Lunatic Times Two: 4 (The Lunatic Life Series)

by Sharon Sala

  RUTHERFORD HUNG up the phone and grabbed his coat.

  “Hey, where are you going?” Allen asked.

  Rutherford sighed. “That dang girl has my curiosity up again. I need to see for myself if that family is really in danger. If there’s a woman named Connie lying dead in that house, I am never going to doubt Tara Luna again.”

  Allen snorted softly. “I have heard you say that before, and yet here you are, still doubting and going for another look.”

  Rutherford was putting on his coat as he walked. “So sue me. Are you coming with me, or not?”

  “You know I am, but we’re taking your SUV. You’ve got four-wheel drive,” Allen said.

  “Then hurry up. The ambulance and patrol cars are probably already there.”

  They left the police station, buttoning their coats as they went. The moment they stepped outside, the swirling snow and cold hit them like a slap in the face.

  “I hate winter,” Allen said.

  Rutherford grunted as he unlocked the doors and started the engine. A few moments later they were on the street, sliding sideways through intersections, with the windshield wipers swiping uselessly at the swirl of icy snow.

  As Rutherford had predicted, the ambulance and a couple of cruisers were already there. When they started toward the house, another detective met them at the door.

  “Hey, what are you two doing here? Darrell and I caught this case.”

  “We took the call,” Rutherford said. “Wanted to see for ourselves if it was on the up and up.”

  The detective shrugged. “It wasn’t a hoax, if that’s what you’re asking, and it’s a damn shame. Fire department said carbon monoxide poisoning.”

  Rutherford felt the skin tightening at the back of his neck just like it always did when he was presented with a truth about Tara Luna’s abilities he couldn’t ignore.

  Allen was brushing snow off his coat. “Any survivors?” he asked.

  “The woman is dead. Her husband and two kids still have a faint pulse. EMTs are working on them now for transport. Do you want to check out the scene or anything?”

  Rutherford shook his head. “No. I only look at dead people when somebody makes me.”

  “Coming through,” an EMT shouted.

  They stepped back to make room for the gurney and the little girl on it. They had her on oxygen and covered in blankets against the cold. There was a second gurney coming up behind with a slightly older boy. Both children were ghostly pale, but alive.

  “Damn shame,” Allen said softly. “I sure hope the father survives. It would suck if those kids lost both their parents.”

  “Let’s get out of here,” Rutherford said. “We can check on their welfare back at the station.”

  They ran to the car and jumped inside, shivering from the wind’s icy blast. Rutherford started up the SUV and drove away.

  “Hey, the police station is that way,” Allen said, pointing to the left as Rutherford took a right.

  “Thought I’d go by Tara’s house to let her know she was right.”

  Allen snorted softly. “She already knows she’s right. You’re the one who keeps on doubting her. I’m staying in the car.”

  Rutherford’s eyes narrowed as a gust of wind sent the snow swirling around the vehicle, making it appear as if they were driving in an arctic tornado. Just for a moment he wondered if it was one of Tara’s ghosts doing that, then decided that was stupid and kept driving.

  He didn’t know that Millicent was in the back seat, admiring the cut of Rutherford’s jaw. She was fond of manly men, and these two fit her notion of manly just fine.

  WHEN TARA WAS troubled, she baked. And after the visit from the sad ghost, Tara was more than troubled. If those kids lived, they were going to wake up and find out their mother was dead.

  She’d gone to the kitchen with a heavy heart and began stirring up cookie dough to stay occupied. She was already taking oatmeal raisin cookies out of the oven when someone began knocking. She set the tray aside and grabbed a towel, wiping her hands as she went, then peeked through the window before opening the door.

  “Detective Rutherford, come in.”

  He stepped inside, shivering noticeably as he shut the door behind him.

  “Thank you. It’s miserable out there.”

  “I didn’t expect to see you. Are you by yourself?” she asked.

  “No, Allen’s in the car. I wanted to apologize for giving you a hard time about your phone call. Maybe one of these days I’ll learn to act without asking you questions.”

  “It’s okay.”

  “No, it’s not. I don’t know how this will ultimately turn out, but the dad and two kids were still alive when we found them, and you can take credit for that.”

  Tara heard a pop and saw the little barefoot spirit holding her hands against her breasts and smiling.

  Tell him thank you.

  “I will,” Tara said.

  Rutherford frowned. “You will what?”

  “Oh, sorry. I was talking to Connie.”

  Rutherford eyed the room with a nervous glance. “So, you’re saying her spirit is here?”

  “Yes. There,” she said, pointing to a spot beside Rutherford.

  He jumped like he’d been goosed and landed right where Tara was pointing. When the hair suddenly stood up on the backs of his arms, he moaned. “I’m standing on her, aren’t I?” he whispered.

  “Well, let’s just say you’re both sharing the same space.”

  “Excuse me, Connie,” he whispered, and took four quick steps backward.

  “You didn’t hurt her,” Tara said, as she watched the little ghost beginning to lose substance. “She wants me to tell you how grateful she is that you helped save her family.”

  All of a sudden there were tears in Rutherford’s eyes. “I’m sorry we couldn’t save her,” he said softly.

  Tara could hear Connie’s voice, but it was getting fainter. She was already moving toward the light.

  “She’s not sorry. She says that she had to die to come find help, or they would have all perished.”

  He took out a handkerchief and blew his nose. “Dang cold wind made my nose run,” he said.

  Tara felt like crying with him and changed the subject. “I made cookies. Would you like some?”

  The fact that she’d not only changed the subject but offered food was good.

  “Yeah, that would be great!” he said.

  “I’ll send enough for you to share with Detective Allen.”

  “Don’t send him more than a couple. He was too big of a coward to come in.”

  Tara laughed, then stopped and tilted her head.

  “What’s wrong?” Rutherford asked.

  “Your partner is going to wish he’d come inside with you.”

  “Why?”

  Millicent is in the backseat of your car messing with him. He’s not sure what’s happening, but he’s getting rattled.”

  Rutherford’s eyes widened. “Make sure she stays here when we leave, okay?”

  Tara smiled. “I’ll mention it to her, but she pretty much does what she wants.”

  “Oh lord, lord,” Rutherford muttered.

  “I’ll get the cookies,” Tara said, and hurried to the kitchen and bagged up a half-dozen.

  When she got back to the living room, Allen was standing by his partner. His eyes were wide, and the expression on his face was somewhat shell-shocked.

  “Someone was pulling on my hair,” he whispered, and glanced around the room as if he were about to be attacked.

  “I’m sorry,” Tara said. “If she does it again, just tell her to stop and leave you alone. She has to obey. It’s part of the rules on the other side.”

  “Now you tell us,” Rutherford muttered. “Thanks a lot for the cookies. We better get going.”

  “You’re welcome,” Tara said, as she walked them to the door.

  She heard a loud pop. Millicent was ticked.

  You didn’t have to tell them about the rule
s.

  Tara closed the door behind the two men. “And you didn’t have to bother him. You knew he was going to freak. You did it on purpose.”

  Whatever.

  There was another loud pop, a large puff of pink smoke, and Millicent was gone.

  “Whatever, yourself,” Tara said, and headed back to the kitchen to finish the cookies.

  Chapter Two

  THE COOKIES WERE cooling on the rack, and Tara was asleep on the sofa with an old patch-work quilt pulled up beneath her chin. Outside, the snow was still coming down, and the wind was causing it to drift. The electricity flickered off then came back on again.

  Millicent was perched on the back of the sofa keeping watch over Tara as she slept, while Henry was hovering between the living room and the kitchen, wishing he could still smell and eat. The stew bubbling in the crock pot looked enticing.

  An old pickup truck with a load of firewood piled high in the truck bed drove past the house. It was the fourth time it had circled the block, which was why Millicent was keeping watch. She and Henry knew the person behind the wheel was up to no good, but they weren’t sure if Tara was a specific target. Until then, they would not interfere.

  It was close to four p.m. when the phone rang. Tara threw back the covers and reached for the receiver even before her eyes were fully open.

  “Hello?”

  “Hey, honey, it’s me. I’m heading home. Checking to see if I need to bring supper.”

  “Hi, Uncle Pat. No, don’t bring food. I made stew. It should be done by five.”

  “Stew sounds so good. Do you need anything?”

  “Not a thing. You just come home and get warm.”

  “On my way.”

  When he disconnected, Tara got up, folded up her covers and then headed for the kitchen, pausing in the hall to turn up the thermostat. The house was chilly, which meant it must be getting colder outside. The good news was, it had stopped snowing.

  She had cornbread baking in the oven, and coffee was brewing, when she heard the front door open.

  “I’m home!” Pat called.

  “In the kitchen!” she yelled back.

  Pat popped in long enough to give her a kiss and peek at the stew. “This looks so good,” he said. “I won’t be long, but I need to change into some dry clothes.”

  “I did laundry, so your sweats are clean.”

  He gave her a thumbs up. “I’ll be right back.”

  Tara began to set the table, adding butter and molasses for the cornbread. Uncle Pat liked cornbread with stew, and cornbread with molasses for dessert, so she knew he was going to make a sizeable dent in the pan still baking.

  A few minutes later he was back. “What can I do to help?”

  “Just pour yourself a cup of coffee and sit and talk to me.”

  He took his coffee to the table, stirred in some cream and sugar, and then leaned back, watching her work. She reminded him so much of his sister, Shirley, right down to the long legs and dark hair. All of their family was tall; the fact that Tara was like her mother was no exception.

  “So what did you do today?” he asked.

  Although what happened this morning wasn’t a secret, she wanted him to hear it from her.

  “I have to say it was quite a morning. I was doing laundry and cleaning when the spirit of a woman who’d just died popped up, begging me to help save her family.”

  Pat’s hands tightened around the coffee cup, but other than that, he didn’t react to what she was saying. However, he could tell by the expression on her face that she’d been shaken, which was unusual.

  “How tragic, honey. Was it a traffic accident?”

  “No, it was carbon monoxide in their home. She was frantic, trying to find someone to help before her husband and children died, too.”

  “Dear God,” Pat said softly, and leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table as she continued the story.

  “To make a sad story short, we found out her name and address, and the police rescued the family. I haven’t heard anything more, but they were still alive when they found them.”

  “Then that’s good, right? She accomplished her task and moved on. She did move on, right?”

  Tara nodded then took the cornbread out of the oven and cut it into squares, then began dishing up the stew. She piled a platter full of the crusty yellow squares and carried it to the table.

  “Yes, she’s gone, but when it was all happening, I could feel how frantic she was, and how much she loved them.”

  Pat frowned. “Well, sure, honey. Any parent would be frantic.”

  She carried the bowls of stew to the table, setting one at her place and one at his then went back for the cornbread. Even as she sat, Pat could tell there was more.

  “Do you think my mother and father felt like that?” she asked.

  Pat stifled a groan. So that was it. He reached for her hand and gave it a squeeze. “Oh, honey, you don’t even have to ask. There was never a mother more proud of her child than Shirley was of you.”

  Tara’s eyes were glistening with unshed tears. “I can see spirits all the time. They’re around me no matter where we go, and yet I’ve never seen my mom or dad. They’ve never even tried to talk to me.”

  “How do you know?”

  She frowned. That was almost the same thing Millicent had said earlier. “I don’t know, but I would have thought they would at least have identified themselves.”

  Pat sighed. He didn’t like to admit he’d grown up in a house full of psychics, but he knew enough to answer some of her questions. “I don’t know how the other side works, but I can remember my mom and Shirley talking about it some. Their rules are different than ours, right?”

  She nodded.

  “So maybe they aren’t allowed to pop up and say, ‘Hi, I’m Mom. How’s it going?’ You were so little when they died that maybe you just never had time to form a bond that would help you recognize them from this side. Do you know what I mean?”

  Tara’s eyes widened. “Yes, I do, and that makes sense. I never thought of it that way.”

  He smiled. “Then for now let’s agree that you were loved, and still are loved to distraction. You saved some lives today, this stew smells wonderful, and I’m starved. How’s that?”

  She smiled. “Good.” She took a bite of the stew. “Needs salt,” she added, and passed the shaker.

  After that, the conversation was less serious. She listened absently as he talked about the snowdrifts and the streets they’d sanded and the cars stranded all over town. It wasn’t until she’d carried away their empty bowls and was running water in them at the sink, that her uncle shifted the conversation again.

  “It’s just a couple of days until New Year’s, and then you’ll be back in school.”

  Tara nodded. “I know. I can’t believe that I’ll finally be graduating high school. Growing up is exciting and just a little bit scary.”

  “No scarier than it is for me. Some days I don’t want to face the fact that you will get married and move away from me.”

  She frowned. “Well, I can promise you that will be down the road a few years, so stop dwelling on that, okay?”

  “Okay.” He was silent a few moments as he continued to eat. When he finished his stew, he pushed the bowl aside and then leaned forward. “So . . . if I took Mona to a New Year’s Eve party, how would you feel about that?”

  Tara frowned. “What do you mean, ‘How would I feel?’ I’d feel fine. That’s a weird question.”

  He shrugged and reached for another square of cornbread, then began drenching it in molasses. “We seem to be putting down some roots here in Stillwater, and I thought it might be a good idea if I got to know some people. She wanted to go and asked me. I told her it depended on what the dress code was. She laughed, but I was serious. I don’t own nice clothes.”

  “Oh, Uncle Pat! I can help you with that. After we get groceries at Walmart tomorrow, we can swing by some of the clothing stores. It’s not a formal party, is i
t?”

  “No, but she said anything I might wear to church would be fine, but as you know, that’s yet another thing I’ve failed you on. We don’t go to church. The older you get, the more I am beginning to realize that your life has been negatively impacted by me and my failures to provide.”

  Tara strode over to the table and threw her arms around his neck, hugging him fiercely. “That is so not true, and I don’t ever want to hear you talk bad about yourself to me again.”

  He patted her arm. “It’s apparent there are holes in your social life because we moved so much.”

  Tara laughed. “Uncle Pat, get serious. There are holes in my social life because of who and what I am. Not because we moved around. Now, tomorrow we go shopping, and that’s that.”

  She hugged him again and then got a small plate and a piece of cornbread and sat down.

  Pat arched an eyebrow, popped a bite of his cornbread and molasses into his mouth and then shoved the thick, sweet syrup across the table. “I might want another piece of cornbread,” he said as she tilted the jar, eying the amount of dark syrup pouring freely onto her plate.

  “Chill, Uncle Pat. It’s over half-full.”

  His bushy eyebrows knitted over the bridge of his nose as he watched it continue to flow. “Ummhmm, I see it.”

  She laughed, and just to make him nervous, poured an extra dollop on the plate, then shoved it back toward him.

  He laughed. “You are something else, girl.”

  A couple of spoons banged in the sink.

  He jumped. “What was that?”

  Tara glanced over her shoulder. “It’s just Henry checking out the stew. He wants to taste it, but unfortunately for Henry, ghosts don’t eat.”

  “Lord,” Pat muttered swiped a bite of cornbread through the molasses, and popped it in his mouth.

  Tara laughed. Right now, her lunatic life felt just about perfect.

  SNOW HAD DRIFTED behind the old black pickup and onto the load of wood in the bed, concealing everything but the front part of the cab and the hood. The windshield wipers were frozen to the window, and the battery was dead because the driver, Vince Dudley, had tried to start the truck so many times after it stalled that he’d run it down. Now he sat huddled behind the wheel with his coat collar pulled up around his ears, cursing the weather and his boss for sending him out in this mess.