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

by Callista Foley

  I looked to my left and spotted Dean. He wore a dark-blue suit, and his hair was in a ponytail. He sat solemnly beside Tamzen, who wore a short-sleeved black dress that I knew stopped just above her knees. She must have sensed me looking at her. She turned her head slightly in my direction. I hadn't expected Zeke to attend the funeral, but I hadn't expected her to come with Dean. I felt a weird mix of jealousy and resignation. I'm leaving, anyway.

  The Hicks family were noticeably absent. It was strange to be sitting here listening to the pastor eulogize Kate while everybody now knew about the affair and that her murder was unsolved. I couldn't imagine how her parents felt.

  As if she could hear what I was thinking, my mother placed her hand on top of mine. I looked at her, but she kept her eyes forward.

  Thirty minutes later, the pastor closed the service, and it was time for everyone to view Kate's body. I hung back and edged my way toward the rear of the church. I'd removed the neck brace, but I felt self-conscious about my face. Fortunately, most people weren't paying me much attention.

  Dean noticed that I'd left the line and hung back, too. While Tamzen joined the line, he cut through the crowd and appeared at my side.

  "I don't blame you," he said, loosening his tie. "I'd rather remember her as she was."

  "I wish I could, but I saw her in the woods. I don't want to look at her again."

  He furrowed his brow. "Oh, yeah. I forgot about that." His eyes traveled from my white blouse and to my dark-blue skirt. "We kind of match."

  As the crowd moved toward the door, we stepped outside. It was still hot, but mercifully cooler than it had been. A warm breeze ruffled my hair. I leaned my head back and pretended it was cool air. My arm throbbed a bit. I'd skipped this afternoon's dose of narcotics so I could be clear-headed. I looked at Dean, who had his hands in pants pockets. He was watching me.

  I cleared my throat. "Is your aunt going to be all right?"

  "Yeah, but with three kids and a husband who travels for work, it's kind of rough."

  "You're a good nephew."

  He blushed and scratched his cheek.

  Tamzen walked up to us and stood beside him. "I don't think I'm going to the cemetery. Mind taking me home?"

  "I called you earlier," I said. The tension between us was weird, and I hated it. Yesterday, she was crying at my hospital bedside. Now she acted like she was angry. "I wanted to get together before I leave."

  Her face relaxed a little. "Still going on Saturday?"

  I looked toward the people milling around the church entrance. "My parents and my grandfather want me out of Ridge Grove."

  She raised an eyebrow. "And you want to stay to solve the murder, right?" She smirked and poked Dean with her elbow. "I'm gonna faint out here. Hate to pull you away, but..."

  She put an arm through his and pulled him toward the parking lot. He looked back, shrugged, and mouthed, "See you Friday."

  I waited by my grandfather's SUV, which reminded me of Skeeter. I dialed the hospital and asked about him. A nurse said he'd regained consciousness that morning, but he was asleep at the moment. I considered dialing his room directly but changed my mind. He needed all the rest he could get. What I had to say could wait.

  At the cemetery, a large crowd stood around Kate's grave while the pastor led prayers and a hymn. I got tired of trying not to cry and let it out. My grandfather put his arm around my shoulder, and I leaned into him. I cried for Kate and for having to leave Ridge Grove. I thought of Zeke's kiss and the developing whatever I had with Dean. Did I really like him like that, or was I just using him because Zeke was unavailable?

  I wiped my eyes and looked around the cemetery. The decayed bodies in the ground left no lingering thoughts behind. Their souls were gone. They were only memories now. One day I'd be only a memory, and maybe my daughter or granddaughter would listen to my last thoughts. When Grandma died, I hadn't read hers, and Granddad hadn't asked me to. I would have refused, anyway.

  I turned my head in the direction of her grave. My mother had brought two sets of flowers, and she'd placed one on her mother's grave as people gathered around Kate's. From the corner of my eye, I saw movement in the distance. Someone leaned against a tree at the edge of the woods. It was Zeke. Hands in his jeans pockets, he watched the service. He waved, and I waved back.

  "Who are you waving at?" my mother said.

  I looked at her. "Oh, it's just..." When I turned to look at Zeke, he was gone.

  Chapter Thirteen

  When the doorbell rang in the early evening, I practically skipped downstairs. I yelled out, "I got it!" Good. Tamzen wanted to talk. We'd been friends since before I moved here, and I didn't want to leave with us not speaking.

  "Would you be careful?" My mother stood at the foot of the stairs. "You want to end up in traction to go along with that concussion?"

  As if to agree with her, my head gave a nasty throb. "It's Tamzen."

  "I'll say hello. I haven't seen her in a while."

  When I opened the door, my stomach leaped into my throat.

  "Tamzen," my mother said, walking up behind me. "I just wanted to—"

  We both stood in the open door, letting my grandfather's cold air escape.

  Zeke looked from me to my mother. "Hi. Sorry to disappoint you. It's just me."

  She invited him and asked a million questions—about Tessa, the kids, baseball, college plans—but carefully avoided any questions or comments about Tim.

  I shifted impatiently while they chatted, anxious to know why he was here. When they'd finished, I realized how nervous I was. I steered him to the couch, the same one where Dean and I had made plans to go out Friday night. I tried to set my face in a neutral expression.

  "I saw you at the cemetery."

  "I wanted to come to the church, but it might have upset Kate's parents."

  Kate mother's red face and swollen eyes and her father's set jaw and trembling lips came to mind. "Your father's affair wasn't your fault."

  He snorted. "Forget the affair. They probably think he killed her." He sat on the edge of couch like he didn't want to get too comfortable. "This has been really hard for me. I haven't been able to talk to my parents or even to Dean. I just wish this was over."

  "What about Tamzen?"

  He winced and shook his head. "I don't want to talk about her."

  "Okay."

  I didn't have much practice encouraging people to confide in me. Most thought I could read minds and didn't need verbal communication, anyway. "How's your mother holding up?"

  He made eye contact with me, and I'm pretty sure my heart fluttered once or twice. "It depends. Sometimes she's manic and trying to convince us that everything will be all right. The next day, or the next hour, she's really sad."

  "She came to see me in the hospital. But it was late, and I was out of it."

  Zeke furrowed his brow. "She didn't mention it."

  "She snuck in after visiting hours. I thought that was cool. Rebellious, you know?"

  He smirked. "She probably did it to avoid people. My father and Mr. Mansfield got into an argument the other day."

  My eyes grew wide.

  "Mr. Mansfield went to the police station to find out what was happening with the case, and my father was there."

  Guinan Jones, clairvoyant detective: out of the loop.

  "He started yelling and demanding that my dad be fired. Your grandfather told him Tim was suspended until the investigation was over, but Kate's dad didn't want to hear it. Then my dad started defending himself, which made Kate's dad even angrier."

  My nervousness was gone. "They didn't fight, did they?"

  "Nah. My dad left."

  "What a mess, huh?"

  He averted his eyes. "I sort of envy you. I wish I could leave this place. I want to go where no one knows me."

  Maybe I could talk my parents into letting him visit once in awhile, since we technically were family.

  "But I'm stuck," he said, rubbing his face. He looked at me and
forced a smile. "I can pretend for a little while, at least. You feel up to hanging out?"

  I didn't feel my face or think about how I looked. "Okay."

  ***

  My mother's objection duly noted, I left with Zeke. We ended up at a "casual dining" restaurant in Chelsea eating crab cakes made just right—firm, and not too salty. I didn't feel guilty being with him. I told myself we needed to discuss the case, to help catch the killer so his family life could return to normal.

  "I know you don't like being called a psychic, but that's what you are," he said, wiping his mouth with a napkin.

  I shrugged. "I guess I'm thinking about the stereotype. A phony who takes people's money in exchange for vague statements that could apply to anybody. Being called a witch is worse, though."

  "You know, when we were joking at Busby's about what you could do with your ability, well, you really could do some good with it."

  His napkin fell onto his empty plate. I cut into a piece of crab cake, suddenly self-conscious.

  "If I were you, I'd set up my own agency."

  "And I'd probably have to live somewhere other than Ridge Grove."

  He leaned back in the booth and seemed to study me. "And that would be a bad thing?"

  "I like it here."

  "For now," he said. "But you want to go to college, don't you?"

  I didn't think a lot about college plans. "I'll apply to Carolina. If I get in, I'll go, graduate, then come back home."

  Zeke shook his head. "You really like the RG, don't you? What would you do there after you graduate college?"

  I shrugged. "Maybe write part time while taking care of my family."

  He laughed. "I think you were meant for something beyond the ordinary."

  I looked at him through narrowed eyes. "What about your mother? She's satisfied in Ridge Grove, with her husband and children."

  "You're not my mother."

  Our waitress approached and asked if we wanted dessert. I ordered a piece of key lime pie, and Zeke ordered a slice of chocolate cake.

  "I don't have to be your mother to want the same things," I said after the waitress left. "If it's good enough for a woman like Tessa, it's good enough for me."

  "My mother isn't perfect, you know. A lot of people think she's this wonderful earth mother type. But sometimes..." He let the thought dangle between us. I readied myself to defend her. "I love my mother." He looked into my eyes, clearly trying hard to phrase it carefully. "She has what she said she's always wanted, right? Even before we found out about the affair, I sometimes got the feeling she wasn't happy."

  I nodded, trying to understand. "Maybe she feels overwhelmed from time to time," I said. "She has two, very active toddlers. That's why I like to babysit, help her out."

  The waitress returned with our dessert. This time, I devoured the food while Zeke picked at his. He swirled a bit of frosting with his fork.

  "That's not the only reason you do it," he said.

  I let the pie linger on my tongue, savoring the smooth sweetness.

  "You like to pretend it's your house and your kids."

  I swallowed, and the food seemed to stop in my throat. "Nothing wrong with pretending."

  "No, but it can make you blind to how things really are."

  "I'm the last person who should be lectured about how things really are. I sense how things are, remember?"

  He put down his fork. "Don't be mad."

  I pushed my empty dish away. "I'm not mad."

  This seemed to have helped his appetite. He grinned, dug into his cake, and finished it in three bites. "We should have done this more often." He stopped grinning and frowned. "What I mean is, the four of us should have hung out more."

  The waitress returned and started clearing the table. "Anything else I can get for you?"

  After he paid the check, he leaned forward as if to tell me something. I did the same. He took a steadying breath, then sat back. "Ready to jet?"

  I tried to keep the disappointment off my face.

  "If I weren't in the middle of dealing with all this..."

  I nodded and grabbed my purse. "Would you believe I still haven't started packing yet?"

  He gave me a weak smile. "Right. Packing."

  We spent the ride home discussing the details of my lack of packing. When he stopped in front of my house, he left the engine running. "I hate that you're leaving."

  "I do, too."

  "This is going to sound weird," he said. "But promise me something?"

  I shifted in my seat.

  "Being a clairvoyant isn't evil unless you choose to do evil things. I don't know why you can see dead people's thoughts or whatever, but don't let anybody try to convince you that it's evil."

  If Zeke Hicks never spoke to me again as long as I lived, this would be enough to sustain me. For years I tried to convince myself that what he thought about me didn't matter. It did. A lot.

  "Thanks."

  He took a deep breath. "All that time I didn't talk to you...I was embarrassed with you knowing how I felt when I didn't even know. Whatever I was feeling, I wanted to express it, not have you read it. Make sense?"

  I nodded. The white noise of the air conditioner filled the silence. I told him about the dream I'd had when I babysat at his house.

  "You saw the future," he said. "That's kind of awesome."

  A cell phone buzzed. I didn't look to see if it was mine.

  Chapter Fourteen

  By Thursday afternoon, I'd filled two suitcases to bursting and declared my packing completed. My mother brought half a dozen boxes to my room—her not-so-subtle way of telling me I wasn't done. Granddad stood in my bedroom doorway scratching his chin. He told me to take a break, and I followed him downstairs.

  My mother sat at the kitchen table drinking coffee and surfing on her laptop. I slouched in the chair across from her.

  Granddad poured himself a mug of coffee. "Serious business upstairs."

  "You thought we were joking?" my mother said without looking up.

  When he didn't answer, I looked at him. He gave me a chin-up expression. My eyes stung. "I want to talk to Skeeter before I leave."

  They said "What?" at the same time.

  "Before the accident, he was supposed to show me something. I need to know what it is."

  "I don't want you going anywhere near that creep," she said.

  "I'll just call him."

  "You can't do that," Granddad said. "He doesn't have a landline phone, and he uses disposable cells. I doubt he's using the same one we checked."

  I furrowed my brow. "Isn't he still in the hospital?"

  Granddad shook his head. "Released this morning."

  "What?" I said, rising from the table. "Why didn't you tell me?"

  He raised his eyebrows. "Since when do I have to report to you?"

  I pursed my lips. "I need to find out what he knows about Kate's murder."

  My mother pushed herself away from the table and wagged a finger at my grandfather. "Now she's trying to do your job."

  "Granddad doesn't want me doing anything. In fact, he thinks I should leave. The sooner, the better."

  That seemed to placate her. She smiled and returned her attention to her computer.

  I left the kitchen with the excuse that I had to start filling those boxes.

  "Holler if you need help," she said.

  I lingered in my room for a good hour, staring at the boxes, then I quietly left the house. With the air conditioner roaring, I knew they wouldn't hear me cranking up my car. As I drove through the neighborhood, my eyes darted in every direction, on the look-out for nosy people. I avoided looking into cars as they passed. Then I felt foolish. Why was I sneaking? I was going to see a fellow resident of Ridge Grove and tell him to get well soon.

  By the time I pulled up in front of Skeeter's trailer, my heart was thumping. I wasn't afraid, exactly. Despite Skeeter's strangeness, I considered him relatively harmless. Sad and little scary, but I didn't sense violence.
>
  His trailer matched his former truck—dingy and white. On the way to the door, I navigated a maze of dog poop, holding my breath and peering around for the dog. I gingerly climbed the crumbling concrete steps and noticed a brown streak across the gray door. Avoiding whatever it was, I knocked lightly at first, in case he was asleep. A loud bark came from inside. I waited. No sounds but the dog barking. I knocked again, and this time I heard someone stirring.

  "Just a sec."

  A lone cricket chirped in the high weeds that surrounded the trailer. The door opened a crack, and Skeeter's pale face appeared.

  "Check it out," he said, opening the door wider. "The chief's granddaughter at my humble little abode."

  Despite his light tone, he looked terrible. His hair was lankier than usual. The head wrapping was gone, but he had two black eyes. His pale skin made them and the tiny cuts on his face stand out even more.

  "I came to see how you were," I said. "Can I come in?"

  He let out an impatient sigh, glanced behind him, and opened the door. "This ain't no palace."

  I smiled and tried to hide my shock. Empty fast-food containers littered the kitchen countertops, and crusty dishes were stacked haphazardly in the sink. A worn brown velvet couch sat against the wall, flanked by a coffee table overflowing with empty beer bottles, a full ashtray, and more empty food containers. The stale air was scented with sweat, garbage, and dog.

  A window unit roared but expelled air barely cooler than room temperature. I jumped when I felt the dog's wet nose on my leg and gasped when I saw what kind it was—a pit bull with brown and gray fur.

  "Excuse Caesar," Skeeter croaked, prodding the dog away with his feet. "He's not used to company. And such cute company, too." His leer came off as comical.

  I looked around for a place to sit in case I wanted to sit. "I'm glad you're okay."