“Dear Lord, have mercy!” Mrs. Crabtree shrieked, staring at Tara in disbelief.
Tara sighed. “Back off, Millicent.”
I think that went well.
“I’ll just bet you do,” Tara muttered. She picked up her backpack and started out the door. Then something about Mrs. Crabtree nudged at Tara’s instincts. She paused then looked back. “Um . . . Mrs. Crabtree, you live in the house where you grew up, don’t you?”
The principal’s hands were over her mouth to keep from screaming, and the expression in her eyes was just shy of hysterics. But she managed to nod.
“You should probably know that your mother hid a whole bunch of money under the floor board in her bedroom. She also hid more in a shoe box in the attic. She put it where you keep Christmas ornaments. It’s in an old trunk underneath a couple of quilts. You should retrieve it all soon. A mouse has been nibbling on the money under the floor for about a month.”
“My mother has been dead for twenty-three years. Longer than you’ve been alive. How do you know this?”
“I’m psychic, remember. Are we done?”
“Yes.”
The bell rang.
“I’d better get to third period.”
“Yes.”
“So, you won’t be mentioning anything we’ve said to anyone, will you?”
“Probably not.
“Thank you, Mrs. Crabtree. My life is complicated enough without everyone grilling me about their future or what numbers to pick for the lottery, and stuff like that.”
Then she turned around and left the office before anything else went flying.
Tara waited until most of the other students were gone before leaving her last class of the day, then dragged her feet all the way to her locker. This day had totally sucked. She kept telling herself that none of it really mattered because a boy who would have died, was alive. And, the principal could have suspended her for claiming to be psychic then performing magic tricks—flying pens and spilling coffee—but she hadn’t. Still, Tara felt defeated—drained of all the joy she’d started the day with. She didn’t know why her path in this life was supposed to be so hard. Growing up without parents. Being born both psychic and a medium, as if having one bizarre “gift” wasn’t hard enough. So many problems. So little time to solve them.
She tossed her folder into the locker, shuffled books out of her backpack, and put some others in that she would have to study from tonight, then slammed the locker shut. The sound echoed down the hall. A janitor looked up briefly.
Tara waved. “Sorry,” she said.
He nodded, then went back to sweeping.
Tara slung her backpack over her shoulder and started toward the front door. As she exited the building, a girl came up the steps to meet her.
“Hey . . . aren’t you Tara Luna?”
Tara froze. Now what? She eyed the girl curiously, checking out her attitude. She didn’t pick up on any antagonism, which was a first.
“Yes. Who wants to know?” Tara asked, then winced. That sounded too defensive. But it was too late to take back.
“My name is Nikki Scott. Corey Palmer is my boyfriend. I just got back from the hospital. He told me what you did today and I just wanted to say thank you for saving his life.”
The kindness was so unexpected, she was caught off guard. She tried to speak, and then found herself swallowing around a lump in her throat, instead.
“Yes, well . . . I’m glad I could help.”
Nikkie pointed toward the parking lot. Most of the cars were gone in the student parking lot, except for a truck and a gray Chevy Trailblazer. “The SUV is mine. Do you need a ride home?”
For pity’s sake, say yes!
Millicent was still trying to run her life. Only this time, she had a good point.
“You sure you want to be seen with a witch?” Tara asked.
Nikki shrugged. “That is so lame. Not every one at Stillwater High is in Bethany’s stupid gossip clan.”
“She hasn’t been so bad,” Tara said. “But Prissy is another story.”
“Prissy wants to be Bethany. Bethany feeds off the power trip that being head cheerleader gives her.
“Now, do you want that ride home or not?”
“Yes, that would be great,” Tara said. “I live over on Duck Street.”
“No problem,” Nikki said, and together, they walked toward the parking lot.
By the time Nikki let her out at the driveway, Tara had learned that Nikki had two younger sisters—Rachelle, who was thirteen, and Morgan, who was eleven. Her father worked for the government. Her mother worked for the Bureau of Indian Affairs, and her mother was Native American, which explained Nikki’s pretty, almond-shaped eyes, high cheekbones, and golden skin.
Tara, on the other hand, had been less forthcoming. She’d admitted to having no parents except for Uncle Pat, and that they moved around a lot. The rest she left unsaid.
“Well, thanks for the ride,” Tara said as she reached for the door handle.
“No. Thank you for Corey,” Nikki said.
Tara smiled. “Yeah. Sure.”
“So . . . see you tomorrow?”
Tara’s smile widened. “Okay.”
For a day that had started out weird and moved into stressful, it was ending on a high note. Tara waved as Nikki drove away, and when she went into the house, her steps were bouncing.
She didn’t sense DeeDee anywhere around, which, considering the day she’d had, was good.
She changed into a pair of shorts and traded tennis shoes for flip-flops, then got out her homework and dug in. An hour into it, she stopped long enough to make a casserole of baked beans and wieners and pop it in the oven, then went back to work. She was finishing the last of it when the timer went off, signaling the casserole was done.
Tara shoved her books and paper aside and got up to get a couple of potholders from the drawer. She set the casserole aside to cool, and began making a salad when she heard a car drive up. She glanced at the clock then frowned. It was early for Uncle Pat.
When the doorbell rang, she put the salad in the fridge to stay cool and was wiping her hands when Henry popped up in front of her, waving his hands in a panic.
“What?” Tara asked.
Don’t open the door.
Startled by their warnings, Tara’s heart thumped erratically. “Why? Who’s out there?” she asked, and slipped into the living room to peek out the window. Curiosity was replaced by shock and then fear.
Emmit Broyles!
He’d run her off his property and now he was here? What could he possibly have to say to her that was good? He’d already denied having a sister, and at the mention of ghosts, he turned as pale as one. Tara didn’t have to be told by her own two ghosts not to let him in. “Hello! Anybody home?” Emmit Broyles yelled, and then knocked loudly on the door again.
Tara flinched, but stood still, waiting for him to leave.
Only he didn’t.
To Tara’s horror, the doorknob turned. Then she heard keys jangling and gasped in shock. Surely he didn’t still have a key to the place? Surely someone had changed the locks years ago?
When she heard a key slipping into the lock, she bolted down the hall. She started to hide in her room, then something told her to run to Uncle Pat’s instead. She jumped into his closet, crawled behind his clothes, then pulled them all in front of her until she was completely hidden. All she could think about was her cell phone, lying on the kitchen table beside her homework. Emmit was bound to figure out someone was home.
Then her heart nearly stopped.
Maybe that was his intention all along. Maybe he’d come at this time on purpose, knowing she’d be here alone. Maybe he was intending to kill her.
Oh God, oh God, please don’t let
him find me.
Then she heard him in their house.
His footsteps were loud on the wooden floors as he moved through the rooms. She guessed he was following his nose first, because she heard him go into the kitchen, but he didn’t stay there long. She heard doors opening, then closing in the living room, and knew he’d looked in both closets. Then she heard him coming down the hall. Her heart was beating so hard and so loud she could hardly breathe. She clamped her hands over her mouth to keep from screaming and closed her eyes, willing him to leave.
Footsteps stopped in the hall outside the door to Uncle Pat’s room, then, just as she’d guessed, he went straight into her room. She heard him opening drawers and doors and cringed, imagining him putting his huge, ugly hands all over her things, handling her underwear, shuffling through the hangars where she’d hung her clothes. Looking in her bathroom, touching her things.
OMG, this could not be happening.
Then it got worse. She heard him exit her bedroom and pause, then he opened the door to Uncle Pat’s room.
Oh please, oh please, oh please, Tara prayed.
His footsteps were less firm here, and she realized he’d stepped up on the braided rug at the foot of Uncle Pat’s bed. Obviously, he knew this was a man’s room. Everything in it, including the old shoes shoved beneath the old rocking chair were made for a man.
She didn’t move and was barely breathing when she heard him open the door to the closet. She felt rather than saw the first hangars moving aside, then all of a sudden, she heard him scream. It was a high-pitched sound, almost like a girl.
She didn’t know what had happened, but he was running and the sounds were fading, which meant he was moving away from her. She heard the front door open, then slam shut, then the sound of a car engine starting. Emmit Broyles gunned the engine of his car and left rubber on their driveway, then more rubber on the street in front of their house.
Tara was shaking when she finally got up and crawled out.
She sat down on the side of Uncle Pat’s bed and tried to quit trembling, but the longer she sat, the worse it got until she found herself sobbing.
Suddenly, she realized she was no longer alone. Only it wasn’t Henry and Millicent that she sensed. She looked up, and then shuddered on a sob.
DeeDee.
It was DeeDee, and there was a look of anger on her face. Understanding hit like a fist in the stomach. Now she knew what had made Emmit Broyles scream like a girl. He’d just seen his sister’s ghost.
“Was it you?” Tara asked, then heard DeeDee sigh. “I think you just saved my life,” she added.
DeeDee drifted toward her, but this time Tara felt no threat.
“Did he kill you? Was it your brother who buried your body in the back yard?”
No answer. Tara frowned. Millicent had been right. DeeDee truly didn’t know.
“What can you tell me about where you were buried?”
A brief image of upturned earth and a pile of leaves flashed through Tara’s mind and then it was gone—along with DeeDee.
That’s when Tara realized she was hearing another car pull up into the driveway. She glanced at the clock. That would be Uncle Pat.
She debated about telling him what had happened, then knew if she told, she would also have to confess to visiting Emmit Broyles first, and that would lead to admitting she’d seen DeeDee’s ghost, and then telling him there was a body buried in the back yard and the reason she knew it was there was because Millicent told her, and then having to explain that Millicent was her own personal ghost, which would send Uncle Pat into a frenzy. He’d solve all this by moving again before she could say no, and she didn’t want to leave. For the first time in her life, Tara felt like this place might actually become their first home. Not just another place to rent on their way to somewhere else.
All she had to do was find DeeDee’s body, and get the ball rolling on an investigation that would take Emmit Broyles out of polite society for keeps. So when she heard the front door open, she bolted out of his room and then headed down the hall to meet Uncle Pat with a smile on her face and a spring in her step, as if her day had been just about perfect. If her act had been filmed, she would have been nominated for an Oscar.
“Hey, Tara, honey. Something sure smells good,” Uncle Pat said, as he gave her a hug.
“Baked beans and weenies. Your favorite.”
“Boy, oh boy. Let me change and wash up and I’ll be right there.”
He gave her a quick kiss and then went to his room as Tara staggered into the kitchen. She put away her homework and then set the table. By the time he came in, she’d pulled herself together.
The evening passed without further consequence, although Tara made a decision to convince Uncle Pat he needed to change the locks on the house, and to get herself a weapon. Even though she seriously doubted Emmit Broyles would have the guts to come back and face his sister’s ghost again, she wasn’t taking any chances.
Chapter Six
It wasn’t until Tara got to school the next day that she learned her lunatic life was about to get worse. Besides the ongoing drama of high school, a new and frightening fact had been added.
Bethany Fanning was missing.
According to those in the know, Bethany had called her father after cheerleading practice yesterday, said she was stopping at the supermarket then coming straight home. Only she never arrived.
After hours of worry and calling her cell phone with no answer, her parents found her car abandoned in the supermarket parking lot. The car wouldn’t start, although the keys were still in the ignition. The police first supposed that she’d probably started to walk home after experiencing car trouble, only that didn’t hold water. She would have called her father to come get her. And her purse was still in the car, lying on the floor. Her cell phone was on the seat, as if she’d tossed it inside then disappeared.
Tara was as stunned by the news as everyone else, but it wasn’t until the police showed up at school and began calling students out of class that it became clear they were questioning all of Bethany’s friends about her last hours on campus. The heck of it was, when they were through with her friends, they were bound to start with her enemies, and Tara was willing to bet that her name would be on that list.
When the bell rang for lunch, Tara put her backpack in her locker then headed for the lunchroom. She went through the line, choosing a hamburger and fries. She was reaching for fruit and cookies when someone slid their tray into hers.
She looked up. It was Nikki Scott, and she was smiling.
“Hey,” Nikki said.
The friendly smile was not only welcome, it was slightly surprising. Tara hadn’t really expected Nikki to acknowledge her again.
“Hey, yourself,” Tara said.
“You sittin’ with anyone?” Nikki asked.
“No.”
“Come sit with us,” Nikki said, then led the way to a table where a couple of other kids were already parked. “Hey guys,” Nikki said, as she slid her tray on the table. “This is Tara. Tara, these are my friends, Mackenzie and Penny.”
“Hi,” Tara said.
“Hi yourself,” Mackenzie said. “Just call me Mac.”
Penny scooted over to give Tara room to sit.
Overwhelmed by the unexpected gesture, Tara gladly slid into the seat.
“Cool, what you did,” Mac said. “Helping Corey like that.”
“Yeah. Seriously cool,” Penny added, then pointed to Nikki’s plate. “You gonna eat that pickle?”
Nikki frowned as she covered her plate with her hands. “Dang, Penny. I just sat down. And yes, I’m going to eat my pickle. I love dill pickles. Why else would I put them on my plate?”
“To give to me?” Penny said, and then grinned.
Everyone laughed, and the meal be
gan. Bethany’s disappearance was a key topic, but no one could believe anything serious had happened to her. “Probably hooked up with some guy,” Penny said.
Tara answered questions between bites, and asked a few of her own. By the time they were finished, she knew that the girls were on the high school softball team, and that Nikki was a star pitcher. A fact Nikki had neglected to mention yesterday.
Finally, there was a lull in the banter.
“So how is Corey today?” Tara asked.
“He’s good,” Nikki said. “Except his folks are taking him to Tulsa to run some tests tomorrow. Something about his heart rhythm.”
Tara nodded. “That’s good. I hope the doctors figure out what’s wrong and make him better.”
“You and me, both,” Nikki said.
Mac licked the ketchup from a finger, then angled a look up at Tara. “So, what’s your thing?” she asked.
Tara frowned. “My thing?”
“Yeah. You know. Sports. Art. Debate. Choir. Your thing? What’s your fav?”
Well, well, Millicent inserted. Is it me, or Henry?
Tara grinned. Millicent was always claiming to be Tara’s favorite. Wouldn’t you just love to know, she thought.
“Growing up, we’ve moved around so much that it never paid to get involved. I’m no good at sports. I tried band one year. Uncle Pat rented my instrument . . . a clarinet . . . and before I got past the first few lessons, we’d moved. After that, I never bothered again.”
“No biggie,” Mac said. “So, who’s the Hollywood hottie who winds up in your dreams?”
Tara grinned. “I’m liking me some Orlando Bloom.”
“He’s so old!”
“How about Taylor Lautner?”
“The guy who plays the werewolf?”
“Oooh, sister. That’s what I’m talking about,” Nikki said, and then high-fived Tara.
They laughed in unison, which drew a few stares from kids at nearby tables, before they looked away. Mel and Prissy gave Tara such scalding looks that her skin prickled. They’re up to something.
When her last class of the day rolled around, Tara had barely been seated before her name was called over the loudspeaker.
Sharon Sala - [Lunatic Life 01] Page 8
