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

by Callista Foley

  I stared at the names of people I thought I knew well. I stared at Zeke's name, then drew a line through it.

  Crazy bitch. Evil eyes.

  Skeeter must have known who killed Kate, and the killer knew he knew. He might have called his ex-wife a crazy bitch, but evil eyes? Did that mean she was crazy? Was Bev Watson clairvoyant? She was born and raised in Ridge Grove. She could be a distant cousin. A cousin. Like Tessa.

  A woman passed by the table on her way to the bathroom, and I practically jumped out of the chair. I covered the list as if I'd been caught doing something wrong. I hoped she hadn't noticed.

  I took a bite of the sandwich and turned back to the list. Eric and Tamzen, Tim and Tessa...I couldn't wrap my mind around the idea that anyone, let alone people I knew and cared about, could commit murder. I shook my head and crumpled up the paper. I stared out the window for a long time. My buzzing cell interrupted my train of thought.

  "Hey, Mom."

  "Where are you?"

  I looked at the time. Past noon. "Is everything okay?"

  "He's asking for you, and he's frantic."

  ***

  I rehearsed how I was going to tell my mother that I might have foreseen my death. Yep, still sounds crazy.

  After the third version of the speech, I realized there was no elegant way to say it. At the hospital, I stopped short of going inside Granddad's room, took a deep breath, and plunged ahead.

  He sat upright with his cell phone at his ear. When he saw me, he said something I couldn't hear and closed the phone. My mother slouched in a chair against the wall. She looked like she'd been crying.

  "Hey," I said, forcing a smile.

  I wanted to be chipper and bubbly, but I lost it. He held my hand while I cried. He whispered something to my mother, and she left the room. I wiped my eyes and looked into his face. He was still pale, but his eyes were alert.

  "Doc says it was just a mild one. He's putting me on a different medication."

  I sniffed. "You don't need surgery?"

  He shook his head. "I told your mother about the dream."

  My heart sank. "What did she say?"

  He pressed his lips together. "She thinks it was about Kate and not you. She called me crazy."

  "Then she must think I'm crazy, too."

  He shook his head. "She believes I encouraged you to think it was about you."

  I frowned. "And why would you do that?"

  "Your mother is in denial. She doesn't want to believe you saw your own death. It's a normal reaction."

  Believing I'd dreamed of Kate's death certainly was less stressful for her than believing the other scenario.

  Granddad adjusted himself against the pillows. "Tilda seldom talked about her dreams. Every now and then, she'd tell me about one. For the most part, she kept them to herself."

  "She must have confided in somebody. I mean, she told Miss Patsy the one about her. Maybe she told other people."

  "Maybe, but she wasn't close to many people."

  "Do you think she might have talked to Tessa about some of the dreams?"

  He gazed at me as if the possibility hadn't occurred to him. "That doesn't matter right now. I need to tell you about one in particular she did share with me."

  I took a deep breath and nodded.

  He squeezed his eyes shut and opened them. "Tilda used to have this recurring dream about being killed in a car accident."

  The room swayed.

  "In these dreams, she was always the driver. So she stopped driving."

  My mouth gaped as the memories flooded my mind. All this time I thought she just didn't like to drive. "Why didn't you tell me this before?" I said.

  "I certainly couldn't tell you while she was alive. It would've have scared you to death." He winced at the pun. "I wanted to tell you afterward, but no time seemed like the right time."

  I studied my trembling hands. I balled them into fists. "Why did Grandma end up driving that day?"

  He pressed his lips together and swallowed. I'd seen him cry only once, and that was after we'd returned home from her funeral. "That morning I wasn't feeling well. She begged me to stay home, go to the doctor. But you know me."

  I recalled that day. I was in math class, and the principal appeared at the door. He told the teacher he needed me to come to his office. When I got there, Tessa was waiting to deliver the bad news.

  "I collapsed at the office," Granddad said, rubbing his chin. "I wasn't having a heart attack. Probably exhaustion. Somebody called her, and she got in the car to come to the station." His lips trembled.

  Knowing that day could be the day she'd die, my grandmother drove to her ailing husband. And her death.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  "If only I'd done what she asked and stayed home. My wife would not have gotten into that car. She'd still be alive. Don't you see how it's happening again?"

  I shook my head, not sure why. I didn't know what to believe.

  "You and your mother were supposed to be gone by now." It was hard to look at the tears welling up in his eyes, but I didn't look way. "That dream you had, dying under a full moon in that field—"

  "I'm not going anywhere near that field," I said. My words came out in a rush. "Grandma changed what she saw at least once. The future isn't set in stone."

  He shook his head. "I don't care. Seeing someone else's death and seeing your own are two different things. I'm not taking a chance, and neither are you. I've told your mother all this."

  And she doesn't believe the dream was about me. Usually, she was ready to believe the worst.

  A nurse came into the room. "We don't mind if you stay with us all week, Chief. But I'm sure you'll want to leave soon, so you'll need to rest."

  He scowled at her. "I can rest in my own bed. I need to go home. Today."

  I shuffled my feet. I was the reason he was in a hurry.

  "What's going on?"

  All three of us looked toward the door. My mother had a pack of crackers and a Mountain Dew in her hands.

  "Granddad wants to go home today."

  My mother looked from him to the nurse. "Is that possible?"

  "He really needs to stay at least one more day and—"

  "Let me talk to the doctor," he said.

  The doctor gave him a mini-lecture on what he needed to do. As Granddad dressed in the bathroom, my mother and I made sure we had everything else he needed, and the three of us headed out. I fidgeted in the back seat, knowing he wasn't going to rest. His department had two murders to solve. I was going to be a good little girl and stick close to home. I was determined not to give him another heart attack.

  ***

  That evening, the Hicks family came over. While the adults talked in the den, Zeke and I took the twins upstairs to my room. Once I got them settled on the floor with a few of my old stuffed animals I took from the closet shelf, I told him about my grandmother's car accident dreams. For a few minutes, we didn't speak. The sound of toddlers shrieking and laughing filled the void.

  "What a world, huh?" He lay on his side at the foot of my bed, and I sat propped against the headboard hugging a pillow.

  "You know, when you told me about that dream, I wondered if your grandmother might have had a similar one."

  My eyes widened. "Very perceptive."

  He blushed and sat up. "Yeah, well. It's not that big a leap. Have you ever thought about why you dreamed about death? Why not lottery numbers or which college you'll get into?"

  I stared at him. "Maybe I'll end up dreaming about that stuff."

  "Or maybe there's something about death that demands attention. It's final. The end of life, at least physical life. It's huge." He shrugged and watched the boys play tug-of-war with my panda. "You ever wondered why you can see recently dead people's thoughts but only sense emotions of the living?"

  I'd given myself headaches trying to figure it out.

  "What it is about death?" he said.

  "I guess the dreams and thoughts are some kind
of warning from the universe."

  He eyed me skeptically. "The universe? More like from God."

  I bit my lip. "Why would God give me the power to know what a dead person was thinking before he died or to see my own death?"

  He reached down and picked up Jacob, who was about to cry after Jude had won the tug-of-war. He bounced the boy on his lap. He'd make a good father.

  "Remember when I told you about doing something good? You can help solve crimes."

  I scoffed. "I can't see who murdered Kate or Skeeter, and I saw myself die. What good is that to anybody?"

  Zeke put the squirming boy back on the floor and handed him the orange giraffe, who Jacob promptly tried to eat.

  "You're looking at it the wrong way," he said, turning to face me. "I think the answers are right there." He tapped a finger on the side of his head.

  "You mean I already know who the killer is?"

  He pressed his lips together and blew out a long breath. "I think you might."

  I leaned my head against the headboard, closed my eyes, and instructed my brain to tell me the killer's name. I opened my eyes and shook my head. "Nope, not working."

  He gave me a crooked smile. "I don't think it works like that."

  Someone tapped on the door. "Hey, kids."

  Tessa pushed the door open, and the twins discarded my stuffed animals, ran to her, and clung to her legs. She looked at me. "We're leaving. Isaac needs his rest."

  Zeke sat up. "Call you later?"

  I nodded.

  "I'll be down in a minute," she said to him. "Will you take them?"

  "Sure." He gazed at me before he left. It made me sad all over again to be leaving.

  Tessa closed the door and sat on the bed. "Isaac is going to be fine."

  "I was worried there for a minute."

  "He's strong. A little stubborn, but strong."

  I knew she hadn't sent Zeke away to talk about Granddad's condition. I carefully watched the woman I sometimes wished were my mother.

  "Guinan," she said, looking into my eyes, "you're feeling confused. Sad. Angry. Scared."

  My smile faltered. Her eyes seemed to be locked onto mine, and I felt like stalked prey. Adrenaline rushed through me, and I resisted the urge to flee. I broke eye contact and sat upright. "What was that?"

  "I'm sorry. I was reading you."

  "Reading me?"

  She nodded. "I'm empathic, too."

  Something clicked in my brain. My eyes traveled from her face to the spot on her forehead where a widow's peak would be. She noticed me looking and brushed her fingers over the spot.

  "When my mother started letting me shave my legs, I'd shave this thing off, too."

  My hand went to mine automatically.

  "Saundra's grandmother and mine were sisters," she said. "Their mother was clairvoyant, the first known one in the family."

  I stared at her and forced my mouth to form words. "Does that mean my mother is also clairvoyant?"

  "I've never sensed it, and she's never mentioned it to me. In your mother's case, it must have skipped a generation. Not so in mine."

  "Your mother," I said.

  Tessa's lips twisted as if she'd tasted something sour. "As far as I know, she set up on the boardwalk in Atlantic City as a fortuneteller reading palms and tea leaves."

  Her mother sounded like a prime example of why I didn't like being called a psychic. Still, Tessa could have helped me. Instead, she'd concealed the truth. She must have read it on my face. Or sensed the emotions.

  "I'm just like Tilda. I don't want to be clairvoyant. I don't want to sense or dream or—"

  "You have precog dreams?" I rose from the bed. My legs felt like jelly. "Why are you telling me this now?"

  She looked at her hands. "Your mother and I were in the kitchen talking and, well, she let it slip that your grandmother sent her some journals. I'm almost certain Tilda mentioned my clairvoyance. I'm sorry I lied to you."

  "I understand," I said. Did I really? "My mother said she hasn't read the journals. They're mine. At least when I turn eighteen."

  She cocked her head. "Are you sure she hasn't read them?"

  "She said she hasn't, and I believe her. Does she know you're clairvoyant?"

  "I think she suspects."

  "Does your family know?"

  Tessa lowered her gaze and folded her arms. "No. But I plan to tell them."

  I rubbed my forehead and tried to make sense of this news. "Can you hear dead people's thoughts?"

  She shook her head. "Besides empathy, I can sometimes sense things before they happen."

  "Premonitions?"

  She nodded. "There's something else I need to mention that's probably in the journals as well. Before Tim and I married, I had a miscarriage. I was twelve weeks along. We were planning to marry before the baby was born."

  The two most important women in my life had lost babies. I couldn't begin to imagine what that was like.

  "Things worked out," she said, smiling. "Afterward, we got married and had Zeke. I had some fertility issues after that, but then the twins came."

  "I hope to have what you have some day," I said.

  She looked at me, eyes wide. "I know you envy me. I make it look easy. It isn't."

  I didn't know how to respond.

  "You'll get a fresh start in D.C. You better keep in touch."

  I'll call and text. And I expect weekly pictures of the twins. They'll grow so much while I'm gone. Can we talk sometime...about our abilities?"

  The idea triggered a memory.

  "Of course, you can."

  A knock sounded on the door. It opened a crack, and Zeke peered in.

  "Mrs. Jones is kicking us out."

  We rose from the bed, and I touched Tessa's arm. She stopped and looked at me.

  "Did you know Granddad was going to have a heart attack?"

  She lowered her gaze. "Just before you called, I saw it."

  I braced myself. "Did you have premonitions about what happened to Kate and Skeeter?"

  "I wish I had," she said.

  I nodded and followed her downstairs. As his parents and siblings headed down the walkway, Zeke lingered on the porch. Before I could say anything, he pecked me on the cheek and jogged to catch up.

  Full Moon

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  This was huge. I felt even more of a kinship with Tessa. Another empath in the family, and she had premonitions. Sensing something will happen before it happened sounded cooler than seeing dead people's thoughts.

  That evening, while my grandfather slept, my mother and I stared at the TV. I wasn't ready to tell her about Tessa. I was in a sort of trance when the news anchor announced a break in the Theodore Watson murder, which also could be linked to the Kate Mansfield murder. An arrest was imminent.

  I sat up, then looked at my mother. She'd told the station not to call my grandfather about work, no matter how important they thought it was. It meant we heard this news on TV like everybody else.

  She let out a shallow breath. "I wonder who it is?"

  I chewed on a nail. We'd know soon enough.

  Soon enough came the next morning. My mother gave up trying to make Granddad stay in bed. He agreed not to go the station but set up office on the dining room table and talked on his cell non-stop.

  "There's been an arrest," he said during a rare break. "The media hasn't gotten wind of the details, yet, but we found what might be Eric's custom-made baseball bat. His prints were on it as well as a goodly amount of dried blood. Human blood."

  My mother covered her mouth. "It's over, then?"

  I smiled while she hugged me. "Where was the bat found?"

  Still in his pajamas and robe, Granddad leaned back in the chair and rubbed his eyes. "Well, thanks to your detective work, I had a couple officers go back to the crime scene. I told them to check that oak tree and the vicinity to see what they could come up with."

  My cheeks grew hot. My detective work?

  He continued.
"One of them noticed that a patch of ground a few feet from the tree looked freshly turned. I don't know how we missed it the first time, but that's spilled milk under the bridge. They started digging and found the bat several feet deep."

  While my mother talked non-stop about my homecoming, I thought it odd that Eric would bury the bloody murder weapon. But what did I know of the minds of murderers?

  ***

  I watched the news and followed the story online all day. I texted Tamzen for the tenth time, and for the tenth time, she didn't reply. If Eric had been at her house around the time Skeeter was murdered, how could he have been murdering him? Unless he lied. Or they both lied. I was going crazy watching and surfing and waiting. I left my house and drove straight to hers.

  My polite knocking on the door turned into banging. I shouted her name, went around to the back, banged on that door, and shouted some more. No response. I called Zeke and asked if he'd seen or heard from her.

  "She calls but I don't answer," he said. "She's stopped leaving messages, though."

  His casual tone irritated me. "Do you have to be so...so cruel to her? First, you have sex with her. The next day, you dump her."

  "Whoa, what? Tamzen and I did not have sex."

  "That's what she told me."

  He gave a humorless laugh. "She lied. You couldn't sense it?"

  I stared into space. She hadn't actually said they had sex. But she'd given me that impression. And her emotions...

  Intense physical and emotional satisfaction. Triumphant smugness.

  "We kissed and stuff for a while."

  And stuff?

  "After that, we went to sleep."

  "I remembered that she avoided eye contact at certain points. I guess she'd wanted to me to think you guys did more than kissing. But why would she lie?"

  A flash of deception. At the time, I didn't connect the flash with her lying about something so important.

  "Who knows why that girl does anything," Zeke said.

  "When was the last time she called you?" I waited while he checked his call history.