The Lunatic Detective

by Sharon Sala

  It is not your responsibility to police the world.

  Tara gulped, then shuddered on a sob. Thanks, Millicent. You always seem to know the right thing to say.

  I will be reminding you of that statement the next time you berate me.

  I do not berate. I do, on occasion, complain, but I’m not complaining now. Lord have mercy. This was so intense.

  When she looked up, Flynn was coming toward her at a jog. She swiped at the tears on her cheeks and moved to meet him.

  “The little boy. Is he okay?”

  Flynn caught her on the run and hugged her. Tight. Without moving or talking.

  Tara sighed. She got it. He was as emotionally moved as she was.

  “Man, Moon girl. You rock,” Flynn finally said. “And yes, the kid is fine. The cops think they used something like chloroform on him to make him quiet so fast, then pretended to carry him out the gate as if he’d just gone to sleep. Once they reached the parking lot, they started running.”

  “Did you see them? There were two, weren’t there?”

  He nodded. “Yeah, and that green Pinto had Missouri license plates. If they’d gotten out of here, they would never have found him, would they?”

  She shook her head, then hugged him again. “Thanks.”

  “For what?” he asked.

  “For believing in me. It was you who made it happen, you know. If you hadn’t seen Detective Rutherford and gotten him involved, they wouldn’t have believed me . . . at least not in time.”

  Flynn sighed. “Well, here’s the deal, Moon girl. You haven’t been wrong once since we met, so I’d be a fool not to believe.”

  “There goes the ambulance,” Tara said, as it pulled out of the parking lot on the way to the emergency room.

  “Yeah, they’re taking the kid for a checkup, although he was already coming to. Are you okay?”

  “Sure.”

  “Think you can stand the second half of the game, or do you want to go home?”

  Tara frowned. “No, I do not want to go home. I was having a great time until this. Since the little boy is okay, then so am I.”

  “That’s what I’m talking about,” Flynn said. “So . . . I don’t know about you, but I need a cold drink. That’s the fastest I’ve moved in ages.”

  “I was impressed,” Tara said, as they started back to the stadium.

  They were walking hand in hand when someone yelled Tara’s name. She stopped and turned. It was Rutherford.

  “Way to go, kid,” he said, as he jogged up to them. “They ran a check on the men and came up with something pretty ugly. They’re both registered sex offenders. The kid would have been in serious trouble if you hadn’t gotten yourself involved. Like I told you a few days ago, I think you’re onto something. You need to hang a shingle.”

  “And what? Start reading palms? Get serious.”

  He laughed, then glanced at Flynn. “You’re fast, O’Mara. Are your grades as good as your feet?”

  Flynn shrugged. “They’re better than average, why?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Something about you makes me think you’d be good cop material.”

  “Really?” Flynn asked.

  Tara grinned. “That’s amazing, because he’s planning to go into law enforcement . . . of some kind. When he graduates, you might give him a good recommendation.”

  “Are you going into college first?” Rutherford asked.

  Taken aback by the cop’s interest in him, Flynn shuffled his feet, then stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Yeah. I want at least a couple of years and then I’ll see if I still feel the same.”

  Rutherford clapped him on the back. “If you ever decide to go into law enforcement, give me a call. I can recommend a good academy.”

  Flynn’s smile spread. “Thanks. I appreciate that,” he said.

  Rutherford walked off, leaving them on their own.

  Flynn looked at Tara, then grinned. “That was quite a sales pitch on my behalf. Thanks . . . I think.”

  Tara grinned back. “Lunatic. Remember. Totally lunatic.”

  “So, let’s go watch a ball game.”

  “Absolutely,” Tara said.

  They walked back into the stadium holding hands while talking and laughing about nothing in particular, happy another disaster had been averted.

  Chapter Ten

  The next morning Tara was still floating on air from last night. She had three BFFs. She and Flynn had made up. They’d saved a little boy from sexual predators. Bethany Fanning had been crowned Homecoming Queen. Stillwater High beat Union in the homecoming game by a teeth-grinding three points. Talk about stoked.

  When she got home, she’d told Uncle Pat about everything three times, except, of course, the fact that Flynn had kissed her behind the fire truck at the pep rally, and again on the front porch when he’d brought her home.

  Uncle Pat had his own brand of news to tell her, too. DeeDee Broyles’ memorial service was going to be graveside at the cemetery that morning at 11:00. After all that, it had taken forever for Tara to go to sleep.

  But morning had come, despite the adrenaline rush, and now she and Uncle Pat were hurrying through their regular Saturday chores—cleaning house, making grocery lists, doing laundry—all the stuff a mother would have normally been overseeing. It never occurred to Tara to feel sorry for herself. It was difficult to miss something she’d never had, and Uncle Pat was an amazing parent, even if he was a little stuck in the past.

  “Are you through in the bathroom?” Pat asked, as he carried an armful of folded towels and washcloths down the hall.

  “Yes. I’m going to get dressed for the service, but I don’t know what to wear.”

  Pat looked blank. This was a question that rarely came up, and one he never had a good answer for.

  “I don’t know, honey. I would say, nothing weird.”

  She grinned. “So, that means my mini-skirt is out?”

  The shock on Pat’s face was comical. “You have a mini-skirt?”

  Tara rolled her eyes. “No. That was just a joke.”

  “Oh. Well . . . I knew that,” Pat muttered, and went into the bathroom.

  Tara did a little skip as she crossed the hall into her bedroom and began digging through her closet. It wasn’t like she had all that much to choose from, but she didn’t want to diss DeeDee by wearing something inappropriate.

  I’d go for your best jeans and something without wrinkles.

  Tara frowned. Was that a diss, or are you trying to tell me something?

  I am unaware of the word ‘diss.’ Are you trying to say ‘this?’

  No, Millicent. It’s a shortened version of the word ‘disrespectful.’ Get it?

  Then why don’t you just say ‘disrespectful?’

  Tara rolled her eyes. I am not having this conversation with you.

  Then who is it I am talking to?

  Tara grinned. There were times when Millicent missed the subtleties of the current culture. I will wear something without wrinkles.

  She heard a slight pop, like the sound of a bubble bursting, and then Millicent was gone, obviously satisfied that her suggestions were being followed.

  Tara slid hangars across the bar, looking for something that would pass ghostly inspection. Finally, she settled on a white, long-sleeved shirt and her best jeans. She brushed her hair until it was shining like dark chocolate, pulled the sides away from her face and fastened them at the back of her head with a small, tortoise shell clip. She added a little lip gloss, and called herself good to go.

  And, because they would be going to a cemetery, she made sure to wear her Saint Benedict’s medal, just in case there were any lingering spirits who felt like getting pushy. Today was not the day to be swamped by any displaced spirits with a bad attitud
e.

  She dropped her cell phone into her little black shoulder bag and headed for the living room to wait for Uncle Pat. While she was waiting, her cell rang. It was cool to get phone calls from someone other than Uncle Pat, and when she saw Caller ID, she grinned. Even cooler to get phone calls from a guy like Flynn.

  “Hi, you,” she said.

  “Hi, Moon girl. How’s it going?”

  “Oh, okay. Uncle Pat and I are going to a graveside service for DeeDee Broyles this morning.”

  “Oh. Man. Sorry I didn’t know. But, it wouldn’t have mattered. I have to work until four this afternoon, bussing tables at Joe’s.”

  “It’s okay,” she said.

  “So, the reason I’m calling. Are we still on for tonight?”

  “Yes. Are we still going to the movie?”

  “Unless you want to do something else?”

  “No, no, the movie is good. Uncle Pat and I don’t go much, so I haven’t seen anything that’s playing. What are we going to see?”

  “Why don’t you check out the listings and times and call me back sometime today to let me know so I can pick you up in time.”

  “Will do,” Tara said.

  “Okay, Moon girl. See you later.”

  “Yeah, see you later,” Tara said. She was still smiling when Uncle Pat came into the room.

  “Does that smile on your face have anything to do with Flynn O’Mara?”

  Tara grinned and blushed. “Maybe.”

  “So, I’m assuming that means you two have a date tonight?”

  She nodded.

  He just shook his head, and then gave her a hug. “My little girl is growing up.”

  Tara rolled her eyes. “Uncle Pat. I haven’t been little in years.”

  “It’s a figure of speech, missy. Are you ready to go do this?”

  Tara sighed. “Yes. And for once, this is a good funeral, right?”

  “Right, honey. It’s about honoring a valiant little spirit.” He glanced at his watch. “I guess we better get this show on the road.”

  A few minutes later, they were on their way. When they arrived at Fairlawn Cemetery, it soon became apparent that not many people were coming. But that stood to reason, since most of the people who would have been DeeDee’s friends had either moved away or passed away. Tara knew it really didn’t matter to DeeDee. She was finally where she needed to be.

  A stocky middle-aged man stood beside the open grave with his hands in his pockets, staring out across the cemetery. When he heard them approaching, he turned around. His eyes narrowed as he zoned in on Tara.

  Tara felt his shock and knew he still found it hard to believe in what she could do, but to his credit, Captain Adam Farrell didn’t let it show. His focus shifted to her Uncle Pat, and he walked toward him.

  “Adam Farrell,” he said. “I’m guessing you are Pat Carmichael, and this would be Tara.”

  Pat shook the man’s hand. “Yes, I’m Pat. Nice to meet you, Adam.”

  Tara smiled. “Nice to meet you, Captain Farrell. Detective Rutherford told us you used to know DeeDee.”

  Adam’s expression softened. “Yeah. I was really little, but I spent a lot of time at my grandparents’ house, which was across the street from what used to be the Broyles house. I was really sorry to find out what had happened to her.”

  “Emmit isn’t ever going to get out of jail . . . is he?” Tara asked.

  “No way,” Adam said. “He confessed to murder. He’s gonna die in jail.”

  “Good,” Tara said. “He was scary.”

  Farrell frowned. “I heard. Next time tell someone.”

  “There won’t be a next time,” Pat said abruptly.

  Tara wisely kept her mouth shut, and a few moments later, the hearse from the funeral home arrived, followed by a church van with the pastor who would perform the service.

  Then another car pulled up behind the church van. Tara squinted her eyes against the morning sun, wondering who it could be. When Nate Pierce stepped out of the car and started walking toward them, she sighed.

  Of course.

  He helped find DeeDee. It stood to reason he might want to see her laid to rest, as well. He was wearing sunglasses as he came toward them. She had no way of knowing that his gaze was on her, alone—or that he was as puzzled by his fascination with her, as he was of what she could do.

  “Professor Pierce. I’m glad you came,” Tara said, as he walked up.

  Adam nodded at Nate.

  “Nice to see you, Pat said.

  Nate shook Pat’s hand. “Detective Rutherford told me about the service.” Then he took off his glasses and stared straight into Tara’s eyes.

  Tara felt pinned by the intensity of his dark gaze, and stifled a shiver.

  Nate started to lay his hand on the top of her head, for some reason he stopped and drew it back. His voice was soft, but intense as he looked her straight in the face. “You are one of the blessed ones, Tara Luna. It is my honor to know you.”

  Tara was so stunned by what he’d said she couldn’t speak.

  Then two more cars pulled in behind Nate’s car and the moment passed.

  Tara thought she had prepared herself for the ceremony, until six uniformed policemen got out of the two cars and solemnly marched to the back of the hearse.

  “Oh . . . oh, wow,” she whispered, as her vision blurred.

  They all watched as six of Stillwater’s finest, acting as pall bearers, carefully carried the mortal remains of DeeDee to her final resting place.

  Tara knew that none of these men had even been born when DeeDee died, yet they gave her as much respect as if they’d been members of her family.

  “That is so cool, Detective Farrell,” Tara said softly. “DeeDee would be honored.”

  The ceremony began, and DeeDee was honored by a pastor who spoke as if he’d known and loved her. She was honored by Adam Farrell, who remembered a long-ago Halloween and the kindness of his grandmother’s neighbor. She was honored by six officers of the Stillwater Police Department, who’d sworn to serve and protect the citizens, no matter who they were, or how long they’d been gone. She was honored by a man who’d used twenty-first century technology to find a young woman from the past whose future had been cut short.

  Finally, she was honored by a teenager named Tara Luna, who cared enough to seek justice for her wronged and restless spirit.

  It took less than an hour out of Tara’s Saturday to come to the service, but it was something she would remember for the rest of her life. Later, Pat and Tara drove out of the cemetery without speaking, still wrapped up in the poignancy of the simple ceremony and the kindness of the man who’d cared enough to make it happen.

  They were driving up Main Street when Pat reached out and gave Tara’s knee a slight pat. “You okay, honey?”

  “I’m fine, Uncle Pat.”

  “How about we grab a couple of burgers at the Sonic and take them home?”

  “That would be great,” she said.

  Don’t forget to order pommes frites.

  Tara leaned back against the seat and smiled. Yes, Millicent, I will eat French fries. Just for you.

  Yum.

  “What are you smiling about?” Pat asked.

  There was no way Tara was going into an explanation of the mental conversation she’d just had, so she lied. It wasn’t a bad lie. Just a necessary one.

  “I was thinking about Flynn,” Tara said.

  Pat rolled his eyes. “Sorry I asked.”

  “Come on, Uncle Pat. He’s a good guy and you know it.”

  “I know. I just don’t like to think about another guy stealing my girl.”

  “Oh, Uncle Pat. No one can steal me from you . . . ever. I was yours first and nothing will ever change tha
t.”

  Now Pat was the one blinking tears. “Thanks, honey.” Then he pointed. “There’s the Sonic. What are you hungry for?”

  “One thing’s for sure, I’m having French fries. And a cheeseburger with everything on it but onions.”

  He grinned. “Gotta keep your breath kissing fresh?”

  “OMG. You did not just say that.”

  Pat was still laughing when he pulled into the parking slot and rolled down the window.

  “Dr. Pepper to drink?” he asked.

  “Absolutely.”

  “Coming right up,” he said, then leaned out and punched the button to order.

  The rest of the day went surprisingly smoothly. Tara called Flynn and told him which movie she wanted to see.

  “Way to go, Moon girl. That was one of my choices, too.”

  “Good,” Tara said. “So, is 7:15 too early for you? The other showing is at 9:45, and I’m afraid I won’t make curfew if we go to the late one.”

  “The first one is good. I get off work at 4:00, remember?”

  “Yeah, right.” Then she added. “How’s your Mom?”

  “Doing okay. She went to see Dad yesterday. She hasn’t said much since she came back, but I know it bothered her.”

  “I’m so sorry for what’s happening.”

  “Yeah, me, too. I can’t change what he did, but I’m not gonna let it pull me down.”

  “You rock, Flynn,” Tara said.

  “Thanks, Moon girl. So I’ll pick you up about 6:45, is that okay?”

  “Yes. See you later.”

  “Yeah. Later.”

  Tara was still wearing her best jeans, but she’d changed from the white long-sleeve shirt to the red and black top and the black hoodie Uncle Pat had bought her. She’d left her hair down because she liked the weight of it hanging against her back.

  When she heard the knock on the door, followed by the sound of Uncle Pat’s laugh, she knew Flynn was here. She gave herself one last glance in the mirror, then left her room.

  “Hey, there she is,” Pat said, as Tara entered the living room. “Wow, you look real pretty, Tara.”

  “You sure do,” Flynn echoed.

  Tara felt herself flushing, but the praise felt good. “Thanks, guys. I do what I can with what I have.”