eyes to see his face close to mine. "I'll try."

  A high-pitched sob echoed in the hall, and he took a step away from the bed. The sound grew louder and closer, and Tamzen stumbled into the room.

  "Oh my God! Are you okay?"

  She bawled over me as if I were dying. I caught Zeke's eye. His face flushed, and he looked at the floor.

  "I'll live, but I probably look pretty bad."

  "I just heard what happened," she said, finally raising herself up. She teared up again gazing at the brace and bandages. "What did Skeeter do to you?"

  "It wasn't Skeeter," I said. "Eric Rodman ran us off the road."

  She blanched and brushed tears off her cheeks. "He followed us from the mall and came after you?"

  I filled her in on what happened.

  "I tried to get Skeeter to stop the truck, but he wouldn't."

  Zeke rubbed the back of his neck and took steadying breaths. "Hold up. You mean he tried to outrun him instead of stopping that piece of junk?"

  "Eric might have had a gun or something," I said. "If we'd stopped, who knows..." I trailed off, out of breath.

  Zeke folded his arms and walked toward the door. Tamzen watched him.

  I looked from one to the other. The tension between them was thick, and I knew it was partly my fault. But I'd think about that tomorrow.

  "Let's see," Zeke said. "You've dealt with Eric, grilled Adam, hung out with Skeeter, and got smashed in car, all in the same day. Is the Nancy Drew thing over now?"

  Tamzen's lips had gone pale. "What about Adam?"

  "I told her about Kate turning him down in front of everybody, and Guinan thought it would be a good idea to ask him if he killed her. Right in front of the team."

  "That's not quite the way it happened. I did try to talk to him in private."

  He shook his head. "You know how the guy is, and everybody knows you have some kind of...of—"

  "Superpower?"

  He smiled. I laughed and stopped suddenly when my head throbbed.

  "We'd better let her rest," Tamzen said in his direction.

  "Good idea. I was about to leave when you came in." He looked at me. "Your Granddad's just down the hall. Want me to get him?"

  "Please."

  He gave me a quick nod.

  Tamzen smiled and squeezed my hand. "I'll call you later."

  Fragments of my brief exchange with Skeeter swirled in my head. I wanted sleep—deep, dark, and sweet. I thought I heard my grandfather's voice before I drifted off. I saw my grandmother's face again, and she beckoned me into the silence.

  Waxing Gibbous

  Chapter Eleven

  I woke up during the night and saw my grandfather asleep in a chair, reclining awkwardly with his long legs stretched out in front of him. I vaguely remembered telling him to go home and sleep in his bed, but it might have been the drugs. I think he told me my parents would be here in the morning. I might have hallucinated that, too. Part of me wished he hadn't told them.

  Tessa came to visit me. It had to be way past visiting hours, which meant she'd snuck in. I opened my mouth to say something. She put a finger to her lips.

  "I didn't get a chance to come earlier," she whispered. "How are you feeling?" Her face stood out against her dark clothing.

  "Better," I said, keeping my voice low. "How are things with you?"

  I could guess just from looking at her. Her usual upbeat demeanor seemed lacking. "Don't worry about me. Get well."

  When I opened my eyes again, I saw a line of light streaming through the partially closed blinds.

  "Tessa?" I sat up. My neck was stiff, and turning my head was difficult and painful. I stretched my back and pushed away the blankets. The room wobbled, and I closed my eyes until my equilibrium returned. Granddad's sleeping chair was empty. I gently slid the IV out of my arm and climbed out of bed. I used the bathroom without turning on the light and went into the hall. I poked my head inside a few rooms until I found Skeeter.

  There was a thick, white bandage wrapped around his head. He looked different with his hair pushed back from his face—exposed and vulnerable. A tube snaked from his nose, and he had an IV in his left arm. As I got closer to him, I saw bruises and tiny cuts on all over his face. I reflexively raised my hand to my own and felt several rough scrapes across my cheeks and forehead.

  I went to Skeeter's bathroom and turned on the light. A battered girl with a washed out complexion and tangled hair stared back at me. I didn't know how fast he'd been driving, but I considered myself lucky to have escaped serious damage to my face.

  I returned to the room and watched Skeeter. I thought I saw his lids flutter.

  "Skeeter?" His head moved slightly in the direction of my voice. "Can you hear me?"

  I waited several minutes for a sign of regained consciousness, but he didn't move again. A commotion in the hallway broke my concentration.

  "You don't understand. There's a killer on the loose, and my daughter is nowhere to be found."

  "Mrs. Jones, she probably just went for a walk—"

  "A walk? She has a concussion. And why doesn't she have a guard at her door?"

  "Saundra, calm down," my father said in a low voice

  Oh, boy. I took a deep breath and stepped into the hall. "I'm here, guys. I'm all right."

  Facing the nurse, my mother spun around and gaped. Her face was puffy. A jolt of guilt shot through me. When I reached her, she embraced me, looked at my injuries, and hugged me again.

  I felt my father's hand on my back. I turned to hug him. I looked into his face. His green eyes were watery. I sensed a mix of sadness, guilt, regret, and shame.

  "Dad...don't."

  He blinked, and a tear rolled down his cheek.

  My mother sniffed. "I'm going to kill my father."

  "Mom, it wasn't his fault," I said, trying not to roll my eyes. "Eric Rodman ran us off the road."

  She held on to my uninjured arm as we entered my room, my father trailing behind. I climbed back into bed and raised it so that I was sitting up.

  My mother adjusted the blankets across my lap. "He should have taken better care of you."

  I watched her fuss over me. She wore dark green slacks with brown sandals and a short-sleeved, cream-colored blouse that contrasted with her hair.

  "Please don't blame him," I said, then I explained what happened. "The accident had nothing to do with dead bodies. Well, not directly."

  "Bill Rodman's son," my mother said, shaking her head. "Don't you see what's going on? The dead girl's ex-boyfriend, you 'investigating' the murder, asking questions. He tried to kill you."

  "I have a feeling this has something to do with Skeeter, not me. We were talking about—"

  "And that's the other problem," she said, cutting me off. She tossed her purse in the chair and paced. "I don't know what possessed you to
get into Watson's truck. The police need to remind him about statutory rape."

  I closed my eyes and leaned my head against the pillow. She went on for so long, I might have dozed off in the middle of it. I opened my eyes and saw my father staring out of the window. His sandy hair, usually short, touched the collar of his button-down, light-blue shirt.

  While my mother prattled on about what she was going to do to my grandfather, Eric, and Skeeter, I thought about the last time I'd visited my parents. That sounded strange even to my ears. Visiting my parents. I knew they wanted to make up for lost time, but it was too late. After my mother miscarried, the doctor advised against having more children. My father had lost the boy he'd always wanted.

  I set my jaw. "Mom," I said, cutting through her tirade, "Dad, I want to stay in Ridge Grove."

  "We've already made the decision," my father said. "You're coming back with us. I have to leave tomorrow morning, but your mother will stay here. Then both of you will leave on Saturday."

  I closed my eyes again. What sort of kid wouldn't want to be with her parents? It wasn't normal. But nothing in my life was. The thought of leaving my grandfather and Tessa...and Zeke...was too much to think about right now.

  "I know this is sudden," he said, facing me now. "I can't speak for your mother, but I made a mistake sending you away."

  "You didn't send me away," I said weakly. "Not really. I wanted to live with Grandma and Granddad."

  I noticed the beginnings of a five o'clock shadow on his face. "And that's the problem. You prefer your grandfather over your own parents. Your mother and I are responsible for that."

  My mother stood at my bedside, her hands gripping the side. She glanced from me to my father as he spoke.

  "We have so much to make up for," he said.

  I didn't want them to make up for anything. I wanted them to stick around while I recovered, have a nice visit, then go home, and let me stay in mine.

  "I'm sorry I have to leave so soon," he said. "But when you arrive on Saturday, we'll... He stopped abruptly and looked toward the door.

  My grandfather walked in, and his eyes went wide when he saw my parents. His smiled looked more like a grimace. He pulled his daughter into an embrace. She didn't seem happy about it.

  "Hey, Dad."

  "Good to see you, darling." He nodded at my father. "Reggie."

  "Isaac."

  "The doctor's on his way."

  The next few minutes were filled with awkward small talk, and a wave of sadness swept over me. My family certainly was...different.

  "I read that Kate's funeral is tomorrow," I said to no one in particular. "I want to go."

  My mother raised her eyebrows and glanced at my grandfather. She patted my hand but didn't say anything. My father, still standing at the window, studied his hands.

  "I was planning on going, myself," Granddad said. "We'll go together."

  "I'll go, too," my mother said. "The least I can do for that poor girl's family is pay my respects. Do the police have any suspects?"

  "Of course," Granddad said. "But the investigation is ongoing."

  She waited for him to add to this vague statement, but she was used to policespeak by now. I told my parents about my detective work. It couldn't hurt at this point. The more I talked, the more alarmed they appeared. Every now and then, they cut their eyes at my grandfather.

  "I imagine Tim is at the top of the suspect list," my father said.

  "Right now his alibi checks out," Granddad said. "But it's early days yet. The lab is processing evidence."

  My mother snorted. "Are you close to arresting anyone?"

  He looked at me and tightened his lips. "Pretty close, yeah."

  I sat up, willing him to spill it. But he shook his head. I sank back onto the pillow.

  "Sometime today, I want to go to the station," my father said, moving to my mother's side, "I need find out what's going on with Rodman." He looked at my grandfather. "I hope he's going to be charged with something more than reckless driving."

  "For starters, he's facing vehicular assault charges."

  "And attempted murder, I hope," my mother said.

  Granddad shrugged. "It's still—"

  "Early days," my mother said. "Yeah, we know."

  My grandfather rubbed the back of his neck. Thankfully, the doctor arrived. A short man with silver strands in his blond hair, his blue eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled. He told my parents I could be discharged as early as this afternoon, barring any new developments. I could remove the neck brace in a day or two. He instructed my mother to check on me at least once during the night and for me to return in a few days for follow-up.

  "We won't be here," my mother said. "Guinan is returning to D.C. with us. She'll see someone there."

  The doctor nodded, and my parents and grandfather went into the hall while he examined me and asked questions. I heard part of their conversation.

  "Mama used to have the same argument with you. You haven't changed a bit."

  "Neither have you, dear." Granddad tried to control his temper.

  "Don't you want her to be safe?"

  "Saundra," my father said. "Guinan has a mind of her own. He can't watch her every hour of every day."

  "Oh, come on. Like he doesn't have any influence over her."

  "Are you trying to say I told her to get in Skeeter's truck?"

  "I'm not just talking about that. Taking her to read dead people? It's sick."

  The doctor's eyes widened, and he looked toward the door. He gave me a sympathetic smile, patted me on the arm, and left the room. I started to cry, the tears burning my eyes. When my parents returned, they descended on me. I cried harder as I watched my grandfather take a step forward, hesitate, and back out of the room.

  Chapter Twelve

  My father left the next morning with promises of how wonderful my homecoming would be. His assurances were wasted on me. We'd never be that kind of family because I wasn't that kind of daughter. Trying to recover something that never existed was a waste of time and energy. I'd spent my time on things that had come to be very important to me, like helping Tessa with the kids.

  At home, I took an awkward bath instead of a shower because of the brace and bandages. I lingered in the tub and remembered how Zeke had stepped away from me when he heard Tamzen in the hall. It dawned on me that she hadn't called like she said she would.

  On my way downstairs for breakfast, the doorbell rang. It was early—barely nine o'clock. I opened the door to a pair of bright blue eyes and a face etched with concern.

  "I heard about what happened. You okay?"

  "I'm fine, Dean." My hand fluttered to my neck brace.

  He glanced at it. "My mother and I drove down to help my aunt with the kids. She's got some weird summer flu." He gestured to my bandages. "What's the story?"

  I invited him in, and we sat on the living room couch. I repeated the story I'd told my grandfather and Zeke, Tamzen, and my parents. He asked the same question they had.

  "What were you doing with Skeeter Watson?"

  So I went over it again and emphasized that Skeeter steered the truck so he'd take the brunt of the impact. As expected, he seemed just as unimpressed.

  "I'm glad you're okay." He studied his hands. "Did Zeke come to see you at the hospital?"

  "And Tamzen."

  "I guess you're still leaving, huh? Especially after this."

  "Yep. My father flew back this morning, and my mother and I are flying out on Saturday."

  He nodded. "I see." He let out a shallow sigh and rubbed his hands together. "Listen, uh, do you have time to hang out before you leave?"

  "Oh..." Caught up short, I frowned in concentration, thinking of how many days I had left and the fact I hadn't started packing.

  "How about Friday?" he said. "Just for a couple of hours. A movie or something."

  "I don't know," I said, my fingers moving over the scrapes on my face. And I knew I looked ridiculous in this neck brace.
/>   "Oh, come on. You're not going to let a few scrapes and bruises turn you into a hermit."

  Guinan the hermit didn't sound so bad to me.

  "I don't care about any of that," he said. "You shouldn't, either. You're recovering from an accident."

  I smiled and dropped my hand into my lap. "Yes, let's hang out Friday."

  He stood up. "Pick you up around six? We'll go to Chelsea, get something to eat—"

  "Oh my goodness! Little Dean Harris?"

  My mother emerged from the kitchen. She was still in her robe and drying her hands on a dishtowel. "Your hair is so long."

  "Hi, Mrs. Jones," Dean said. "Good to see you."

  While they exchanged pleasantries, my mother kept glancing at me. "We're about to sit down to breakfast," she said. "Will you join us?"

  "Oh, thank you, ma'am, but I've already eaten. Besides, I'm supposed to be helping my dad at the store before the funeral, and I'm already late."

  "See you later," I said.

  He winked, nodded at my mother, and left.

  She watched him from the window. "I still remember him in that little sailor suit fidgeting in church many Christmases ago."

  I laughed. "Sailor suit? I'd love to see a picture of him in that."

  "Time flies, as they say. Before you know it, they're all grown up."

  When I saw that she was close to tears, I put my arm around her and steered her toward the kitchen. Granddad sat at the table fiddling with his cell. The three of us ate mostly in silence. When I was done, I started loading the dishwasher out of habit, and my mother shooed me away.

  "You go rest before the funeral. Your grandfather and I will take care of this."

  Behind her back, he made a mock-horror face. I suppressed a laugh.

  I went to my room and called Tamzen. I got kicked into voice mail and left a message asking if she wanted to a ride to the funeral. She didn't return my call.

  ***

  "In midst of loss and suffering, it's difficult for us to understand that there is a time for healing. I assure you, that time will come."

  As Pastor Hawkins preached from the Book of Ecclesiastes, I shifted in the pew between my mother and grandfather and peered around the church. We sat about ten rows from the front, thankfully too far to see Kate in her dark brown casket. Her family sat in the front row, and there was a lot of sobbing, sniffling, and blowing of noses. A lump had formed in my throat, but I held back the tears, afraid once I started crying, I'd never stop.