by Sharon Sala
“Fine.”
Mrs. Crabtree frowned. “I don’t like your tone, young lady.”
Tara sighed. “Am I in trouble?”
“No, but—”
“Am I in here because you want to discuss my personal business?”
Mrs. Crabtree’s face flushed a bright, angry red. “We’ve been hearing some—”
“We being the gossip mill in this school, or we being an adult who’s already talked to the police?”
“Well. Now. Of course I didn’t call the—”
“So, we is the gossip mill,” Tara said.
Don’t tell me to stop, because I’m not going to listen.
Tara sighed. Now they were both in for it. Obviously, Millicent didn’t like the principal’s attitude, and truthfully, neither did she.
A stack of files levitated into the air, then turned upside down, sending papers flying in every direction.
Mrs. Crabtree squealed like a pig with its tail caught in the barn door, then clapped her hands over her mouth.
Tara ignored what was happening, and started talking.
“No one at my house got arrested. Not me. Not Uncle Pat. Not Flynn. No one committed a crime there . . . at least not in the last twenty-five years, and no one who lives there is in trouble. We did not get arrested for making Meth, and Flynn did not rob a quick stop.”
The pens on Mrs. Crabtree’s desk shot straight up into the ceiling and stuck like darts in the soft fiber panels.
“Oh, dear lord,” Mrs. Crabtree gasped, and staggered back against the wall.
“We had a plumbing problem,” Tara said, as if nothing was happening. “Uncle Pat started digging to find the clog and found bones. Human bones.”
“Help,” Mrs. Crabtree said.
The top popped off a black Sharpie. Tara flinched. Oooh. Millicent was going for broke.
“We called the police.” Tara winced as the pen flew toward Mrs. Crabtree. Before she could say stop, Millicent had drawn a perfect mustache on Mrs. Crabtree’s upper lip.
OMG. OMG. It was all Tara could do not to laugh. So she took a deep breath and wound up the story.
“They found the skeleton of a woman who’d been murdered a long time ago. They arrested a man named Emmit Broyles for murdering his sister. I don’t know the rest of the details. You’ll have to watch the evening news. Is there anything else you want to know?”
Mrs. Crabtree just shook her head and waved toward the door without speaking.
Tara turned around and walked out, letting the door slam behind her to let Mrs. Crabtree know she was still ticked. Millicent, if I could high five you, I would so do it.
I feel your pain.
Tara threw back her head and laughed. She was still laughing when she walked outside to look for Flynn.
Chapter Eight
Flynn had been watching for Tara to come out. When he saw her appear in the doorway, he came up the steps to meet her.
“You okay?” he asked.
Tara grinned. “I’m fine.”
“What’s so funny?” he asked.
“She ticked Millicent off,” Tara said.
Flynn’s eyes widened. “No way.”
“Way,” Tara said. “She tossed that office like a hurricane, and drew a mustache on Crabtree’s upper lip with a Sharpie. It was all I could do not to laugh.”
Flynn shuddered. “Remind me never to talk back to you.”
Tara laughed out loud. “Yeah. Right. But don’t worry. Millicent thinks you’re hot.”
Flynn’s face flushed, but he was grinning. “Seriously?”
Tara nodded.
“That’s intense,” Flynn said.
“Naw. Just Millicent. So, let’s find some shade.”
“Absolutely,” Flynn said.
Tara’s heart was light. Her steps were sure and easy. The weight of knowing DeeDee’s earthbound spirit was finally gone felt good. When Flynn slipped his hand in hers and gave it a quick squeeze, she felt like giggling. What a wild and crazy day.
They found a spot beneath one of the old trees and sat down on the grass and started talking.
“Hey Flynn, did you ever talk to your Mom about your Dad’s cancer?”
“Oh. Yeah. I can’t believe I didn’t tell you. She freaked. Seriously. Then she called him. They talked for as long as he could talk, but when she was done, she seemed better.”
“Do you know if they tied up those loose ends we talked about?”
“Yeah, actually, they did. Mom said later she was glad I’d told her, so you were right. Thanks.”
Tara nodded. “Sure. I’m still sorry about the cancer, though. Is it inoperable?”
Flynn nodded, then looked away.
Tara sighed. “I’m so sorry, Flynn.”
He nodded, but wouldn’t look up. She knew he had tears in his eyes and was sorry she’d brought it up. But before she could change the subject, that feeling of hate hit her so hard she actually winced, as if she’d been physically hit.
Get inside.
Tara shuddered. “Uh . . . Flynn . . . we need to go in. Help me up.”
Flynn looked startled. Tara knew her face was as white as a sheet. “Moon girl . . . are you sick?”
“Like at the bowling alley. Get me up.”
Flynn was on his feet and pulling her up before she’d unfolded her legs. “Hang onto me,” he said, and slid his arm around her waist and started toward the school. “Are you sick? Do you need your necklace?”
“Yes, I’m sick, and yes, I need it, but it’s in my purse, and that’s in my locker.”
“Oh man, oh man, oh man,” Flynn said, dragging her as fast as her legs would move.
“This has got to stop!”
Tara moaned as another wave washed over her, leaving her nauseous and shaky.
“Yeah, well, if you figure out how to do that, let me know.”
“I’m sorry, Moon girl. I just meant . . .”
“I know,” Tara said, as they reached the steps of the school. “It’s just my lunatic life.”
“Man,” Flynn said, as they got inside the school. “Are you better?”
“Some. Mostly because we’re farther away. Just let me lean against the wall for a minute, okay? I’m already the gossip girl today. If they see you dragging me down the hall, they’ll be saying I got drunk during the noon hour.”
“This is too crazy,” Flynn said, and shoved his hands through his hair.
Tara frowned. “All you have to do is walk off,” she said shortly.
Flynn frowned back. “I didn’t say I wasn’t going to help you. I just said . . . this is a crazy way to live.”
And just like that, her feelings were hurt. It wasn’t like being her boyfriend was the easiest trick in the book, but she’d thought he was tougher than this. “It’s not like I have any choice in the matter, though, is it? Excuse me,” Tara said, and pushed herself away from the wall and walked away.
Flynn frowned, then doubled up his fists and hit the sides of his legs as he walked in the other direction.
Tara’s heart hurt. Her head hurt. Her feelings hurt. The only positive was that the feeling of hatred had disappeared. Still, if someone talked to her now she would burst into tears. And, as luck would have it, the first person she made eye contact with as she neared the lockers was Prissy.
Prissy smirked.
Tara glanced around. Millicent?
I see her.
Tara scowled. If she opens her mouth—
Thank you for the opportunity.
Tara kept on walking.
Prissy wasn’t smart enough to keep her mouth shut. “Hey lunatic, how much does it cost to get bonded out of jail?”
Tara’s eyes narrowed angrily. “You
stole five dollars out of your mother’s purse this morning.”
All the color faded from Prissy’s face. “How do you do that?”
“The better question would be . . . why did you do that?” Tara countered, and kept on walking. When she heard Prissy suddenly scream, she didn’t look back. She didn’t have to. She already knew what Millicent was doing.
All the lockers behind Prissy suddenly popped open and everything inside them fell out. One of the teachers who was on hall duty came running, grabbed Prissy by the arm, and hauled her off to the office, thinking she’d popped the locks and dumped the contents.
Tara could hear Prissy trying to explain all the way up the hall. After what had happened to Mrs. Crabtree, she would probably believe Prissy, but it didn’t matter to Tara. At least someone else was the topic of conversation besides her.
She went to her next class and slid into her seat without looking at anyone. She was so ticked. How had everything gone from happy to bad this fast?
Suddenly, Henry popped up, sitting cross-legged on her desk. He leaned over and gave her a ghostly hug.
Tara sighed. Thank you, Henry. I love, you, too.
He disappeared as quickly as he’d appeared, but Tara already felt better. Even if it was a little bit foggy—like Henry—foggy love was better than no love at all.
She made it through the class without crying, and then came face to face with Flynn in her last hour again. He kept trying to get her attention, but she wouldn’t look at him. When the bell rang to dismiss school, Tara filed out ahead of Flynn and didn’t look back. As she was walking through the parking lot, Nikki picked her up and gave her a ride home.
“Where’s Flynn?” Nikki asked, as Tara got into the car.
“Probably hiding, just to make sure he doesn’t have to face me again,” Tara muttered.
Nikki frowned. “No way. Did you two have a fight?”
Tara shrugged. “It wasn’t a fight. He just can’t handle me and my life, that’s all.”
Nikki reached into her purse and pulled out a Hershey bar. “Here. Break into the chocolate. It fixes all kinds of pain.”
Tara grinned as she peeled back the paper and broke off a couple of squares, then handed it to Nikki, who did the same.
“Mmm, good,” Tara said.
“One thing’s for sure,” Nikki said. “Friends and lovers may come and go, but chocolate goes on forever.”
Tara burst into laughter, and by the time Nikki pulled into their driveway, Tara felt better again. Nikki was right. The world did not have to begin and end with Flynn O’Mara.
“Thanks for the ride,” she said.
“See you tomorrow,” Nikki said, then handed Tara the last bites of the Hershey. “Here, take this. You need it more than I do.”
“I won’t say no,” Tara said, and popped the chocolate into her mouth as she got out. She stood in the driveway and waved until Nikki drove away, then went inside.
The yellow crime scene tape was still strung across the back yard. The hole had yet to be filled, but DeeDee had finally gotten some justice, and Tara’s stalker was in jail. The world didn’t have to be perfect. Right now, she’d take the status quo.
She turned on the television for company, then threw her backpack on the table, pulled out homework, and went to the fridge. She couldn’t do homework without a Dr. Pepper close by. And even though she’d helped Nikki eat the chocolate bar, she was still hungry. She dug through the pantry, found a bag of potato chips, and pulled it off the shelf with a triumphant yank.
“This’ll work.” She headed for the table.
I once had pommes frites in Paris.
“Millicent. Speak English. What on earth are pommes frites?”
I believe you refer to them as French fries.
Tara grinned. “Oh . . . yes. I actually had pommes frites for lunch today.”
Ah, eating. I remember eating.
Tara shook her head as she sat down. “I adore you,” she said softly.
For once, Millicent didn’t have a comeback. But when Tara felt a gentle pressure all around her, she knew it was Millicent, giving her a hug in the only way that she could.
“You rock, Millicent,” Tara said, then picked up her books.
She was just finishing up with her last bit of homework—writing a paper on Sinclair Lewis—when her cell phone began to ring.
She glanced at Caller ID before answering, because she had no intention of talking to Flynn O’Mara today, and maybe never, but it was only Uncle Pat.
“Hi, Uncle Pat.”
“Hi, honey. How was school today? Did you get a lot of questions about what happened?”
“You could say that,” she muttered.
“Oh. Shoot. Was it bad?”
“You could say that,” she said, and then sighed.
Pat laughed. “You’re the best, you know that, don’t you?”
Once again, she felt the love, which was just what she’d been needing. “Thanks. I needed to hear that.”
“So, how about we go out to eat tonight? You pick.”
“I thought I was grounded.”
There was a moment of silence, then a sigh. “Not from me, you’re not.”
“Then yes, let’s go. But are you sure we can afford it? It’s another week until payday.”
“If you don’t make me buy steak, we’re good to go,” he said.
“How about pizza?” she asked.
“I’m assuming you’re referring to The Hideaway?”
“Yes, please.”
He chuckled. “Works for me. I’ll be home in about an hour, but I’ll want to shower before we go out. I smell like eight hours worth of garbage.”
“Yuck. Are you sure you’re not too tired to go?”
“No, I’m not too tired. I’m never too tired to take my best girl out.”
She grinned. “I thought Mona was your best girl.”
“She’s just the girl of the hour. You’re my best girl. Always.”
“Thanks, Uncle Pat.”
“See you soon,” he said.
“Okay. Soon.”
You need to wear that blue shirt and your tan shorts.
“Please. Millicent. This isn’t a date. It doesn’t matter what I wear to go out to eat with Uncle Pat.”
It always matters what a lady wears when she goes out.
Tara frowned, doubting if ladies wore shorts when Millicent was alive, then nodded. Millicent might be a ghost, but she was the only female in her life who gave her advice.
“All right. The blue tee and the tan shorts it is.”
Tara was just about to take her first bite of pizza. Hamburger and mushrooms. Yum. Her mouth was watering as she slid the corner of the slice between her teeth and bit. It tasted as good as it smelled.
“This is so good, Uncle Pat. Thanks for taking us out.”
“My pleasure, honey,” Pat said, as he dug into his pizza, too. “You’ve had a seriously stressful couple of days. It was the least I could do.”
Tara shivered where she sat. It was amazing how good it felt to be appreciated.
“So, how’s Flynn?” Pat asked.
Tara rolled her eyes. “Who knows?
Pat looked startled. “Did you two have a fight?”
“Not really, Uncle Pat. He’s just scared of me and what happens around me, I think.”
Pat nodded, as he continued to eat. “I can understand that. Can you?”
“As much as I hate to admit it . . . yes. But it still doesn’t make it any easier to face.”
“He’ll probably get over it in a day or two.”
“Maybe,” Tara said. “But I might not. I don’t have time for someone who runs hot and cold like water out of a tap. I have a life to live and
I don’t intend to worry about what some guy thinks about me, or whether I’m going to embarrass him or not.”
“Good for you,” Pat said.
“Just don’t let my thing with Flynn mess you up with Mona. I know you like her a lot.”
Pat nodded. “Yes, she’s fun to be with, but I’ve backed up a bit on the dating. I’m giving her some personal time right now. Her ex is dying of cancer, and she’s all confused about that.”
“Oh. I didn’t know that she’d told you,” Tara said.
“You knew?”
“I picked up on it one day when Flynn and I were together.”
“Well, it’s a serious thing and she’s confused about how she feels. I don’t intend to add to the confusion.”
“So we’re both sort of single again, hunh?”
Pat grinned. “I’m good with it. How about you?”
“I don’t really have any options,” Tara said, and polished off her last bite, then reached for a second.
“They’re going to have some sort of a service for DeeDee Broyles’ remains,” Pat said.
Tara was surprised. “Really? Who’s doing it?”
“I heard it was Captain Farrell of the Stillwater Police Department. Said it was the least he could do for the lady who used to make cookies for his grandma.”
Tara sighed. “That’s really nice. If it’s okay with you, I would like to go.”
“I thought you might. That’s why I mentioned it.”
“Do you know when?” Tara asked.
“Not for sure, but I’ll find out and make sure we both go.”
“Thanks, Uncle Pat.”
He winked, then waved at their waiter to refill their drinks and their meal continued. About an hour later, they left the Hideaway.
“I’m going to stop and gas up before we go home,” Pat said. “I might not have time in the morning.”
“Okay,” Tara said, and kicked back in the seat to wait as Pat pulled up to the pumps at a quick stop.
She was watching traffic and the people on foot who were passing by when she realized someone inside was in trouble. She didn’t know what was wrong until her uncle started to go inside to pay. All of a sudden, she flashed on someone holding a gun and knew the store was being robbed.
“Uncle Pat. Come back!” she screamed, and grabbed her cell phone.
