Mourning Moon (A Guinan Jones Paranormal Mystery #2) (5 page)

"I don't believe it," Embry said, shaking his head. "Who'd be so cruel, so cold?"

The five of us sat huddled at a table outsi
de a cafe nursing cappuccinos. The chilly air heightened my senses. When I explained to Embry, Ione, and Sinder that somebody either meant to make Desmond sick or kill him, my tone was clinical and careful. I succeeded in separating fact from emotion. I had to. I was afraid my anger over what happened to Desmond might boil over and cause me to start making accusations.

Beside me, Luke
hadn't said a word.

"It's undeniable," I said. "Someone tampered with that canola oil bottle."

Embry leaned forward and placed his arms on the table. "Aren't the police going to discount this? Luke admitted touching the evidence. Won't they figure he's trying to set Brennan up?"

"I didn't set her up," Luke said calmly. "I just wanted to make sure I got something before they took it."

"But why?" Sinder said, removing her dark glasses. "The police know how to do their jobs."

When I looked into her eyes,
my detachment faltered. They were red and swollen. "Sinder, I'm so sorry—"

"I wanted to
satisfy my own curiosity, okay?" Luke said, cutting across me. "I knew Drake's parents had the allergy testing kit, and I did my own investigating."

A vein throbbed in Embry's
forehead. "But you might have compromised whatever—"

"Look," Luke
said, holding up his hands, "I'll call that cop who questioned us, okay?"

No one said anything for several seconds.

"Maybe Desmond wasn't the target," Ione said. She was the only one at the table who seemed cold. She'd zipped her jacket up to her neck and leaned into Embry's warmth. "It could have been meant for someone else at the school." She picked up her cup with a shaky hand.

"That still leaves us with a problem," I said. "Whoever did it tried to hurt or kill someone."

"I think Desmond was the target," Sinder said. "Somebody meant to kill him."

An irritable expression crossed Ione's face just for a instant. "How do you know?"

Sinder peered around the group. "His EpiPens were nowhere to be found. Besides, he did a lot of bad stuff back in the day." She looked at Embry. His cheeks reddened.

"Like what?" I said
.

Sinder's eyes lingered on Embry. "
He was just...mean. He'd bully people for the heck of it."

Luke
cleared his throat. It got everyone's attention. We waited to see if he'd speak, as if his words carried great importance. "Sully was one of Drake's favorite targets."

All eyes
shifted to Embry, who let out a sigh of impatience. "It wasn't that big a deal. I certainly wouldn't kill him over it."

Ione gasped. "Nobody is accusing you of that."

"Sully used to be a runt," Luke continued as if Embry hadn't spoken. "And Drake would come up behind him in the hallway and shove him."

"Like I
said, no big deal. I was skinny and awkward looking until I was a sophomore. I grew four inches and put on about fifteen pounds, and Desmond left me alone after that."

The only person I knew who might qualify as a bully was Adam Carver back in Ridge Grove. He was the leader of the "Guinan is a witch" pack.

"I'd never defend what Drake used to do," Luke said. "But he'd done a one-eighty almost overnight. He started making amends, defended bullied kids, and stopped flirting with other guys' girlfriends."

Other guys' girlfriends
.
I looked at Ione. "You and Desmond dated, right?"

She s
hrugged. "Everybody knows that. The summer between sophomore and junior year."

"Is that why you spent your junior year
abroad?" I said, ignoring her discomfort. "Bad break-up?"

She
squared her shoulders. "People seemed to think so. But the break-up had nothing to do with it. I'd always wanted to study in France. An opportunity presented itself, and I took it."

"Moving on to relevant matters," Embry said, "Anybody
Desmond picked on or screwed over could have killed him."

"
Not necessarily," I said, thinking like the granddaughter of a cop. "It's theoretically true, but anybody investigating the case would start with us, not a random person bullied years ago."

"Investigating what?" Embry said. "
I still think it was an accident."

"Despite traces of peanuts in a bottle of canola oil?" Luke said, his voice rising.

Embry scoffed. "That's just your word."

"I
t doesn't matter what we believe," I said, running interference. "If it wasn't an accident, the police will determine that."

Those were Granddad's words. He said the same to me after I told him about the
allergy testing kit. From the corner of my eye, I saw Luke watching me. Several seconds of silence passed before anyone spoke.

"So you're saying one of us killed
him?" Sinder said. She shook her head and crumpled her napkin.

I looked around the table. Everybody's eyes were on me except Ione's.
"Not necessarily. An accident or a prank gone wrong. I don't know."

Sinder dabbed her eyes, but her voice was steady.
"Why don't you read us? See which one has something to hide."

"Everyone has something to hide," I said. "I can't sense w
hat a person is being deceptive about. Just because someone is lying doesn't mean he or she is a killer."

"What can it hurt?" Embry said. "I mean, we're here. Why not get a sense of...whatever?"

"I don't like reading family or friends."

Luke snorted. "Is that some ki
nd of psychics code of ethics?"

I took a deep breath. "No, it's mine. I wouldn't want anyone
knowing my private emotions." I thought about the time Tessa read me and confessed that she was also empathic. It felt as I'd imagined it would: an intrusion.

Sinder leaned forward. "But if we want you to, what's the big deal?"

"Start with me," Luke said. "Tell me what I'm feeling right now."

"I don't need to be empathic
to do that."

I expected to see a smirk on his face, but his expression was serious.

"Just read me." He said it in a voice that seemed inappropriate to the occasion. My stomach tingled. I lowered my gaze. "Are you scared to?"

"He's an ass," Sinder said. "Read me."

I didn't want to read anybody, but I found myself unable to take my eyes away from hers. They were child-like—huge and vulnerable-looking.
Love.
Then the emotion seemed to grow edges. An amorphous cloud of jealousy shimmered between us like heat. But I sensed no hate or vengeance.

"Is she the killer?"
Luke said.

"Can we stop this, please?" Ione said. She didn't look cold a
nymore. "This is the stupidest thing I ever—"

"Why are
you so resistant?" Sinder said. "Do you have something to hide?"

Embry slapped his hand on the table, and everybody jumped. "Enough of this crap. Let's go." He
got to his feet and pulled Ione up by the arm. Before anyone could react, they were halfway down the street.

"I knew it," Sinder said. "They're both hiding something."

"Can you give us a minute?" Luke said to her.

We both looked at
him. Sinder nodded, got up, and went into the cafe. I kept my eyes on the door.

"Look at me."

I did, reluctantly. My eyes lingered on his stubbly chin and traveled across his face. His cheeks were pink from the chill. I looked into his eyes. Lust, affection, and deception tangled together and settled at the base of my throat. Deception over what?

"Satisfied?" I said, taking a sip of cappuccino that had grown cold.

Luke picked up his cup and rose from the table. "Actually, I'm not." He zipped his jacket. "But that's another topic for another day." He gave a half-salute and walked away.

Sinder must have been
watching from a window. She came out just as he left.

"Let's go to my house," she said. "I want to show you something."

I glanced at the time on my phone. "I'm supposed to meet my grandfather in about an hour."

"It won't take long. I promise.
I parked on the next block. I'll drop you off after."

***

We entered Sinder's house, and she ushered me quickly through the hall.

"Rosie, is that you?"
A voice called out from the kitchen.

Sinder stopped in her tracks and rolled her eyes.
"My middle name's Rose," she said to me in a low voice. "It's me, Mom. Just headed to my room with a friend."

I expected her
mother to come out and greet us, but she remained in the kitchen. "One of your cute boyfriends? The red-head or the other one?"

Sinder pulled me along. "
A girl friend, Mom."

I was curious but didn't question her.
We entered her room, and I looked around, wide eyed. Her bed wasn't just unmade. The comforter and the sheets were halfway off the mattress, and one pillow was on the nightstand. Papers and books were piled in a corner, and energy-drink cans littered the desk.

"It's no
t usually like this," she said. A framed photo of her and Desmond hung on the wall above her desk. "I was anxious to hear what you and Luke had to say."

"Can I ask you something?" I said, studying the photo.

Sinder stop tidying and turned to face me.

"Did you and Desmond ever—"

"I wasn't his type."

"And what was his type?"

She folded her arms and looked at the photo. "Picture Ione. Everything about her. Her nose in the air, her entitled attitude, the hair flip, the mood swings."

"They dated so briefl
y," I said. "Were they together after that?"

Sinder
gathered her hair and tied it in a knot. "He didn't confide in me like that. I suspected they were still connected somehow. But that's not why I asked you to come over."

I found myself wishing more an
d more that I had Tessa's power of premonition. Sinder seemed nervous all of sudden. She opened the closet door and pulled on a string dangling from the ceiling. I peered inside. The light illuminated a closet empty of clothes and shoes. On the floor, pushed against the back wall, was an altar.

My eyes traveled over
it. Two fat, white candles sat at either end near the top of the board of dark wood. Beside the candle on the left were two, small, unlabeled glass vials that contained what looked like oil. On the right was a silver chalice etched with a pentagram. A small, silver bowl sat on top of another pentagram carved onto the board.

"I know you think it's silly
." Sinder said in a shaky voice. "It's just that, well, I've been following the Ridge Grove case since before you got here. I know you say you're not a witch, but I think you're confusing it with the stereotype."

I kept a straight face. "Witches call themselves pagans, right? They worship the goddess or w
hatever? Well, I believe in God, and the Bible condemns witchcraft."

"Tell me this," she said, cupping her hands together. "Where do you think your abilities come from?"

I'd wondered about this, myself. "From God."

She nodded slowly and seemed to be choosing her next words carefully. "If that's
true, why are you afraid of them?"

"I'm not," I said too quickly. "I just don't...it's not about..." I sighed. "I have to figure
this out at my own pace, and I have to do it alone. I'm not a witch, and I don't want to practice witchcraft or start a coven."

"But that's just it," Sinder said, her face shining with excitement. "You don't have to do it alone. I can help you."

"You're not clairvoyant."

Her lips twitched
. "I think I'm an Intuitive."

I g
lanced at her little altar. Why was she hounding me about this? "When you start dreaming about death," I said, "we'll talk. I've got to go. You don't have to drop me off. I'll take the Metro."

She visibly stiffened. I hated disappointing people, but I
certainly didn't have a problem saying no. As Sinder turned off the light and closed the door, I did double-take at the altar. I grabbed the door and pushed it open.

"What's in those little bottles?"

"Oils," she said, pulling the light on again.

"What kind?"

"Almond and lavender. Why?"

"Almonds?"

"Yeah," she said. "I use them in my spells."