Ghost Huntress 5 - The Discovery

by Gibson, Marley

  Something to keep my mind off the mayhem going on around me.

  Hopefully the apology letter to Xander will be enough to appease him.

  Chapter Eleven

  AFTER SCHOOL, I GO TO DIVINING WOMAN to do some readings and talk to Loreen.

  Stephanie Crawford texted me that she and Courtney wrote the apology letter to Xander the Doll, and the two of them signed it, as did Farah. Actually, Farah had Stephanie sign her name. Hopefully that'll be enough.

  Time for work. I'm not exactly in the mood to read other people's futures right now, but folks count on me. I close my eyes, surround myself in God's protective white light, and get down to business.

  Mrs. Harmon from the yarn store is worried about whether a large mole on her back is cancerous. I'm psychic, not a doctor, and I would never give advice about such a deadly disease.

  "You need to call your doctor and have it looked at," I say to her, stacking the tarot cards and refusing to make a medical diagnosis. "He's the one who will have answers for you."

  She widens her eyes like this is the smartest thing she's ever heard. "Why, Kendall, you're so intuitive. I'll call the doctor tomorrow."

  She pays Loreen twenty dollars at the register and leaves a five-dollar tip for me.

  I feel like a charlatan taking a tip for something so obvious; I just told her what any normal person would have.

  Then Morgan Brown from the flower shop sits down opposite me wanting a reading. She is worried that her boyfriend will never propose to her, and she's inching toward the conclusion of her childbearing years. She wants the cards to tell her if and when it will happen or whether she should break up with him. With my psychic vision I can see that the owner of the Michelin tire store, Jaden Spees, has been saving up money to get Morgan a ring. I don't want to ruin his surprise, but in the meantime, I need her to not scare him away.

  "Your relationship is very solid. You can't push things."

  Morgan is quite impatient. "Excuse my French, Kendall, but Jaden needs to either shit or get off the pot."

  "Morgan!" Loreen calls out to her.

  "Well, it's true! I arrange flowers for everyone's wedding in this town. I want to be the bride. I want to be a wife and mother. I need it to be my turn."

  "It will be," I say to her. "You just have to be patient, and don't put any pressure on him, just enjoy being together. When the time is right, it'll happen."

  November 25, to be exact, although I'm not telling her that for all the tea in China.

  The smile on her face shows her satisfaction, and she too pays and leaves a tip.

  When she exits the store, I collapse on the couch in the back.

  "Your aura is horrible today, Kendall," Loreen comments. "You can't take on everyone's problems as your own."

  The longest sigh in history escapes from me.

  "Talk to me. I'm here to listen."

  I spill everything to Loreen about Xander the Doll, all that's been happening, and my overwhelming sense of impending doom.

  "You can't stop what's already been set in motion, Kendall."

  "I know," I say, somewhat exasperated. "It's so hard when you have intuition but people won't listen to you."

  She nods. "It's not much different than a mother looking out for a child. No matter how much she cares for him or protects him, a child is going to do what he wants. The universe has a plan for all of us and a reason for everything."

  I scowl. "So the universe had a plan to crash Dragon's bike, burn down Sean's house, and try to choke Jim Roach to death?"

  "I'm only saying that it's all part of the bigger plan and we can't know what that is right now. It's not in our power. Even for those who are sensitive, like us."

  "Loreen, for the most part I believe that. I just can't accept that these things were meant to be, especially when all of these people say they saw Xander the Doll when these events happened. I mean, even Jim saw him in the cafeteria."

  "Oh, you didn't tell me that."

  "Yes, he told Sean that he saw Xander the Doll in the lunchroom. I've been seeing him everywhere, Loreen. I believe in this curse. I've seen too much in my short time in Radisson to not believe that the stories of him are true. I just want to know what I can do to stop him before someone gets hurt worse, or killed."

  She comes over, sits with me, and gives me a hug. "You'll do what you have to do." She pulls two fives and a twenty out of her pocket and hands them to me. "Your take for the day. Go home and get some rest. Meditate and pray for guidance."

  It's the best advice I've gotten in a long time.

  Wearily, I park my car in the driveway. Mom and Dad are both still at work, so maybe I can get in a good nap before dinner is served.

  I walk toward the back porch, where big, fat Natalie is cleaning her black fur in the sunshine. I bend down and scratch her behind her kitty ears. Her long pink tongue continues to wipe at her fur and then at my hand. The purr that motors out from her is the best sound I've heard all day.

  "Does the pretty girl want to come in and take a nap with me?"

  Natalie's green eyes look up at me as if she actually understands. She yawns profusely, her pink mouth opening wide enough for me to see all of her teeth.

  "Come on, sweetie," I say to her.

  She stands up, arching her back as she stares past me.

  "What do you see, girl?"

  The sweetest kitty in the world then shows her claws and hisses something fierce. I think she's hissing at me until I realize something is behind me. Not another animal, and neither of her cat siblings, Eleanor or Buckley. Something ominous and threatening—to her, to me. I slowly turn, but there's no one there. The hairs on my arms are standing at attention as I watch Natalie leap forward and swat her claws at nothing.

  "What do you see, Natty?"

  More hissing and a loud meow that echoes through the neighborhood.

  I focus my energies on the spot where she's involved in this altercation. I don't see him, but I know Xander the Doll is there. Or was there. His essence fills my nostrils. The odor of musty fabric is present in the air.

  Natalie leaps forward. I jump back.

  "Is that you, Xander?"

  Nothing.

  Meeeeeeeow! Raaaaarrrrrrr...

  "Leave me and my friends alone, Xander."

  Natalie rears up on her hind legs and whacks the air again.

  "Leave my cat alone!"

  The air shifts and suddenly it's freezing cold in the middle of April in Georgia. I breathe out a sigh, and I can see the icy trail of my condensated breath. Okay, so that's probably not a real word, but it works here.

  "Whoever or whatever is possessing this doll, I can help. Just show yourself to me."

  Nothing.

  Rarrrrrrrrr ... hisssssssssss...

  I reach down and scoop Natty into my arms, not wanting to deal with what might be out here. I've made my offer. The next move is Xander's.

  I go through the back door of the house, drop Natalie on the floor next to her bowl of Iams, and toss my book bag and purse on the kitchen table. Before I can grab an ice-cold Diet Coke out of the fridge, Penny Carmickle runs up to me with the cordless phone in her hand. Like I said, she's staying with us for a few days while her parents are dealing with the insurance payments and everything. Two Kaitlins in the house. Lucky me.

  "It's for you, Kendall."

  Now what?

  Is Xander on the phone?

  Or, worse—is it the haunted-sandwich man? I'm too tired to deal with anyone right now, particularly the haunted-sandwich man. He e-mailed again last night, saying the sandwich was now following his son to school and making him act up in class.

  I wave Penny off and whisper, "Take a message ... I'm not here."

  She frowns deeply at me. "I already told the woman you were here."

  A woman?

  I take the receiver and smile into it, knowing clearly now who's on the end of the line. "This is Kendall."

  "Hi, Kendall, it's Andrea Caminiti."
/>   "Yeah, I know."

  She laughs quietly. "That's right. You're psychic."

  "So they tell me," I say, trying to recover from the altercation—if you can call it that—outside. "How are you?"

  Andi pauses a moment, then says, "I'm fine. We're still waiting for those DNA results, you know."

  "Yes, ma'am. I'm eager to see what they say."

  "Me too," she says. She clears her throat and then adds, "I wanted to reach out to you, Kendall. I had a dream about you the other night. You were in Italy."

  "Really?" I say, my mouth dropping open. "I've had a psychic vision that my maternal grandparents are in Italy. John Thomas and Anna Wynn Faulkner. Emily Jane Faulkner's parents. Does the name mean anything to you?" I implore.

  I can see Andi sitting in her studio, on the couch, nervously bouncing her heeled foot on her crossed knee. "Actually," she starts, "I never knew her full name."

  "Oh, Andi! Why didn't you tell me before?"

  "I'm still a bit shaken by you, Kendall."

  "Please tell me everything you know," I beg, gripping the phone tightly.

  "It's not much," Andi says. "My brother met her in English lit class. They both had a love and appreciation of Shakespeare."

  That makes sense, since Celia and I are always quoting the Bard.

  "Andy told me there was a beautiful girl from his class who worked at the diner off campus. He'd go in to study—and check her out—and she'd bring him complimentary chocolate fudge sundaes. Sometimes they would share it."

  "Aww ... that's so sweet." I can completely see Emily being all nurturing. Especially to someone she was so in love with. That I'm sure of.

  "He didn't tell me much. Which was odd, because he told me about every girl he hooked up with in high school," Andi says. "Because he wouldn't talk much about Emily, I knew she was special. That for him, she was the one."

  I visualize a matronly woman with perfectly coifed hair, pearls, and a wrinkle-free Chanel suit. She looks posh. She looks rich. She looks disappointed.

  I swallow hard and ask, "Your mother didn't approve of Emily, did she?"

  There's a gasp. "How did you—oh, right..."

  I take a seat at the kitchen table instead of continuing to pace around. "You can tell me, Andi."

  "From what Mother knew of Emily and her family, she thought Emily was below him, because of her humble background and that she was in college on work-study and student aid."

  "So he never brought her to visit?"

  "No. Although if what you say is true, that they died in a car accident together, they may have been coming to St. Louis during their Christmas break."

  I gnaw on my bottom lip. "And since Emily was pregnant—with me—it may not have been a very merry Christmas had they made it."

  "We'll never know, will we, Kendall?"

  "I'm certainly trying to find out," I say.

  Andi clears her throat again. "I don't even have any pictures of them together. But I do know one thing. My brother was very much in love with her."

  Her brother ... possibly my father. Both of them taken away from me before I was even in the world. What would my life have been like these past seventeen years? Either I'd have been raised by a single mom because Andy Caminiti's family didn't approve of her and me, or I would have had very happily in-love young parents struggling to take care of me. I realize that my ending up adopted by the Mooreheads was a true blessing in disguise. I may not have had my genetic parents, but there's been no shortage of food, clothing, shelter, and, most of all, love.

  "That's nice to hear," I say finally. "Well, Emily was my birth mother; that's a fact."

  "I understand," Andi says.

  Shifting the phone to my other ear, I add, "I think it would be cool to have you as an aunt."

  Andrea Caminiti lets out a lengthy sigh and then says, "Thank you."

  We both sit there a moment taking everything in. An emotional knot in my throat threatens to choke me up, but I gulp it down deep, not wanting to cry. I know that on the other end of the phone, Andi is feeling her own overwhelmedness. Her own bubbling emotions over the loss of her brother and the—dare I say?—hope that he has left a legacy. Me, I just want to know who I am.

  "I should let you go, Kendall. I'm sure you've got homework to do."

  I think of that #$%^ing history paper I haven't worked on. "That I do." Then I feel compelled to say, "Thanks for calling. You made my day."

  "I'll let you know when I receive our results. Goodbye, Kendall."

  I click off the phone and return it to the cradle. The call was brief but meaningful. I sense a close connection with the woman who is so far away from me.

  I can't wait for the DNA results.

  Chapter Twelve

  FRIDAY AT SCHOOL is cahhhhrazzzeeee!

  Mr. Rorek gives us a pop quiz on the Battle of Gettysburg—thank heavens I finally read the chapters and watched the Gettysburg movie torrent Patrick downloaded for me—and Mr. Duncan tests our knowledge of metaphors, similes, and parallelism. I wasn't prepared to have so much demanded of me on a Friday. It's like all the teachers are out to get us and work our collective arse off. On top of the academic stuff, I've got all of my yearbook duties. Girlfriend needs a long soak in a hot tub to recover from this school day.

  "Everyone say crack-a-lack," Celia says as she poses in the front row of the science club for their yearbook picture.

  Snap. Snap. Snap.

  Shelby-Nichole has got literally everyone on staff—even us ad people—taking pictures. Today all of the clubs and organizations are on the docket for their group shots. I'm not that bad at the whole photography thing. I mean, it's digital, how can I mess up? Just get everyone in the frame and click.

  I have permission to skip the last two periods of the day to help out with all the yearbook pandemonium. So far, I've snapped the pep club pepping, the glee club gleeing, the drama club being dramatic, and now Celia's club ... being scientific. First we did a pose in the biology lab with all of them holding up beakers and test tubes and such. Shelby-Nichole complimented our creativity but also wanted a more serious posed group shot. She's the boss!

  Just as I'm finishing up with the science club, Shelby-Nichole rushes into the library where one of the makeshift photo studios has been set up. She clutches her clipboard and adjusts her glasses on the bridge of her nose.

  "Kendall, I've had to switch things around a little bit. Ashley Whittier had to leave early to go to the doctor, so I need you to fill in for her." She lowers her voice to a whisper. "She thinks she has some kind of infection."

  A disturbing flash of information crosses my mind. "Actually, it's a urinary tract infection," I say without hesitation. Oops. There I go doing medical diagnosis. Honestly, at times I wish these visions wouldn't provide me with so much detail. When I do want to know more, it's like the visions are few and far between. "Umm ... I think that's what's wrong with her."

  Shelby-Nichole giggles at me. "That's, like, TMI, but in any case, I need you to take her last shoot, if you don't mind."

  Patrick texted me earlier that he had to do something with his dad this afternoon and won't be here in Radisson until dinnertime, so I have time to kill.

  "Anything to help out," I say with a cheesy grin.

  "Awesome. I need you to go down to the football field and get pics of the varsity cheerleaders. We need a group pose, one or two pyramid pictures, and individual shots of each girl."

  I mock salute her and raise the camera to my heart. "Aye, aye, Chief."

  This is good. I like being busy with regular teenage things. Less time to listen to the voices in my head that want to lure me into yet another mystery of this haunted town I live in. I'm glad to have the yearbook work as a distraction, and a focus. Father Mass was smart telling me to get involved with something at school. Everyone needs to be well-rounded, and I certainly need the hobby. Plus, I'm helping out, participating in extracurricular activities, and making new friends outside of my ghost hunting. Even my former
nemesis Courtney Langdon is speaking to me like I'm a normal human being. I guess these things just take time.

  It's a ten-minute walk to go all the way from the library, through the school complex, past the gym and the baseball field and the parking lot, and down the concrete steps of Arnold Claude Bassett Stadium, our home football field. None of the girls are there yet, so I open the field gate and cross over to the south goalpost, where I think we'll set up the group shot.

  As I'm positioning the tripod and screwing the camera into place, the cheerleaders start arriving in their white sleeveless uniforms with the red-and-black-lettered RHS on the front and the pleated white skirt. They look all happy and peppy and cheerleadery. I admire them for putting themselves out there in front of the crowds during football and basketball season, doing dance routines, cheers, and gymnastics. Me, I'd fall off the top of the pyramid and break every bone in my body if I tried to do what they do.

  "Hey, Kendall!" Stephanie Crawford calls out. She waves a red and white pompom at me. "Cool! You're taking our pics today?"

  "I am indeed."

  "Awesome. Make sure you take my good side. À la Mariah Carey."

  I laugh as I knuckle bump her pompommed hand. "Your spring-break tan really stands out with that white outfit."

  She does a little twirly-twirl for me. "It does, doesn't it? I'm going to have to do the tanning bed to keep it until summer kicks in."

  Several of the other girls arrive, checking their hair in makeup mirrors and touching up their mascara, lipstick, and powder.

  Courtney shows up carrying the school's spirit bear, spirit sticks, and a megaphone, along with her pompoms. Even though Courtney and I got off to a bad start, I can totally see why Jason Tillson went for her. She's really beautiful, with her flowing blond hair and sparkling eyes. She seems to have mellowed out the bitchiness since her spirit oppression and now mainly concentrates on spirit of the school-pride kind.

  "Over here, girls," she orders. Then she turns to me. "You're our photog today?"

  "Hope that's okay," I say with a weak smile.

  "You'll do in a pinch." Then we smile at each other. I'm so grateful that her Mean Girl days are done.