The Lunatic Detective

by Sharon Sala

  I was simply passing along pertinent information.

  Fine. So was I.

  Whatever.

  Tara frowned, then knocked. She heard a faint voice telling her to come in.

  Nate Pierce was at the desk with a stack of papers on his left and a smaller stack on his right. The red pen he was holding left Tara with the impression he was grading papers. His thick black hair gleamed from the sunlight coming through the window behind him. His shoulders were broad beneath his blue denim shirt, and his warm brown skin and high cheekbones highlighted his Native American heritage.

  Tara eyed him nervously. When he didn’t look up, she loudly cleared her throat.

  He paused, and glanced up. “Yes?” Then he frowned. “You aren’t one of my students.”

  “No, I’m not.”

  “Wait. Aren’t you the girl from third hour Career Day with the interesting questions?”

  “Yes. My name is Tara Luna.”

  She saw him sigh, then bite the inside of his jaw. Obviously, this was not a good time.

  “I’m sorry to bother you like this, but I have a very important question to ask you.”

  To her relief, he managed a sideways grin. “It wouldn’t happen to have anything more to do with GPR would it?”

  “Yes, actually it does.”

  “So ask,” he said.

  “I want to know if you would bring that GPR to my house. Specifically, the back yard of my house, and map it?”

  Startled, he leaned back, his eyes wide with surprise. “First of all, it’s not a toy, and it’s not for personal use, which means the answer is no.”

  “I’m well aware it’s not a toy. And it wouldn’t be for me. It would be a service for the Stillwater Police Department.”

  Now she had his attention. “What on earth could possibly be buried in your back yard that would interest the police? And even more to the point, why aren’t they asking?”

  Tara sighed. Just once, couldn’t this be easy? “Well, it’s like this. There’s a body buried somewhere in the backyard. It’s been there for more than twenty years, and the police don’t know it. Yet. I need you to find where it is before I confront them.”

  Nate stood up with a jerk as his chair went rolling backwards, hitting the row of file cabinets with a thunk. “Are you serious?”

  “Yes.”

  “What makes you think there’s a body in your back yard? Is some of your family involved in this?”

  “Oh, no. Uncle Pat and I only moved here from Denver right before school started. We’re renting it from Mr. Whiteside, who owns it. It’s not far. Just down Duck Street.”

  “Listen, Tara. I don’t know what kind of a joke you’re trying to pull. If you’re into punking people or whatever, but I’m busy and you need to leave.”

  Tara squinted her eyes and concentrated on his face. Within moments, she flashed on a young woman and a baby, then a wreck, then flowers on the ground. All of a sudden, she knew the source of Nate Pierce’s sadness. His wife and baby had been killed in a car wreck.

  “It’s not a joke. I’m serious. And I know it’s there because the ghost of the woman who was buried there still haunts the house. Her name is . . . I mean, her name was DeeDee Broyles, and I promised her I’d find her body, which would start the investigation into her death. She doesn’t know who killed her, but I think I do. I think it was her brother, Emmit, although he denies even having a sister, and—”

  Nate circled the desk and then put his finger so close to her nose it made her cross-eyed. “Shut up,” he said softly. “Just shut up. I don’t want to hear any more of this BS. I don’t know what you’re trying to pull, but I do not for a minute think you can talk to ghosts, and I’m not taking the GPR to your house and winding up pranked and on YouTube.”

  “Sometimes you smell lilacs in your bathroom, even though you threw out all your wife’s shampoos and soaps after her funeral. It’s her. She’s just telling you she sees you.”

  He held up his hands and walked backwards, obviously wanting to get as far away from her as possible.

  “You do not talk about my wife. Ever. Get out. Now.”

  Tara felt like crying. “I wish I could,” she said. “But I made a promise to DeeDee and I need you to make it happen.”

  “Do you have parents? Are you on drugs? You have freaking lost your mind if you think I’m going to believe a damn thing you’re saying.”

  Tara dropped into a chair and then crossed her arms and glared. “You stole a Baby Ruth candy bar from a drug store in Muskogee, Oklahoma when you were nine years old. Your grandfather caught you, made you take it back and apologize.”

  All the color faded from Nate’s face as he stared at Tara in disbelief. “How did you know that?” he whispered. “Granddad never told my folks, and neither did I.”

  “I’m psychic. It’s not something I’m particularly happy about, but it’s how I came into the world. Do you want more proof? Okay. How about this. The first girl you ever did it with was Sonya Friend. She was sixteen and you were fourteen.” Tara pointed at him. “And don’t deny it.”

  His face turned red as a beet, but she had his attention. “Okay. Answer this and I might be willing to consider your request.”

  “What’s the question?” Tara asked.

  “I have a cousin named Jimmy who’s been missing for almost two years. If you can—”

  “He’s in prison.”

  Nate inhaled sharply, then eased himself down onto the corner of his desk.

  “How do you know that?”

  “Haven’t you been listening to me? I’m psychic, okay?”

  “Where? Which prison? His mother, my Aunt Jean, thinks he’s dead. She’s been in a serious state of depression for over a year.”

  “Well, tell her to write to him in care of McAlester State Penitentiary. He’ll write back. He was just too ashamed to let anyone know.”

  Nate pointed at her. “Don’t move,” he said softly, then grabbed his phone and within moments, found the number to the prison and made a call.

  Tara crossed her legs and leaned back, watching the changing expressions on his face. For an old guy, he was pretty hot. She guessed he was at least twenty-six or twenty-seven, but he had good hair. She eyed his changing expressions as she waited for his call to go through. Then she saw him sat up a little straighter and reach for a pen.

  “Yes. My name is Nate Pierce. I’m an Assistant Professor at Oklahoma State University, and just recently learned a family member, who’s been missing for over two years, is possibly an inmate there. How do I go about confirming that?”

  “Just give them his name,” Tara muttered.

  “Oh. His name?”

  Tar rolled her eyes. “Told you,” she added beneath her breath, at which point, he looked at her and glared. She shrugged as he answered.

  “His name is James Lee Pierce. He’s twenty-two years old. Native American descent. Choctaw tribe.”

  Tara smirked. She already knew that, thank you very much.

  “Yes, thank you. I’ll wait.”

  Nate put his hand over the mouthpiece and looked at Tara. “Smart ass comments are not appreciated,” he said, then his focus shifted. “Yes, I’m here.”

  Tara watched his eyes widen, then his attention shift back to her.

  “He’s there,” Nate repeated. “He’s been there almost seventeen months. Good Lord. His mother thinks he’s dead. Wait. Wait. I need visiting days . . . hours, whatever a family needs to know to make a visit.”

  He was writing quickly, taking down everything he was being told.

  “One more thing,” Nate asked. “How long before he comes up for parole?”

  “Nine more months,” Tara said.

  Nate pointed at her again, as if warning her to stay quiet,
then his mouth dropped.

  “Okay. Nine months, you said?”

  Tara smirked.

  “Thank you very much,” Nate said, then very slowly hung up the phone.

  “He’s there.”

  Tara rolled her eyes. “Oh my God. Did I just not say that already?”

  “But . . .”

  “The GPR?”

  Nate stood up. “I owe you big time,” he said. “I’ll let the Dean know that I’m taking it out.”

  “When?” Tara asked.

  Nate glanced at the unmarked papers on his desk, then the daily planner on his desk.

  “I have classes tomorrow until three.”

  “I get out of school about the same time. My place tomorrow afternoon. Four o’clock.”

  Nate shoved his hands in his pockets. “You’re scary. You know that, don’t you?”

  “Why? Because I can see and talk to ghosts? Because I know things about people?”

  “I have to be losing my mind to agree to this,” Nate muttered.

  “Just think of it as an extension of Career Day.”

  “I will never volunteer to do that again,” he said.

  “Okay. So. I think we’re done here,” Tara said.

  “No. We’re not,” Nate said. “Unlike you, I am not psychic, so I need your address.”

  Tara grinned. “Oh. Yeah. Right.” She leaned across the desk and scribbled her name, phone number, and address on his daily planner. “Just in case you’re inclined to forget.”

  “Oh. I’m not likely to forget this conversation,” he drawled.

  “Good. DeeDee and I both thank you,” she said. “See you tomorrow.”

  Tara grabbed her backpack, slung it over one shoulder and strode out of his office without looking back.

  Before she reached the end of the hallway, she heard Nate’s voice again. “Hey! Mom! It’s me, Nate. Oh, yeah, I’m fine. Grading papers. But the reason I called . . . you will not guess. I found Jimmy. I’m serious. Yes, he’s alive. No. I’m not calling Aunt Pam. She’ll just cry and I don’t want to hear her cry. That’s why I called you. You’re going to be the one to break the news. So, get this . . .”

  Chapter Five

  Tara got home thirty minutes before her Uncle Pat. She spread her books all over the kitchen table so it would look like she’d been working, then got hamburger meat from the fridge and quickly made two patties and put them on to cook. Hamburgers and fries would put a smile on his face and fill his tummy at the same time.

  I never did understand the concept of chopping up meat just to form it back into the same shape again.

  Tara grinned, as she slid the skillet onto the stove. “You’re so right, Millicent. It is weird, but I promise you, hamburgers are good.”

  I once had escargot in Paris. That was good.

  “Eww. So wrong. Aren’t those snails?”

  Anything spoken in French tastes and sounds better. Oui?

  “No thank you to snails in any language,” Tara said.

  She reached for the salt and pepper, doused the burgers liberally, and turned down the fire before getting a bag of frozen french fries out of the freezer. Within a few minutes, she had the fries in the oven and buns warming on the back of the stove. After slicing a tomato, laying out some lettuce and pickles, and peeling an onion, she turned the burger patties, then turned off the burner. They would finish cooking in the pan and still be warm when Uncle Pat arrived. She stirred the fries and turned off the oven, giving them the same treatment as the meat. He would be home by the time everything had finished cooking.

  Supper was done. Satisfied, she slid into a chair and pulled her notebook forward. On to homework, but it was hard to concentrate. She kept thinking about tomorrow and Nate Pierce’s arrival. This was going to start a brush fire of controversy, but it couldn’t be helped. DeeDee deserved justice. Tara took a deep breath, savoring the aromas of the food, and hoped Uncle Pat got here soon. She was starving.

  Less than fifteen minutes later she heard his key in the lock.

  “I’m home!” Pat called.

  “In the kitchen,” Tara called back, and shoved her homework to the side as she got up.

  Pat came striding into the kitchen with his lunch box under his arm and his cap in his hands.

  “Something smells good,” he said.

  “Burgers and fries.”

  “Sounds great,” Pat said, as he gave his niece a hug and a kiss on the cheek. “Have a good day, honey?”

  “I guess. Nothing out of the ordinary.”

  “I thought today was Career Day.”

  “It was, but I didn’t get any urges to follow anyone else’s dreams.” She frowned as she washed her hands at the kitchen sink. “I wish I knew what my dream is supposed to be.”

  “You have all kinds of time to worry about a career,” Pat said. “I don’t know about you, but I’m hungry.”

  “Me, too,” Tara said. “I’ll fix our plates while you go wash up.”

  “Back in a few. And since you cooked, I’ll clean.”

  Tara grinned. “It’s a deal.”

  When Tara turned around, Henry was floating above the table.

  “What?”

  He pointed toward the bathroom at the same time that Tara heard Uncle Pat yell.

  “OMG! What’s happening?” Tara cried.

  It was just a case of too many bubbles.

  “Millicent! You didn’t!”

  “Tara! What on earth, honey?” Pat yelled, as he bolted out of the bathroom. “There’s water on the floor and the tub is full of bubbles. You must have forgotten to turn off the water.”

  Tara frowned. She could take the blame, but there was no need now that Uncle Pat knew that she saw ghosts.

  “I didn’t do that,” she said. “Millicent is the one with the bubble fetish. You yell at her a while, and I’ll go get the mop.”

  The look on her uncle’s face was priceless. “You’re kidding.”

  “No. I’m not,” Tara said, and if she wasn’t going to have to mop up the floor, she might have laughed. As she walked away, she could hear her uncle trying to figure out how to chastise someone he couldn’t see.

  School was a drag, at least from the standpoint of time. All day, Tara kept picturing the moment when she and Nate would find DeeDee’s grave. Even the classes she had with Flynn, who made everything fun, never seemed to end. By the time the bell rang to dismiss school, she was fired up like a roman candle on the Fourth of July. She bolted from her seat, made a quick stop at her locker, and slipped out a side door instead of taking the front, knowing full well she was going to miss seeing Flynn. She didn’t have time to delay or explain, and she had a feeling he wouldn’t be all that thrilled in what she was doing. He was pretty cool about her psychic stuff, but digging for bodies fell way out of the realm of normal—even for her.

  She jogged out of the schoolyard, then down the street. By the time she turned the corner on Duck Street, she was running. To her relief, she beat Nate Pierce to her house by almost five minutes. Just enough time to put on her old shoes and snag a quick snack. She was eating her third chocolate chip cookie when someone knocked on the door.

  “Yay!” She headed for the door on the run. “You came,” Tara cried, as she opened the door.

  “I didn’t know I had an option,” Nate said, as he stifled a sigh. “I’ve been dreading this all day, but a deal’s a deal, and I’m a man of my word.”

  “Well, you know what I mean,” Tara said, then caught movement from the corner of her eye and turned to look.

  The small ghost floating near the hallway had obviously caught wind of what was happening. Tara gave her a conspiratorial thumbs up and then handed the professor a couple of cookies. “Have some,” she said. “They’re pretty good. From
the Wal-Mart bakery.”

  “I didn’t come for tea. Let’s just get this over with, okay?”

  “Whatever.” Tara took the cookies out of his hand and stuffed one in her mouth as she walked out on the porch with him. “So, there’s a gate to the back yard on the north side of the house. Hope it’s wide enough to get your radar through.”

  Looking regretfully at the cookies in her hand, Nate followed her off the porch, then got the GPR out of the back of a van belonging to the University Geology Department, and proceeded to the back yard.

  “It’s a big yard,” he said.

  “Is that a problem?” Tara asked.

  “It will take longer than I thought.”

  Tara grinned and handed back one of the cookies. “There are more inside. Start with that one, and then lets’s get started. I think we should start at the back side of the fence. I know it’s not toward the house.”

  Nate frowned. “You know this how?”

  “Um . . . DeeDee has been trying to show me in the only way she can, what happened. You know, if you don’t see your killer coming at you from behind, you don’t always know who did you in.”

  He just shook his head, put the cookie in his mouth, and headed to the back of the yard with the GPR, and Tara on his heels.

  “It looks a little like a lawn mower with bicycle wheels and no blade underneath. Is all the stuff inside that flat black box-looking thingy?” she asked.

  “Pretty much, except I’m hooking up what amounts to a laptop so we can see it as it scans.” Nate said. “I’m going to start in the northwest corner. And you don’t need to follow me.”

  But Tara was fascinated. “So if we find something that looks like it could be a grave, can this be printed out?”

  “It can, but let’s just worry about finding this grave of yours before we worry about anything else.”

  “Yes. Alright,” Tara said.

  A short while later, the process had begun. Tara could tell that the professor’s patience was thin and his disbelief large. But she also knew that if this GPR gadget worked like it was supposed to, time would change that.