by Sharon Sala
“This . . . this . . .”
Flynn frowned. “A necklace? You wanted a necklace? That doesn’t make sense.”
Tara blinked. “On me . . .”
“Okay.” Flynn tried twice to fasten the tiny clasp before Nikki pushed him aside.
“Let me,” she said, and did it for him.
Within moments, Tara felt the energy within her beginning to change. Thoughts that had been bouncing between her ears like ping-pong balls gathered, and her body began to regain a sense of normalcy.
“Oh my God,” she groaned, as she reached up and clasped the tiny pendant on the chain like a drowning man clutching at a life raft. As expected, it felt warm in her hand.
“What on earth?” Nikki asked.
Flynn crouched down beside Tara. She knew he could see the color come back into her face and her breathing return to normal.
Tara began to pull herself together. Slowly, she sat upright in the car, looking around in stunned confusion. “What happened? How did I get outside?”
Flynn shivered. “Girl, you are so out of it. You told me to take you out. Corey and Nikki came along and helped. Now tell me what the hell just happened to you?”
Tara shuddered, then swiped a hand across her face. “What did I say?”
Flynn’s didn’t mince words. “That someone wants you dead.”
“Crap,” Tara said.
“Crap that you said it, or crap that it’s true?” Flynn asked.
“Both,” Tara said, then looked at Corey and Nikki, aware that they’d accidentally become part of something she’d rather not be sharing. There was no way to explain without telling them the truth.
“What just happened to you?” Flynn asked again.
She angled a glance up at the other couple, then sighed. “So remember I’m sort of . . . sensitive, right?”
“I know you’re sort of psychic,” Corey said.
Tara’s eyes widened as she looked up at him.
“You forget how we met? I haven’t,” Corey said.
Tara sighed. “Oh yeah. That.”
Flynn frowned. “I don’t get it.”
Nikki elbowed Corey. “Tell him what you told me the day you got sick at school.”
“You mean the day I died?”
Nikki nodded.
The expression on Flynn’s face stilled. “For real, dude?”
“Yeah,” Corey said. “For real. That day at school I remember feeling sick and going into the boys bathroom, then everything went black. The doctors said I had a seizure of some kind, then my heart stopped. The next thing I know, I’m still in the boys bathroom, but Coach Jones and a couple of teachers are down on the floor giving me CPR. Only I’m standing outside my body watching this happen and realize I’m standing beside this tall dark-haired girl I’ve never seen before.
“And she can see me. Talk about freaking . . . So I ask her. Am I dead? She tells me she thinks so. I tell her, I don’t want to die. So she says, then go back. So I did. The next thing I know, my chest is killing me because Coach is pushing on it with all his two-hundred plus pounds, and someone else has my nose pinched shut and their mouth over my lips. I’m talking huge UGH factor here. Then the ambulance comes and off I go. I remember seeing you.” He pointed at Tara. “You’re the only person I can truly say that I’ve met twice. Once dead. Once alive.”
Tara sighed. “I didn’t know you remembered all that.”
“How could I forget it?” Corey said. “You are such a lunatic.”
“So I’ve been told,” Tara said.
Flynn shook his head. “Okay. That’s one for the books. You’re one lucky dude.”
Corey slid an arm around Nikki’s shoulders. “I know. In more ways than one.”
Nikki’s green eyes twinkled, but she kept quiet.
Flynn pointed to the necklace around Tara’s neck. “Exactly what was wrong with you, Moon girl, and why did that help you feel better?”
“I don’t know where they’re coming from, but I’ve been feeling some really ugly emotions. I didn’t think much of it before, because I didn’t think it was directed at me. Only now I’m not so sure. These emotions are so dark they make me physically sick. It’s like my bones turn to mush and I can’t think.”
“The necklace,” Flynn prodded. “What’s that got to do with anything?”
Tara fingered the pendant, then turned it over.
Corey pointed. “Hey, I know what that is. It’s a Saint Benedict medal, right?”
Tara nodded.
“One of the priests at my church has one. Are you Catholic, Tara?”
“No.”
Flynn was still frowning. “What does religion have to do with the necklace, and how does that—”
Suddenly, Corey gasped. “Oh. Wow. I know. Something I remembered from catechism classes.”
Tara sighed and slipped it beneath her shirt.
Flynn was losing patience. “Well?”
“Sometimes I wear it for protection,” Tara said.
Flynn frowned. “Protection from what, damn it? And what do priests have to do with anything?”
“I think the St. Benedict medal is sometimes used as part of an exorcism,” Corey said.
Flynn rocked back on his heels and then stood abruptly. “As in demons and evil?”
He stared down at Tara. “Are you—”
“No, no, nothing like that,” Tara said. “At least I don’t think it’s anything like that. People can be evil, and when they are, I feel it. This helps shield me from bad spirits, whether they’re alive or dead.”
“Thank God,” Flynn mumbled.
Nikki was watching Tara’s face and seemed to realize she wasn’t telling everything she knew. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
Tara nodded. “Thanks to both of you for helping Flynn drag me out before I made total fools of the both of us.”
Flynn frowned. “You need to stop worrying so much about what everyone else thinks about you, Moon girl, and concentrate on keeping yourself in one piece.” Then he glanced down at his watch. “It’s almost midnight. I’m taking you home.”
“Yes, we were about to do the same,” Nikki said. “Dad is on a tear because the phone bill is too high. He said it’s because I sent too many texts this month. And it’s so not true.” Then she grinned. “At least, I don’t think so. Anyway, I don’t want him angry at me over something else, too.”
Then she leaned into Flynn’s car and gave Tara a hug. “Take care of yourself, lunatic. I’ve sort of gotten attached to your goofy face.”
Tara was stunned by the show of affection. After what had happened, she wouldn’t have blamed them if they’d never wanted to be around her again. Her life was insane.
“Thanks for the help,” she said, and began buckling up as Flynn circled the car and slid behind the wheel.
“I’m so sorry,” she said softly. “We were having so much fun, and I feel like I’ve ruined the whole evening.”
Flynn stared at her a moment, as if trying to figure out how to put into words what he was feeling. Finally, he just shook his head.
“You scared me, big time, but nothing was ruined. Except for what just happened, tonight has been one of the best times I’ve had in forever.”
Tara sighed, then flashed a grateful smile. “Me, too.”
He grinned, and then winked. “That’s what a guy wants to hear. Now I’d better get you home before you turn into a pumpkin.”
“Hey. Cinderella didn’t turn into the pumpkin. It was the coach she was riding in that turned into the pumpkin.”
“I know, but you’re not much for sticking to the rules, are you?”
“I see your point,” she said, and then grinned. “So, we’d better hurry before the clock strikes midnight.�
�
Flynn started the car and began to back out of the parking place. He didn’t know, and Tara wasn’t about to tell him, that Henry was riding in the back seat with them. She kept feeling him touching the back of her neck and the top of her hair, as if wanting her to know he was nearby. Obviously, whatever had happened to her was enough to get both Henry and Millicent upset. She wished she knew what or who was sending her such bad vibes.
By the time Flynn pulled into the driveway, Henry was gone and Tara was feeling fine and wondering if he was going to kiss her goodnight.
Trying to second guess a romantic moment was freaky.
“Looks like Mom and your Uncle Pat are still out. I don’t see your car.”
“Yeah,” Tara said.
“Will you be all right by yourself?” Flynn asked. “I don’t mind waiting around with you until he comes back.”
“I’ll be fine,” Tara said.
Flynn frowned. “But what if you . . . uh, if that feeling . . .”
“You mean what if I freak out again?”
“That’s not what I said,” Flynn said.
“Don’t worry,” Tara said, and pulled the St. Benedict medal out from beneath her shirt. “I’m wired, remember.”
Flynn just shook his head. “You are such a nut. But my favorite nut, just the same.”
Tara grinned as Flynn got out and came around the car to walk her to the door. Thank goodness he was cool about what had happened. Once on the porch, she unlocked the front door. When she turned around to tell Flynn goodnight, he put his arms around her waist and pulled her close.
I am so falling for you, Tara thought, as she slipped her arms around his neck and leaned into his kiss.
The touch of his mouth on her lips was scary, scary good. Tara tingled all over, from her head to her toes, and when he kissed her again, she shuddered on a sigh.
Finally, Flynn groaned and pulled back. “You could become an addiction, Moon girl,” he said softly.
Tara shivered at such sweet words from a sweet guy. “Don’t quit on me, Flynn. I know of a good twelve-step program.”
He chuckled beneath his breath. “You don’t have anything to worry about. I’m not a quitter.”
“Neither am I,” Tara said, then opened the door and flipped on the inside light.
“I’m bussing tables tomorrow at Joe’s, so, I’ll see you Monday at school.”
“Absolutely.”
He touched the end of her nose with his finger. “Try to stay out of trouble, okay?”
“I’ll do what I can,” Tara said, practically buzzing with subdued joy as she watched him walk back to the car.
“I’m not leaving until you’re locked inside the house,” Flynn called.
Tara waved, then slipped inside and quickly locked herself in.
Flynn honked once, and then he was gone.
Tara wrapped her arms around herself and gazed around the room. Everything looked fine—just the way they’d left it. So why did she still have such an uneasy feeling?
Just to be on the safe side, she walked through all the rooms, checking to make sure the windows were locked and the curtains were drawn. Then she went into the kitchen and got a cold Dr. Pepper out of the fridge. She was digging through the pantry for something to go with it when she heard a key in the front door.
Thank goodness. Uncle Pat was home.
“I’m in the kitchen,” she yelled.
“Save me some cookies,” he called back.
She grinned and pulled the cookie jar off the shelf and carried it to the table as her uncle entered the kitchen. From the smile on his face, he’d had a good night, too.
“Have fun?” she asked, as he dug into the cookie jar and pulled out a handful of chocolate sandwich cookies.
“Yeah. We ate dinner at Red Lobster and then went to see a movie with that Downey guy. Iron Man II.”
“Oh. Yeah. Was it good?” Tara asked, as she pulled her sandwich cookie apart and began licking off the icing.
“Why do you always do that?” Pat frowned, pointing at her cookie.
“I don’t know. Makes them last longer, I guess.”
“Yes, the movie was good,” he said, then went to the fridge and got out a cold pop and sat down at the table with Tara.
“So. What did you and Flynn do?” he asked.
“Ate pizza at The Hideaway. We have to go there together some time. It’s the best pizza I ever ate.”
“Even better than Chicago deep dish?”
“Way better.”
“Better than New York City pies?”
“Oh yeah,” Tara said.
Pat just shook his head. “I find that hard to believe. You’re right. We’ll have to give it a try one of these days. So, what did you do afterwards?”
“We went bowling. There’s this cool bowling alley called Frontier Lanes out toward Boomer Lake. Nice place. And you know me. I got beat royally.”
Pat grinned. “No one’s perfect.”
Tara nodded, refusing to elaborate on the night. He didn’t need to know about the toddler who’d choked at the restaurant, or the fact that she’d freaked out at the bowling alley. There were some things that were better left unsaid.
She reached for another cookie. “This one is my last then I’m headed to bed.”
“What’s on the docket for tomorrow? Do you have any plans?” Pat asked.
“A little homework. Nothing big.”
“I thought I’d plant that mum bed tomorrow. I bought the mums earlier this evening. They’re in the garage.”
“If you don’t start the project at eight a.m., I might be persuaded to help.”
Her uncle grinned and shrugged. “Not making any promises,” he said, as he chewed and swallowed his last cookie. “Dibs on the bathroom first. I won’t be long.”
“Night, Uncle Pat,” Tara said.
“Night, kiddo,” he said, then added, “See you later alligator.”
Tara grinned. “After while crocodile.”
Uncle Pat was so goofy.
Tara was standing on the back porch, watching a tall, broad-shouldered man dig a hole in the far corner of the backyard. He was knee-deep in the hole, throwing shovel after shovel full of dirt over his shoulder onto a nearby pile. Moonlight glinted every now and then on the metal part of the spade while an owl hooted from a nearby tree.
She felt the tension in his body as he paused from time to time to wipe the sweat from his brow. A tomcat squalled from the alley nearby, which set a couple of dogs to barking. She saw the man stop, tilting his head as he listened. When he was satisfied he was still alone, he resumed digging.
She kept thinking she needed to walk out to where he was and ask him what he was doing, but she couldn’t get off the porch. She tried to call out, to ask him what had he done with Uncle Pat, but when she opened her mouth, no sound came out.
All of a sudden, he stopped and climbed out of the hole. He stabbed the shovel into the dirt pile, then headed to the house. Now Tara wanted to run, but once again, she couldn’t move.
When he got close enough that she could see his face, she didn’t recognize him, at first. Then it hit her. She was looking at a younger version of Emmit Broyles. Now the need to run was overwhelming. What would he do when he found her on the porch?
To her shock, he walked right past her as if she wasn’t even there. A few moments later, he came out of the house with an oblong bundle thrown over his shoulder. As he passed her again, she noticed something was dripping out of one end of the bundle, something that looked like ink droplets. It wasn’t until he stepped off the porch and the bundle bumped against his back that the folds parted and she saw a human arm flop out.
OMG. OMG. Was that DeeDee? Were those ink droplets really blood? Why couldn’t she
move? Was this a nightmare, or was she seeing into the past?
The man carried the bundle all the way across the yard. When he reached the hole he’d dug, he paused.
Tara held her breath.
He leaned forward, shifting the weight of the bundle from his shoulder to his arm. Then he straddled the hole and without hesitation, dropped it in.
Tara’s scream was silent. She had just witnessed DeeDee Broyles’ burial.
The first thing Tara heard when she woke up was rain running off the roof. She rolled over with a groan, glanced at the digital clock on the end table by her bed, and groaned again. Ten minutes after nine. She sniffed the air, knowing that she would be smelling coffee if Uncle Pat was up.
Nothing.
She swiped her hands across her face and when she looked up, DeeDee was standing beside her bed.
“Yikes!” Tara squealed, and then flinched when DeeDee spun up and into the corner of the room. “Sorry,” she said. “You startled me.”
Tara could feel the little ghost’s intensity. She knew why she’d come and what she wanted to hear.
“Yes, I got the message,” Tara said, remembering the dream in detail. “I don’t know who killed you for sure, but I do know who buried you. Emmit, right?”
DeeDee spun into a dark, angry shadow and flew across the ceiling.
“Don’t be angry,” Tara said. “I’m going to make this right. I promise.”
Tara felt the little ghost’s energy shift from anger to sadness.
“Just give me a little time. I don’t want to ruin what will ultimately become a crime scene by digging around on my own. I have to figure out how to make these two detectives I know believe there’s a body buried somewhere out near the fence without having any proof that it’s there.”
DeeDee disappeared.
The burden of proof was now upon Tara. Somewhere between studying for a Spanish test and writing a paper on Captain Ahab’s motivation in Moby Dick, she had to solve a really old murder case.
Piece of cake.
And speaking of cake, she was going to see if there was any left of the bakery cake Uncle Pat had brought home from the supermarket. Nothing like a healthy breakfast of carrot cake with cream cheese icing and a glass of milk.
