"Hon, why don't you eat something?"
I looked at my grandfather. Dark circles ringed his eyes. I wanted to tell him I was sorry for causing him so much worry.
"We're considering a different school next year," my father said. "In the meantime, you won't go back to Grier."
I didn't look at him or respond. It wouldn't matter where I went to school. Death would still follow. As though my father hadn't changed the subject, I said, "Luke knew the case against Sinder would fall apart. The food with no peanuts in it...he wanted to create confusion. It really was a game to—"
"It's been a long day," my mother said, rising from the table. She seemed to materialize beside me. I looked at Granddad as though waiting for him to tell me what to do. He gave a slight nod. I rose and followed my mother upstairs. But I didn't want her to take me up. I wanted Granddad. I was about to say this to her when I realized she was crying. She stopped me at my bedroom door, which was halfway closed.
"The timing is lousy," she said. "I wish I could spare you all of this."
I gave a humorless laugh.
She shook her head. "Oh, Guinan. Mama's journals. You need to read them." She pushed the door open and pointed at my bed. A box that had seen better days sat in the middle of it.
"I'll stay with you if you'd like."
My heart raced. She wanted you to wait until you turned eighteen, but it's up to you.
"I started to burn them, but I knew I had no right—"
"You've read Grandma's journals?" I said.
My mother nodded and sank onto my desk chair. "About a week after we brought you back from Ridge Grove. I had to know, you see."
I stared at her, then I approached the bed as if the box contained a bomb. I peered inside. The black, soft-cover one on top was dated 2009, the year she died. I lifted out the stack and placed it on my bed. I sat down and spread out the books. The oldest one had been on the bottom—1998. A year after I was born. I looked at my mother. She'd leaned forward, her hands covering her face.
Grandma started keeping a journal a year into my life. There had to be a good reason. I re-arranged the books with the oldest on top and opened it with a trembling hand.
I watch Guinan toddle around the house, and it makes me so sad to know I can't protect her from the one thing that will pursue her. Why, God? What does it mean? What would you have me do? Spare her, please. I prayed to be free of this burden, but it's remained with me all these years. Will she hear those maddening whispers, too?
Those maddening whispers? I remembered hearing low voices and turning around to find no one there. I scanned the rest of the entry, searching for the one word I hoped wasn't there. But it was there.
The whispers of the dead...
Mourning Moon is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright @ Callista Foley
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.
Author's Note
Thanks so much for reading my book! Please consider leaving a review on Amazon or Goodreads. To receive updates on the newest releases, sign up for the Callista Foley Books mailing list. You can reach me at [email protected] and on Facebook.
Be sure to check out the first book in the Guinan Jones Paranormal Mystery Series, Black-Eyed Moon.
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Copyright
About the Author
Mourning Moon (A Guinan Jones Paranormal Mystery #2) Page 17
