"Are you kidding? Too much to do."
I imagined him going straight to the station from the airport. I recalled Tim's remarks about how bored Granddad was in murder-free Ridge Grove. Now his department had two unsolved murders. They had their hands full and didn't need or want a so-called clairvoyant.
While I waited for pancakes I wasn't hungry for, I wandered into the living room and dialed Tessa.
"Is everything okay?"
"Yeah," I said. "Just dragging my feet."
"Your grandfather..." She trailed off. "Jude, get down from there."
"Are the kids all right?" I said.
"Everyone's fine. Tim and Zeke are sleeping in. The twins are wandering around. The usual."
A loud clattering sound echoed from the kitchen. I jumped. "Granddad needs a hand," I said. "I'll give you call once we land in D.C."
"Take care of yourself," she said.
The strange note in her voice was quickly forgotten once I entered the kitchen. My jaw dropped. My eyes slid from the pan on the floor to my grandfather's ashen and sweaty face. His breathing was ragged, and he clutched his left arm, a gesture that could have been innocuous—a sudden cramp—if it weren't for his expression. Or his previous heart attack.
He crumpled to the floor.
I stumbled to his side, adrenaline rushing through me. "Mom! Granddad...his heart..."
My throat constricted. I fumbled for my cell phone and couldn't find it. I just had it!
"Mom...911!"
The last time, my grandmother had been here to take control. The last time, I blubbered. I'd made little improvement since then. I felt, rather than saw, my mother kneeling over my grandfather and talking on her cell phone. Granddad's face was distorted in pain. I tried to focus on his eyes, but my vision was blurry. I heard loud wailing and realized it was me.
"Guinan!
I looked at my mother. Calm. Focused. Just like Grandma had been.
I stammered. "Is he...is he going to be okay?"
As soon as I'd spoken the words, his eyelids widened, then fluttered closed.
"Dad!" My mother felt his neck with a finger, then leaned down and put her ear to his chest. "Oh, God, hurry up, hurry up."
I was useless. I sat on the floor beside my mother blubbering. She kept saying everything was going to be okay. The only thing that snapped me out it was the word aspirin. Grandma had given him one while we waited for the ambulance.
I jumped up from the floor, raced upstairs to his bathroom, and fumbled for the bottle in his medicine cabinet. I almost fell down the stairs on the way back. Without telling my mother what I was doing, I opened the bottle, spilling the contents, and put a pill his mouth. He frowned at the bitter taste, but he swallowed it.
My mother felt for a pulse again and let out a slow breath. Someone banged on the front door, and we both jumped. I stayed with him while my mother let in the paramedics.
I heard their voices but not their words. Hands pulled me away from my grandfather, then I felt my mother's arms around me.
My grandfather could be dying, and the foremost thought in my mind was:
I'm not leaving Ridge Grove today after all.
Chapter Twenty-Two
It was all a blur—the trip to the hospital, following my grandfather's gurney through the emergency room's double doors, sitting beside my mother outside the exam area...I hated the hospital's garish lights, its medicine smells, its white walls and shiny floors. And the needles. I heard myself giggle.
"Honey, he'll be all right."
The soothing words came from the person rubbing my back. I removed my hands from my face, sat back, and looked to my left. It was not the face I'd expected to see.
"Where's my mother?"
Tessa's lips twitched. "The doctor called her to the exam room."
I started to rise, but she put a gentle hand on my leg.
"It'll be okay, G."
Zeke sat on my right. I could tell he'd raked his hands through his hair to tame it instead of using a comb. I nodded and tried to be braver than I felt. He pulled me to him, and I leaned against his shoulder. He smelled like fabric softener. I had a balled-up tissue in my hand.
"How did you hear about it?" I said, sitting up.
"Brenda called us," Tessa said. "She'd learned from dispatch that an ambulance had been called to Isaac's address, and well, she's resourceful."
I furrowed my brow. Was that the answer I'd expected? I shook my head to clear it. "Where's Tim?"
"Out in the car with the twins," she said, standing up and looking at her watch. "I was supposed to relieve him about ten minutes ago. He wants to see Isaac."
Zeke and I watched his mother leave. I shivered.
He held my hand.
"I have to tell you something," I said. The voice was mine but sounded like it belonged to someone else.
"Yeah?"
I told him about the precog dream and added, "But I can't leave town with my grandfather like this."
"I don't think you have a choice," he said. "Do you want to be dead?"
"My grandmother changed the future at least once," I said quickly. I told him about Patsy Kroger. He didn't look impressed. "That means the future is not set. It's not inevitable. We can influence things."
"Why take the chance? Your life is more important than that." I tried to pull my hand from his grip, but he wouldn't let go. "You know how I feel about you. Please, you and your mother have to leave. We'll look out for your grandfather."
The heat from his hand spread through me. "We wouldn't leave him like this in a million years. You don't really think—"
He raised his voice. "But your life might be in danger."
A few heads turned our way.
He closed his eyes.
And kissed my hand.
I can't handle this.
I jumped up and walked to the exam area, determined to see Granddad. Before I reached it, a gurney appeared from behind a curtain. I stopped in my tracks. My mother saw me and rushed over.
"They're taking him to a room."
I caught a glimpse of him before the attendant wheeled him into the elevator. He looked pale weak.
"Can I go up, too?"
She put her arm around my shoulders. "Yeah, come on up with me."
I hesitated and looked back at Zeke. He leaned forward with his elbows on his knees.
"What's the room number?"
"Three ten," she said.
"I'll be up in a second, okay?"
She glanced at Zeke and nodded.
I walked past him and motioned for him to follow me. I peered around outside and found a secluded, shady spot on the side of the building. When I was sure no one could see us, I stopped and faced him. I leaned back against the bricks. He looked at me curiously. I took his hand and pulled him to me. He smiled and cupped my face, still wet with tears. His touch was almost painfully tender.
He kissed my cheeks, my forehead, my eyelids. I wanted to melt into him, to forget the things I'd seen and heard, to block out thoughts of what might happen. His soft, cool lips brushed mine, teasing me. Then he parted his lips. Our tongues touched. An electric current pulsed through me. I felt as if I were floating, and I never wanted to come down.
His hands tightened around my waist. My arms around his neck, I pulled him closer. I took in everything—the pressure of his lips, the warm tingle of his hands, the smell of him, the reality of him.
"I had to do that at least once," he said, slightly out of breath. He raked his fingers through my hair and looked at it as if he'd never seen it before. His eyes traveled to my face.
"Your eyes remind me of cinnamon. Did I ever tell you that?"
I was about to answer when he abruptly pulled away. My skin stung from the absence of his touch.
"What's wrong?"
"You're upset. I feel like I'm taking advantage of you."
"What? Don't be ridiculous. You don't think I know my own mind?"
He reached for me but held back.
"That's not what I meant, and you know it."
I closed my eyes. "I need to see Granddad."
He pressed against me. I tried to keep my body stiff, unyielding, but my resolve was no match for his warmth. Life, in all its vibrancy, was as natural as death.
Death. Murder. Anger. Jealousy. Deception. The future. The past.
I rested my head against his chest and listened to his heart beating.
Alive.
I lost track of time.
"I've got to go," I said.
He kissed me for a long time.
"Don't go around asking anymore questions. If you feel like you have to, come get me."
"I will."
"Promise?"
"Promise."
Satisfied, he released me. I walked away, hoping and wishing he'd try to stop me. But Zeke, being Zeke, let me go do what I needed to do.
***
"Is he awake?"
"Not yet, but he's mumbling."
I lingered at the doorway to my grandfather's room. He didn't look like himself. His face was slack and pale. Tubes jutted from his chest, arm, and nose. My mother held out her hand, and I came closer.
"What's he saying?"
She shook her head. "I told your father we won't be arriving today or tomorrow."
If I told her about the precog dream, she'd have two things to worry about.
She gave me a sideways glance. "I'm glad the Hickses came. I know Tim wants to see him, but I don't want anyone but us in here today." She paused. "Zeke seems to have gotten over his issues with you."
I bit my lip. "You and Dad have the same issues."
She flinched as if my words hit her with physical force. "It's not the same." She stared at me, her lips pressed together. "Well, at least I've never called you a witch."
I inclined my head. "There's that."
She let out a sigh of frustration. "Oh, Guinan, I've been wrong about so many things. Don't hold it against me. I'm trying to make up for it."
"It's okay. Let's focus on Granddad, get him all better."
Her lips trembled. She cleared her throat. "I'll go tell Tessa that Dad's going to be okay. Tim can come to the house to see him."
When she left, I stared at Isaac Jepson, the man who'd raised me for six years. I didn't have to look into his eyes to sense what he was likely thinking in the haze of unconsciousness. He grunted in his sleep.
"Granddad?" He opened his eyes, bloodshot and glassy. I placed my hand on his forehead. Cool and damp. "You had another heart attack. You're in the hospital."
"Have to go...airport."
"Mom and I are here."
His lids fluttered, then he focused on me. "The dream..."
I swallowed. "Don't worry about me. You need to relax."
He furrowed his brow, and I thought for a moment he was in pain. The beeping from his heart monitor increased.
"How could I not worry about you?"
"I'm going to take care of myself. And you." My voice shook.
He closed his eyes. "Where's Saundra?"
"She went to tell Tim and Tessa you're going to be okay."
"I want to talk to Tim," he said.
"Mom's sending them away. You know how she is."
"No," he said, breathless. "Go tell him I want to see him."
"But Granddad—"
"I won't let you do anything stupid."
Before I could answer, a nurse swept into the room, checked the monitor, and prodded me out of the way.
"Mr. Jepson, how are you feeling?"
"I need to see Tim Hicks."
"You need to relax, sir," the nurse said. "Your body's suffered a trauma."
I expected him to protest again, but he closed his eyes. "Granddad?"
The nurse held a finger up to her lips and motioned for me to follow her to the hall.
"He needs to rest," she said. "I came to tell Mrs. Jones...oh, there she is."
I turned to see her hurrying down the hall, eyes wide. "What happened? Is my father all right?"
"He's fine, Mrs. Jones. I was telling your daughter he needs to rest. The doctor will update you on his condition." We watched the nurse enter another patient's room.
"Did he wake up?" my mother said.
"He, uh, for a minute, yeah." The relief that spread across her face made my heart swell.
"What did he say?"
"He was concerned about us missing our flight." It was a half-truth.
She shook her head and laughed.
"What did the Hickses say?"
"Oh, they understand. I told them he'd probably be home in a couple of days."
"When do you think we'll leave?"
She eyed me skeptically. "Now you want to leave?"
I hesitated. "Of course, not, but I'll need to prepare myself all over again."
We walked to the elevator, and I glanced back at Granddad's room. Tomorrow, when he woke up, when we came to see him, he was going to tell my mother about the dream. I needed to tell her before then. But there was something I needed to do first.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Some psychic power I had.
I dreamed about what likely was my death, but I couldn't see the person's face or determine how far into the future it would happen. And why couldn't I see my grandfather's heart attack coming...something useful?
I barely slept that night. Instead, I paced. I felt the way my room looked: bare and dark. My so-called powers involved sensing people's emotions. Big deal. Anybody with half a brain and an ounce of sensitivity could do that. And reading dead people's thoughts? Most of the time, the so-called thoughts were the ramblings of a fading mind.
I stubbed a toe on the leg of my desk and let out a string of profanities in my head. I cursed the darkness. I cursed myself. I cursed the killer. I cursed everyone who'd ever called me a witch.
If I had to deal with that label, I wanted useful powers.
I sat on the floor and gingerly rubbed my toe. Had my grandmother ever been frustrated about how weak her abilities might have been? She might have seen terrible things she hadn't been able to stop or influence. I wondered if she could do more than sense emotions or see final thoughts.
I stopped rubbing my toe and leaned against the bed. Before Grandma's parents committed her to a mental hospital, she used to say her abilities were a gift from God. I had a hard time believing mine were. Where did the ability to read people, dead or alive, come from? How is possible? I had never, not in my whole life, ever tried to find out.
But right now, the answers didn't matter that much. My grandfather had a heart attack I hadn't seen coming. According to the doctor, he'd recover. According to my dream, I would not. If Grandma could change the future, I had to believe I could, too.
***
Visiting hours started at noon. Restless, I left the house around ten-thirty. Now here I was on Eric Rodman's front porch. The emotions that emanated from him were tangible. Contempt. A strong desire that I disappear.
"Some psychic you are," he said. He leaned against the doorframe, his arms folded. "You don't know any more than I do."
"Maybe I do, maybe I don't," I said. That was mature. "But I'm getting there. Just tell me what I need to know, and I'll leave you alone. Forever."
He rolled his eyes. "That's the point, isn't it? I don't have to tell you anything."
I widened my eyes in mock shock. "You don't want to know who killed Kate? You want a murderer to go free, knowing he took something away from you?"
The blood left his face, and I thought I noticed him tremble slightly. His emotions were so overwhelming, I erected the red-brick wall.
"Stop staring at me like that."
I blinked and glanced away. "Whatever."
"I told the cops I was with Tamzen Thursday night."
I hadn't seen that coming. My best friend had quickly moved on from Zeke. "Her parents are still out of town?"
I stared at him. "You and Tamzen are each other's alibi for the night Skeeter died?"
"We didn't do anything," he said. "We talked and fell asleep. I woke up around five and left. Funny how things work like that, huh?"
He could have killed Skeeter before he went to Tamzen's.
"The two of you could have done it together and use each other as an alibi," I said.
He kept a humorous expression. "I guess we could have. Some best friend you are, accusing her of murder."
I ignored the remark. "You tried to kill Skeeter before."
"Not true, but let's say I did. I changed my MO, went to his trailer and beat his brains out, knowing I'd be the first one they'd suspect?"
"Just throwing some things out there. What I find odd is there have been two murders in this town, and everybody's gone about their business, like it happens all the time." I reminded myself of my mother.
He shrugged. "Maybe everybody's thinking the same thing. They deserved to die. Kate was a home-wrecking slut, and Skeeter was a drug dealer taking up oxygen."
"But we don't get to decide who lives and who dies," I said. "We don't have the right to—"
"Are we done here?" he said, taking a few steps back inside his house. "I've got things to do."
He shut the door in my face with more force than necessary. Jerk.
I started my car and sat with the engine idling. What the heck was I doing? What did I think I could do that the police couldn't?
I headed for Busby's and remembered that it was crowded on Sundays. I made a detour to a coffee shop with too-expensive coffee. I ordered juice and a breakfast sandwich, chose a table farthest from the door, and processed this new information.
Eric and Tamzen were together Thursday night. That morning, she'd come to my house and issued what could be interpreted as a threat. That same day, Zeke and I had gone to Eric's. Had he and I played a part in their getting together that night?
Get over yourself.
I ate the sandwich without really tasting it. I took a pen and a notepad from my purse. I created two columns. The suspects for Kate's murder were pretty much the same as Skeeter's, except in his case, I factored in other drug dealers and customers he'd screwed over.
Black-Eyed Moon (A Guinan Jones Paranormal Mystery #1) Page 13
