Mourning Moon (A Guinan Jones Paranormal Mystery #2) (14 page)

Founders Day
dawned gray and chilly. Students slogged through morning classes and headed to the dining hall to endure the speeches. I ate the food and daydreamed during the presentations. I looked at the time on my cell and gave a small sigh of relief. Almost over.

"You haven't introduced us to any of your
friends," my father said when the program was over. He'd spoken to several parents he knew from work or the neighborhood.

"Be
cause I don't have any friends," I said.

He frowned at me. "Nonsense."

"Let's see," I said, holding up my fingers. "Embry hates me. His girlfriend will soon if she doesn't already. Luke has a girlfriend now, and Sinder, well, you know what's going on with her."

Concerned etched on his face,
he gave my shoulder a squeeze. "When one door closes, another opens."

My snarky response caught in my throat when he excused himself to speak to a colleague.

"I haven't seen him this animated in a while," my mother said.

W
e watched him with a group of parents, laughing and gesturing. She and I tried to look inconspicuous near a wall. I grabbed a small bag of trail mix from a bowl on the table. "I spoke to Zeke the other day."

"Oh?"

"It was good to hear his voice. Made me homesick."

Her lips twitched.
"I have a meeting in an hour. I need to corral your father."

Her
hard feelings toward Tessa extended to the entire Hicks family. She hadn't even asked about the twins. A big part of me understood, but my own hard feelings focused only on Tessa, and even then, I sometimes wavered.

I finishe
d the trail mix and grabbed another. I leaned against the wall and peered around the room, feeling sorry for myself. I'd alienated people without intending to. It wasn't my fault some twisted student at this school decided to murder another. Was my life going to be like this all the time?

A
sudden bray of laughter made me jump. I spotted Embry and his parents speaking to the headmaster. He seemed to be in good spirits. Ione stood nearby with her parents and Asher. The boy wriggled in his father's arms.

My father distracted me and waved
me over. I gave a silent groan and painted on a smile. I nodded at several people who said they had no idea Reggie Jones's daughter was a Grierdon. I made small talk, and my gaze drifted back to Ione's brother.

"Mom, I want to go see the baby before we leave."

"A baby?" she said, her eyes widening.

I i
ntroduced myself and my mother to the Hamiltons. "He's adorable," my mother said. "How old is he?"

While the adults
chatted, I peered into Asher's eyes. As was usually the case with infants and toddlers, his emotions were amorphous. He reached out to me with his tiny arms. I stuffed the trail mix bag into my pocket, brushed my hands on my skirt, and held them out. As his father leaned in to hand him to me, a loud shriek startled me.

Ione appeared between me and her father. Eyes wide, face white, s
he took the baby from him. "He doesn't like strangers. She cupped the boy's head with a trembling hand.

"I'm sorry," I said, taken aback. "
I held him before, and he seemed—"

"Dad, I think we should
go." Ione's father gave her a questioning look and walked away before he could respond.

The man's face spread into a smile. "Nice to me you both. If you'll excuse me."

Too stunned to speak, my mother and I watched the family retreat.

"What was that all about?"

"I don't know," I said.

My mother shrugged. "Let's grab
your father and make a polite exit."

***

"What do you mean the site is gone?"

"Disappeared," Detective Czarnecki said. "The URL resolv
es to a blank web page. It looks like Embry Sullivan got spooked by your questions and closed down operations."

I tried to pull up the page
on my tablet. A white wall. Disappointment and regret clashed with a sense of purpose. I knew the detective was right. Embry most likely was the term paper writer, but I regretted how things had gone, that I was the one asking questions and alienating the few friends I had at Thomas Grier. Desmond Drake's death meant that things would never be the same between any of us.

"Are you going to question him?"

The detective sighed. "Probably not, since my basis for questioning him is gone. Guinan, I want you to back off now."

"What?"

"You heard me."

Visions of
a terrified Sinder Gillespie in prison competed in my brain with images of a murderer walking the streets, gloating over getting away with it.

"Miss Jones?"

I blinked. "Yeah, okay. I'll back off."

I didn't have to read the detective's emotions to know she didn't believe
me. I'm sure she regretted ever asking for my "special insight."
It's her fault I'm caught up in this. No, it isn't. It's the murderer's fault.

Before she hung up, I asked if she'd found fingerprints on the note
or envelope.

"Nothing," she said. That was the answer I expected, but I was still disappointed.

I asked myself over and over,
Who is the strangled girl?
If she was Sinder, she likely knows the boy—or the man—in the dream. I texted Sinder and asked if I could come over. She sent a terse "Sure" reply. When I arrived at her house, her mother met me at the door. The change in her was dramatic. Her previously fuzzy hair was smooth and styled. She wore a pair of black slacks and a blue cardigan. She had tears in her eyes when she spoke to me.

"
So sweet of you to still be her friend. She didn't have many to begin with. No girls, at least. Now that she's been charged with killing a boy she cared so much about, well, you can imagine how hard this is for her." Sinder's mother raised a hand to her mouth and swallowed.

"Yes, ma'am. I can only imagine."

"Not that I believe for one minute that she did it," the woman said, her eyes widening.

"I don't believe she did it, either."

Her face relaxed. She squeezed my hand and went into the kitchen. I entered Sinder's room and noted more stark differences. The late afternoon sunlight flooded through windows with open curtains. Her bed was made, her desk was decluttered, and the scent of roses floated on the air.

"My mom and I got back from my lawyer this morning
," Sinder said. "His investigator is all over this case. He's doing background on Mr. Howard. My lawyer wants him to reveal what Desmond told him."

"About what?"

She held up her hands and spaced them widely apart. "Everything. Whatever he told Mr. Howard about his problems, about making amends."

"
Is your lawyer's theory that someone thought Desmond might get them into trouble with his new lease on life?"

Sinder nodded.

"And Desmond didn't tell you anything specific?"

"I went over everything I could think of," she said. "He was real vague, you know?" Sinder stared into space. "Something
aside from making up for bullying was on his mind."

"I think I kno
w one of his confessions," I said. "It's just a hunch, but..." I trailed off when I realized what I was about to do. I had no proof Embry wrote those papers and couldn't allow Sinder's lawyer to run with it.

She stared
. "A hunch about what?"

"
Nothing," I said quickly. "I have to work it out in my head first."

"Okay," she said, her expression bordering on irritated.
"Anyway, I've called Luke, Embry, and Ione, and left messages. They don't call me back."

Embry and Ione, I understood
. But Luke? I was ninety-percent sure he didn't believe Sinder tampered with that canola oil or used peanut oil in a spell. He didn't seem like someone vulnerable to peer pressure, either.

"Anyway, I'm done with the witchcraft stuff."

I winced. "Was it something I said?"

She shook her head. "
After I came home with all that stuff from Pagan's, I realized how pathetic I looked. Like my mother. She relied on alcohol to get through the day, and I relied on that stuff."

I didn't know what to say.

"There I was, scrambling around to buy candles and write spells, when I realized the calmness I felt had nothing to do with that. I know I didn't kill Desmond, and I don't believe I'll ever be convicted of it."

I was impressed by her confidence. I guess I'd feel the same if I'd been accused of killing Desmond. I know I didn't do it, and
a clean conscience goes a long way.

"I'll do anything to help," I said. "
By the way, I need to ask a nosy question about your private—"

"Private?" she said, laughing. My privacy is gone. Ask away."

I looked into her eyes. "Were you involved with someone besides Desmond?"

"Me? Oh, you're serious.
I'm not involved with anyone." Sinder dropped her gaze. "I've never even been kissed." She met my eyes, as if wanting me to read her, which I did, of course. I sensed no deception. That she felt sorry for herself came in clear.

"So," I said, dropping my gaze and glancing around her room. "
Are you getting your assignments?"

She shook her head.
"I'm out for the rest of the year, anyway. My father says he'll hire a tutor. I'm in no rush, of course."

"I hope everything works out."

"The truth will come out," Sinder said. "Right now, someone is very afraid. That's why you should be careful."

My eyes widened.

"Guinan, everybody knows you're doing what you did in Ridge Grove. Investigating."

Sinder was a
mazingly level-headed, considering the circumstances. I
should
be careful. I suddenly felt reckless. I shuddered at the memory of Tessa standing over me with a baseball bat poised to strike. Why had I gone to Jepson's Point alone if I suspected a locked-up Eric Rodman wasn't the killer?

All the way home, I felt like I was being watched. My heart raced, and I sweated inside my coat.
Halfway to my front door, I froze. I glanced down the street toward Luke's house.

Something weird is going on...Jones, you're the Mistress of Understatement.

I kept walking until I was standing at his front door. I rang the bell twice. The door opened, and he grinned when he saw me.

"You can't stay away from me, can you?"

I grinned back. "Have you got a minute? We need to talk about the
Morning Malcontent
."

To anyone else, Luke's wide-eyed, innocent expression would have been convincing. After I refused his invitation to come inside, he stepped outside wearing only socks on his feet.

"You screwed up,
Chapman
."

"What the heck are you talking about?"

"That annoying habit of yours, calling people by their last names."

He licked his lips. "Are you just now noticing that?"
A breeze ruffled his hair. He folded his arms and watched me with an amused expression.

"
The blogger referred to Embry as Sully," I said.

He shrugged. "A lot of
Sullivans go by that nickname. What's this all—"

"
True," I said, cutting across him. "But I haven't heard anybody else at Thomas Grier call Embry that."

"Jones, you don't need an excuse to see me. All you have to do is—"

"When things I'd talked about appeared on that blog, I suspected Embry and Ione of being the blogger. Then I realized the blogger, you, as it turns out, probably got some of that stuff from Desmond."

"For all we know, they might be."

I folded my arms and held his gaze. Deception flashed like a like an ambulance light.

He held up his hands.
"Wait a second. Are you saying you think I'm the Malcontent?"

"I don't think. I know."

He shook a finger at me. "You're starting to remind me of someone else I know. Let's see. She has crazy hair and black eyeliner. She thinks she's a witch and—"

"Nice try," I said, stepping closer.
"I know it's you, so you're wasting your time trying to make me sound crazy."

He ran a hand through his hair and
sighed. "Okay. I'm the blogger. So what? A harmless bit of fun."

I threw up my hands. "Why?"

"I just wanted to rattle people," he said.

"Like me?"

Luke grinned again. "You're easily rattled."

My cheeks flushed. "I
think it's stupid. Why the interest in me when there are other things to write about?"

"False modesty doesn't become you, Jones."

I forced myself to be cool about it. "I'm surprised you don't write more about your girlfriend, for instance."

"False indifference doesn't become you, either."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You're jealous."

If someone had told me that I'd say what I was about to say, I'd have told them to seek professional help. But the words came, and I didn't stop them. "Okay. So what?"

I
f I were quick enough, I'd have snapped a photo of Luke's expression. I'd thrown him off. He looked less like a confident big man on campus and more like a blushing kid. After this confession, I didn't know what else to say.

"Anyway, I just wanted you to know I know. See you later."

"Wait," he said, stepping outside in his bare feet. "You're jealous?"

"I
only wanted to—"

"But what about that guy? I thought you still liked him."

"Zeke and I are friends." I pushed away the image of him and Tamzen kissing.

Luke's whole demeanor had changed. Hands
tucked under his arm pits, he shifted from one foot to the other.

"You're going to get sick
," I said, pointing at his feet. He looked down, and I started to walk away again.

"Don't you think we should discuss this?" he called.

"Don't worry," I called back. "I won't expose you as the Malcontent. As you said, it's harmless."

"Not that. I mean...about us."

I turned. "We're friends, right?"

He set his jaw, waved
me off, and went back inside.

***

I liked Luke Chapman. Almost every girl at Thomas Grier liked Luke Chapman. No big thing. He was tall, good-looking, and charming. What girl wouldn't? But that didn't mean I had to do anything about it. Acting on one's amorous feelings tended to complicated things.

In my bedroom, I
took my journal from my book bag, stretched across my bed, and stared at a blank page. I dated it and wrote a confession of sorts.
I like Luke Chapman.
Then I wrote another.
I love Zeke Hicks. Both have girlfriends.

I was beginning to believe I'd never have
a boyfriend of my own, that I'd always be the girl who moved in on other girls' guys.
Why do I do that?
I certainly wouldn't want anyone to do it to me. Maybe I could talk to Mr. Howard about it. I cringed. I'd feel like a total idiot talking to a grown man about my teenage boy-girl problems. Had Desmond talked to the counselor about his feelings for Ione?

I tried...I don't want to leave you.

What did that mean? Who were the murdered and the murderer in my dream? As much as it distressed me to think about it, Embry could have done it. Or Luke. I sat up and stared out the window.
Ione and Desmond.
I replayed Ione's reaction when I tried to hold her brother. She looked terrified, as if the baby were in harm's way.

Did she think I'd drop
Asher? No, it was something more immediate than that. Life or death? I stood up and paced. I stopped in my tracks and looked at my school blazer flung over my desk chair. I reached into the pocket and pulled out an open bag of trail mix. I read the label: raisins, sunflower seeds, almonds...

An
d peanuts.