Lunatic Revenge (22 page)

Tara arched an eyebrow. “Birds? Seriously? And how does any of that concern me?”

Allen scratched his head. “Uh, well, you know
 . . .
we figured maybe those spooks of yours might have had something to do with it.”

“Oooh, I so would not refer to Millicent as a spook.”

“Sorry, really sorry,” Detective Allen looked nervous, and then took a step backward and glanced toward the sky, then at the trees, just in case.

Rutherford wasn’t as easily put off. “I’m guessing a news crew arrived unannounced and made a pest of themselves.”

Tara shrugged. “I never talked to them. I heard a knock at the door. By the time I got to the living room, they were already off the porch, screaming their heads off and running for the van. Scared me, I can tell you. I didn’t know what was happening.”

Rutherford eyed the bland expression on her face and then frowned. “So, that’s your story.”

She didn’t blink. “Anything else I can do for you?”

He sighed. “Look kid. We haven’t had a chance to talk to you since the tornado, and then the wreck you were in. It’s been pretty crazy in Stillwater, but, I want you to know how proud we were of your efforts during search and rescue, and how thankful we are that you got out of that wreck alive.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re still pretty bruised up. All of that is going to heal, right?”

“Yes. I’m pretty sore from the wreck and then the CPR, but nothing was broken.”

“Uh, we heard your boyfriend wasn’t so lucky. Is he getting better?”

“It appears he might be making a turn for the better, although he has yet to wake up. He’s in a coma.”

“That’s rough. We’re all pulling for him, too. You can tell him that when you talk to him next.”

“I will. Have you arrested anyone yet for Floy Nettles’ murder?”

Rutherford shook his head. “We’re still following up on leads.”

“Which means you don’t have a clue, right?” Tara said.

Allen frowned. “We’re not at liberty to discuss police business with citizens.”

Suddenly Tara flashed on a picture of a woman and two men standing on the edge of a lake drinking beer. One man was Michael O’Mara, the other was Sam Nettles. Without question, Tara knew the woman was with Sam.

“Uh, what did Sam Nettles’ wife have to say about all that’s happened?”

Rutherford’s eyes widened. “Sam Nettles doesn’t have a wife.”

Tara could see her plain as she was seeing the men standing before her.

“He might not be married, but there was a woman in his life when O’Mara was running with them, which means there
is
one other person who could have known about all that money, and you don’t have all the possible suspects in jail after all. You should check that out.”

“Well hell
 . . .
excuse my language,” Rutherford muttered. “How did we miss that?”

Tara shrugged. “If it hadn’t been for the tornado hitting town and shifting everyone’s focus, you would probably have picked up on it sooner or later.”

Allen’s ears were red, which meant he didn’t like being caught out with sloppy detective work, but Rutherford was inclined to agree with her.

“So, I guess the mystery of the random bird attack will have to remain a mystery,” he said.

Tara agreed. “Surely there’s no way to predict what wild things will do. Something probably spooked them, and that reporter and her cameraman just got caught in their path.”

“Yeah, that sounds about right. At any rate, that’s what’s going in the report, and thanks for the heads up about the wife bit. You have a nice day, okay?”

“You too,” Tara said, and then stood on the porch and watched them leave. As they drove out of sight, she caught a glimpse of someone watching her from across the street.

Something about the way he was standing struck a familiar chord. After all that she’d recently endured, the thought of some peeping Tom hanging around the neighborhood ticked her off. She put her hands on her hips and defiantly stared back.

French Langdon became
so caught up in watching the Luna chick talking to the cops that before he knew it, he was caught. The moment he knew she’d made him, instead of running, he decided to wait her out to see what she did. After all, he had a pretty good cover story. They were in school together and lived in the same town. It could happen.

But when she stared back at him in defiance, he had to stifle a grin. She was something, this girl. If things had been different, he would have considered giving that O’Mara kid a run for his money. She was the kind of woman a guy could get serious about, although she was a little young for him. Still, he was a patient man and time would take care of the age thing.

He crossed his arms across his chest.

She flipped him off and went back in the house.

He laughed out loud and then made himself scarce.

Tara was furious.
She’d figured out who it was and didn’t know what to make of it. Why would that new guy, French Langdon, be spying on her? Was he trying to get up the nerve to come ask her some dumb ass question about his future, or was it something more sinister? He wasn’t the most clean-cut guy in town. No telling what he was mixed up in. But whatever it was, it better not have anything to do with her. She was fed up to the gills with mercenary people.

He rides a Harley.

Tara spun. “No! Are you serious?”

Did that sound like a joke? I apologize. I did not mean to speak lightly.

“That’s not what I meant and you know it,” Tara said, as she dashed back to the window and looked out, but he was gone. “Are you saying that the new guy at school is the one who pulled Flynn and me out of the lake? Is he really the one who saved us?”

He knows how to swim, and he is not all that he appears to be.

“Millicent, damn it! Just once could I have a direct answer instead of a riddle?”

If you want answers, then you need to ask the right questions of the proper person, and for the record, cursing is unladylike.

Tara groaned. “What are you saying?”

Ask him yourself when you see him at school.

Tara was muttering to herself as she rechecked the door to make sure it was locked, and then plopped down on the sofa and turned on the TV. Henry materialized feet first on the sofa beside her, then blew her a kiss which was his standard greeting.

Tara sighed. “I love you, too
 . . .
both of you, and you know it. I don’t mean to sound unappreciative.”

He shook his head and smiled as he patted his chest, which meant he loved her, too.

She pulled her knees up beneath her chin and stared pensively out the window.

“I’m just so worried about Flynn and fed up with all this crazy, unexpected attention that I got short with the both of you and I’m sorry, okay?”

He nodded.

Okay.

“Thanks guys. So I feel like taking a nap. Will you give me a warning wake-up if the need arises?”

Absolutely.

Henry gave her a thumbs up.

Tara turned the sound down so that it was little more than a murmur, then stretched out on the sofa, pulled the afghan over her legs and closed her eyes. Minutes later, she was sound asleep.

She slept without moving
for almost two hours and when she woke, the first thing she thought of was Nikki. Today was her birthday and she hadn’t gotten her a gift.

OMG. What kind of a BFF was she to forget something like that?

You were hardly in the shape to go shopping, although I do love it when you try on pretty things. You’d look good in something red and slinky.

“Seriously, Millicent? Red and slinky? I wear blue jeans and tees, not red silk.”

Tara’s sore muscles protested as she got up from the sofa. She moved gingerly toward the bathroom, and when she came out, she was still wrestling with the issue of gifts. She went to the kitchen, grabbed a cookie and the rest of the pop she hadn’t finished this morning, and then called Nikki. The least she could do was wish her happy birthday.

The phone rang several times and just when she thought it was going to voice mail, Nikki picked up.

“Hi, Tara. How are you feeling?”

“Oh, I’m still sore. I just called to wish you a happy birthday. I haven’t had a chance to get you a gift yet.”

“Oh, no gifts. Did you forget? With all that’s happened since I issued the invitation, it’s no wonder. There were to be no gifts. The slumber party with my BFFS was my present. And, you aren’t the only one who’s sick now. Mac called me earlier. She’s throwing up. Caught something from her little brother, probably.”

“Ugh. Poor Mac,” Tara said. “Are you doing something fun today anyway? You should. You only turn eighteen once, you know.”

“Daddy made me waffles for breakfast, which I love, and Mom took me to get my nails done. The sisters are bugging me, as usual, but it’s all a good day. I wish you were here? If you felt like it, we could come get you.”

“Thanks, but I’m not much fun right now. Oh! My gosh, I can’t believe I didn’t tell you this first. Mona called me this morning. The doctors think Flynn is coming out of the coma. All his vital signs are getting better.”

Nikki squealed, and then yelled out the news to her family, before getting back on the line. “Now that is a great birthday present. I’ll let Mac and Penny know.”

“Okay.”

“Uh, hey
 . . .
I have a question. What do you know about French Langdon?” Tara asked.

“Who?” Nikki said.

“You know, the Dracula guy.”

“Oh! Him! I don’t know anything, why?”

Tara kept pushing. “One of the teachers mentioned he was a transfer. Do you know anything about him?”

“Nope! I’d never seen him before the day we were talking about him in the cafeteria. Why?”

Tara’s eyes narrowed. He was still a mystery, and she’d had all of the drama she could stomach for a while. “No reason. I just saw him today and wondered about him, that’s all.”

“He’s weird, that’s for sure,” Nikki said. “And for some reason, he seems way older than us, but that’s just me.”

Tara frowned. Now that Nikki mentioned it, the guy did stick out like a sore thumb among the other boys at school. What she thought strange was that she hadn’t picked up on any of this on her own.

“Okay
 . . .
enough about the weird guy. Happy birthday. See you Monday at school.”

“Absolutely,” Nikki said. “Talk to you later.”

Tara hung up, and then carried her cookie and pop into the living room just as another car pulled into their driveway. Only this time it was just the landlord, Mr. Whiteside.

Tara went outside to meet him. “Hi, Mr. Whiteside.”

“Oh. I didn’t think about you being home, but I should have. There’s still no school, is there?”

“No sir, not until Monday.”

“I’ve been keeping up with you through the news. You are certainly blessed to have survived that terrible wreck. How’s your friend?”