"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 amazingly 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."
Chapter Twenty-One
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?"
If 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...
And peanuts.
Chapter Twenty-Two
A group of freshman had taken over our lunch table. I slowed as I approached. A boy with a mop of blond hair grinned at me and waved me over.
"Thanks," I said. "But I think I'll eat outside. Lovely out." Although it wasn't.
I leaned on a column and watched rain
pelting against the walkway. I'd had several chances to talk to Ione and wimped out every time. I found out through online research that peanut allergies could be hereditary. If Asher was allergic to peanuts, it was possible that Desmond was his father, and if Desmond was his father, Ione must be his mother. If that were the case, it meant she got pregnant shortly before she left for France and had the baby in the summer.
Having babies out of wedlock didn't hold the stigma it used to. Why pretend your child was your sibling? And why would your parents go along with it? If Desmond intended to expose the scheme, that might be a motive to kill him.
From the corner of my eye, I saw someone approaching me.
"What's that people say about eating alone? Jones, you might have a problem."
I unscrewed my bottle of water, sipped, and replaced the cap. "I think that pertains to drinking alone."
Luke leaned beside me, our arms touching. "Same difference."
We watched the rain. I wanted to lean into him and loop my arm through his. But I kept still. "Where's Gabby?"
"Some club meeting," he said, removing an orange from his bag.
We lapsed into a comfortable silence as he peeled the fruit. The rain began to let up. I hated to breach the moment with unpleasant things.
"I think Embry was the term paper writer."
He didn't react. "What makes you say that?"
"The day after I confronted him about it, the Private Paper site went offline."
"What does that prove?"
"It proves nothing," I said. "Sinder told me Desmond bought a paper. He also told Mr. Howard who the writer was."
I waited for Luke to comment. When he didn't, I cleared my throat. "If that person is Embry, then Embry had a motive to kill Desmond."
He slowly turned his head in my direction but still didn't look at me. "That same motive would apply to anybody who bought a paper."
A true statement. I changed directions. "If Desmond wanted Ione back..." I trailed off, hoping Luke would expand on the idea. He didn't. My head throbbed. I rubbed my temple and sighed. "When Ione left for France, were there rumors that she might have been pregnant?"
That got him to look at me. "Ione, pregnant?"
"So there were no rumors that she spent a year out of the country because she was pregnant?"
He dropped his gaze. "I just figured Desmond had broken her heart or something. I don't remember any rumors about a baby. But you might want to ask Gabby."
I furrowed my brow.
"You know how girls are," he said. "They tend to talk more about stuff like that. Drake never mentioned it to me."
I debated telling him about the Founders Day incident. I should have said "off the record" when I mentioned the site going offline and Desmond's confession to Mr. Howard. "Luke, can I trust that our conversations won't turn up on that blog?"
His cheeks reddened. "I won't share our conversation."
He listened intently as I told him everything I could remember and what I turned up searching online. "I also realized that Asher reminded me of Desmond. The shape and color of his eyes. What?"
Luke was frowning. "There is something. At the time, I thought it was kind of unusual that Ione's mother went with her to France."
"Her mother went with her?"
He nodded. "The story is, her mother was pregnant while she was there and had the baby last June. Look, let's stop speculating and go to the source."
I stuffed my water bottle into my bag and followed Luke inside. Lunch period was over, and students began filling the halls on the way to their next class.
"There," Luke said, touching my arm and looking somewhere in the distance. "She's at her locker. I think she's—"
"There you are!"
Gabby Meyerson intercepted us. She ignored me and spoke directly to Luke. "I tried to dash out early, but you know how it is."
I peered around her. Ione glanced in our direction, slammed her locker shut, and ducked inside a classroom.
"No big deal," Luke said. "Jones and I ate outside."
Gabby peered down at me. I expected to sense jealousy, but all I got was fear. She was more worried that I'd expose her cheating.
"See you guys later," I said, walking off.
"Wait," Luke said. "What about—"
"We'll talk later," I said.
If our cryptic exchange bothered Gabby, she didn't show it. Before I turned to head in the opposite direction, Luke and I held eye contact. Though his expression had a casual air, I sensed his disappointment. I walked away with a big grin on my face.
"Miss Jones, may I see you for a moment?"
I stopped short. Mr. Howard stood in front of me sipping from a coffee mug.
"Right now?" I said. "I have English class."
He smiled. "I'll write you note."
My heart started to pound. "Okay." I followed him to his office, wondering what was so important. My legs wobbled a little once we'd reached his office.
"Sit, please," Mr. Howard said, gesturing to the chair where I'd sat during my previous visit. "I've been thinking about you."
"Oh?"
"About your dream," he said, setting his cup on the desk. He watched me intently, and I sensed a kind of cool curiosity emanating from him. It made me feel like a lab rat. "I'm going to tell you something that's probably irrelevant to what happened to Desmond, not to mention inappropriate for a counselor."
Now I wasn't just curious. I was intrigued.
"I have a cousin who calls herself a medium."
I furrowed my brow. In a million years I wouldn't have expected to hear these words from Mr. Howard. "She believes she communicates with the dead?"
"That's what she believes, yes."
Is this really what he wanted to talk to me about? "I'm skeptical about mediums."
He laughed and slid his mug toward him. "You claim to sense emotions and hear what a dead person thought before he died, yet you're skeptical about mediums?"
"What I mean is, I believe the communication happens. I just doubt its source." His confused expression prompted me to continue. "I don't believe mediums actually communicate with dead people. I think it's...something else."
I expected him to laugh again, but he didn't. "Interesting. What or who is this something else?"
I licked my lips. I didn't like thinking about these things, let alone talking about them. "According to the Bible, the spirits mediums claim to communicate with are not the actual dead people, but deceiving spirits. And it warns against consulting with mediums."
"But isn't that what you do?"
I shook my head. "The dead person isn't communicating with me. What I hear are sort of residual thoughts."
"I think I see the distinction," he said. "But doesn't the Bible also warn against people like you?"
My face flushed. I'd read those Scriptures dozens of times. "I believe what you're referring to applies more to fortunetellers and conjurers."
"Your dreams," Mr. Howard said, leaning forward. "Some might say they're a form of divination, which the Bible also condemns."
"Not exactly." I scratched my chin. "I dream of a possible future event, a death. I don't conjure up these things or hold myself out as a fortuneteller." I made brief eye contact with him, but I couldn't tell whether he pitied me or empathized.
"I'm concerned," he said. "I mentioned my cousin, because I believe if you had someone to talk to about this..." His voice trailed away as if he'd lost his train of thought. "Do you have someone to talk to?"
"You mean other clairvoyants?"
He nodded.
"I don't need to talk to anyone," I said, getting to my feet. "Especially someone who claims to be a medium."
Mr. Howard rose, his brow furrowed. "I hope I haven't offended you."
"You haven't," I said. "You can't help me. You think it's all in my head, that it's a form of mental illness. I know what I feel and see."
He gave a wan smile. "If I thought you were crazy, I wouldn't have called you in here and told y
ou about my cousin. She's around your age, by the way. She started collge this fall."
I didn't respond.
"Have you told the police about the dream?" he said.
"Detective Czarnecki."
Mr. Howard raised his eyebrows. "Her reaction?"
"She didn't seem much concerned."
I waited while Mr. Howard wrote me a note for class, then left the office still wondering why he thought I'd be interested in talking to a medium.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Claire Capwell changed her mind about exposing the cheating scandal. As soon I entered the main building the next day, someone shoved a print copy of The Grier Crier in my face. I scanned it. Claire hadn't named names but quoted anonymous sources who said they'd bought term papers from Private Paper.
The hallway was buzzing. The only thing in my head were Mr. Howard's words.
Your dreams. Some might say they're a form of divination, which the Bible also condemns.
Was my clairvoyance a form of divination—discovering hidden knowledge by supernatural means? By that definition, the answer was yes. Still, should I ignore that knowledge? What if I could save a life? I looked up just in time to see Gabby Meyerson approaching me, her lovely face red.
"If you're thinking about making a move on Luke, you better change your plans."
My eyes lingered on her thick, shining hair and exquisite features. "You're kidding, right?"
"Do I look like I'm kidding?" she said, nostrils flaring. "I'm tired of seeing the two of you with your heads together like you're sharing secrets."
"Gabby," I said, realizing I was caught in a situation similar to the one with Tamzen and Zeke, "Luke and I are trying to help Sinder. If she didn't kill Desmond, that means someone—"
"Don't even go there," she said. "I know exactly what you're doing."
I took a step back. "I can't believe you consider me a threat."
Gabby narrowed her eyes. "You should know by now that looks aren't the only thing that attracts guys."
A backhanded compliment? Her emotions let me know she was totally serious. A lot of jealousy, and a bit of fear. "You don't have to worry about me. I won't be here next semester, anyway."
Mourning Moon (A Guinan Jones Paranormal Mystery #2) Page 13
