“Tara Luna. Report to the principal’s office.”
Tara’s heart skipped a beat.
Her teacher nodded, giving her permission to leave, and Tara gathered up her stuff and left the classroom without looking back. She imagined everyone, including Flynn, whispering among themselves as to what was about to happen, picturing her hauled away in handcuffs.
Her feet were dragging as she started up the hall. She hadn’t spoken to Mrs. Crabtree since yesterday’s incident. Facing her and the police was going to be tricky.
I’m with you all the way.
“For God’s sake . . . and mine, Millicent. Whatever you do, don’t help.”
Whatever.
Tara sighed. That’s all she needed. Flying coffee cups and airborne pencils. A few moments later, she reached the office, then knocked on the door.
“Come in.”
Tara walked inside, closing the door behind her. Besides Mrs. Crabtree, there were three other people in the room. Two were detectives. She saw the badges clipped to their belts. All of a sudden, her psychic sense kicked in. The third man was the school attorney. So, if the school needed a lawyer, then where was hers?
I’m here if you need me.
No, Millicent. For the last time, let me handle this.
“Tara, this is Detective Rutherford and Detective Allen of the Stillwater police. The gentleman to my right is Walker Mowbry, attorney for Stillwater Public Schools. Gentlemen, this is Tara Luna. She’s a new student in our senior class.”
“Hi guys,” Tara said, and shifted her backpack. “Am I sitting down, or do I line up against the wall and wait for the firing squad?”
Detective Rutherford grinned. Detective Allen looked away. The attorney frowned. Mrs. Crabtree knew better than to comment. She was still trying to come to terms with the fact that this strange girl, who claimed to be psychic, had correctly predicted she would find money in two places in her home. She and her husband had stayed up until after midnight last night counting it. It was something over seventy-eight thousand dollars, including the bills that the mice had been nibbling on. She didn’t know whether to thank this young woman or wear a necklace of garlic bulbs around her neck.
“Have a seat, dear,” she said.
“Garlic is for vampires, not witches,” Tara whispered, then propped her backpack against the chair, sat down and waited. Mrs. Crabtree moaned, and sank back into her chair.
Detective Rutherford frowned at the her and Tara, then took out a small notepad and flipped it open while the other detective moved into her line of sight and sat on the corner of the principal’s desk.
“As you know, we’re investigating the disappearance of one of your classmates, Bethany Fanning,” Detective Allen said.
Tara nodded.
“Can you tell us about your day yesterday? I understand you had a run-in with Bethany.”
Tara frowned. “Um . . . no sir, that’s not true. I’ve hardly spoken a half-dozen words to her since the year started. It’s her friend, Prissy, who’s decided I don’t deserve to draw breath.”
“Really?” he drawled, then glanced down at his notebook.
Tara could see the words as clearly as if she was reading them herself, even though he was across the room from her.
“No I am not a wiccan. A witch. A wizard. None of the above.”
Allen looked startled, then glanced up at Tara. “Er . . . you say you did not argue with Bethany?”
“No sir. Bethany is kind of stuck on herself, but she seems okay. She just hangs out with a psycho named Prissy.”
“Are you referring to Priscilla Marshall?”
“Is that her name? All I know is Prissy.”
“Why did you call Prissy a psycho?”
“Where do I start? She cheated on a test and got caught and blames me. She got kicked off the cheerleading squad and somehow that’s my fault, too. And it’s all because I don’t bow down when I see her. She’s spread it all over school that I’m a witch. Look at me. A witch? I mean . . . she’s a psycho, okay?”
“Is this true, Mrs. Crabtree?”
Tara glanced over at the principal, who looked at her nervously, then looked away.
“The facts Tara stated are true. Priscilla likes to cause trouble.”
“Hmm,” Detective Rutherford said, and then he began asking questions while Allen stepped aside. “So, where did you go after school yesterday?”
“Home.”
“Can anyone vouch for that?”
“One of the janitors saw me in the hall after most of the others were gone. I waved at him as I left.”
“What’s the janitor’s name?”
“I don’t’ know. He’s the tall skinny one with red hair.”
“That would be Harold Wells,” the principal said.
The detective made a note.
Tara continued. “As I was leaving, a girl named Nikki Scott met me on the steps outside and gave me a ride home. Otherwise I would have walked.”
“You don’t own a car?”
“No. My Uncle Pat and I share one.”
“Where are your parents?”
“I don’t have any. They died when I was a baby. There’s just Uncle Pat and me.”
“Is he home?”
“No sir. He’s a meter reader for the city of Stillwater. His name is Patrick Carmichael.” She recited his cell phone number. The detective made some more notes.
“Who’s Nikki Scott to you? Does she give you a ride every day?”
“No sir. I didn’t know her until yesterday.”
“It’s quite a coincidence that you suddenly have an alibi for your whereabouts yesterday, when you wouldn’t have had before.”
Tara didn’t like the tone of his voice, and she knew Millicent didn’t either.
“People don’t wake up thinking to give themselves an alibi for every day of their life. At least I don’t. And the reason I just met Nikki Scott yesterday is because, on that same day, she claims I saved her boyfriend’s life and she came back to thank me.”
Now all three men were paying attention. Mrs. Crabtree looked nervous. She’d forgotten to mention that, earlier. Now she feared it would appear she’d been trying to influence the detectives against Tara.
“Is that so?” Rutherford asked. “How did you do that?”
Tara glared at the principal. “Mrs. Crabtree knows. I would have thought she’d told you.”
“Well. I’m sorry. That incident completely slipped my mind after learning of Bethany’s disappearance.”
Tara looked calmly at the detectives. “A kid named Corey Palmer was having a seizure on the floor of the boy’s bathroom yesterday afternoon. I called for help. Coach Jones performed CPR, brought him back to life, and I understand he’s okay today. Nikki Scott goes with Corey Palmer, only I didn’t know either one of them until yesterday because I’m new. It seems that makes me the favorite butt to kick. I’m really sorry Bethany Fanning is missing, but I don’t hang out with her and don’t see her outside of school. So that’s how I got my ride home with Nikki Scott, which has turned out lucky for me because it seems I need an alibi, and that’s where I was the rest of the evening . . . with Uncle Pat . . . eating beans and weenies and doing homework until after 11:00, because I think Mrs. Farmer must like to grade papers.”
Detective Allen stifled a smile.
“Thank you, Miss Luna. I believe that’s all we need from you for now,” he said.
“Yes, sir.” Then she added. “I hope you find Bethany soon.” Then she reached down to pick up her backpack.
As she did, the pen Detective Rutherford was holding exploded. Allen took a step back and then fell because his shoelaces were tied together. Mrs. Crabtree screamed and dived under her desk.
Tara sighed.
“I told you not to do that,” she muttered to Millicent, as she headed for the door.
“What the hell just happened?” the lawyer yelled.
She heard Mrs. Crabtree whimpering.
Tara shouldered her backpack and kept on moving.
No one messes with my girl, Millicent said.
Tara grinned all the way back to class. As she opened the door, everyone, including Flynn, looked up.
The teacher acknowledged her with a nod, and Tara returned to her seat. It wasn’t five minutes before the intercom sounded in their room again. “Flynn O’Mara, please report to the principal’s office.”
Tara heard Flynn shuffling papers and books behind her, but she didn’t even look up as he passed by her desk. She didn’t know how she felt about him anymore, but she didn’t wish him any harm.
The bell rang before he came back, so Tara didn’t have the opportunity to pick up on his emotions to see how it went. Which, she reminded herself, was just as well. He’d already disappointed her once. No need setting herself up for another fall.
Outside the school building, a group had assembled. As Tara came closer, she realized it was members of the cheerleading squad and pep squad, as well as several of the football players. They had a clipboard, trying to get kids to sign up to help with a car wash to help raise money to add to the reward her parents had already posted. Fifty thousand dollars was a bunch of money. If someone had seen anything suspicious, they would surely come forward with the information.
As she passed by the group, Mel caught Tara’s eye, hesitated, then walked toward her.
“Um . . . hey . . . lunatic, I mean, Tara . . . would you like to help with the car wash this Saturday?”
Once more, Tara was surprised by the offer. “Yeah, sure. Where are you having it, and what time?”
“The parking lot of Stillwater National Bank. That’s where Bethany’s father works. And we’re having it from 9:00 a.m. until 5:00. Just sign your name on the hour or hours you can help. We would appreciate it.”
Tara noticed that most of the afternoon hours were already taken, which meant no one wanted to wake up early on Saturday. Considering all that had passed between her and the trio of cheerleaders, she figured she could wake up a little early for a good cause. She signed herself up from 9 to 11.
“I hope they find Bethany before Saturday,” Tara said, as she handed the clipboard back to Mel.
Mel nodded, then watched as Tara walked away.
Tara had planned to spend some time in the backyard searching for DeeDee’s grave again. She wasn’t too worried about Emmit Broyles making a return trip to their house. Not after seeing his dead sister’s ghost. Still, she needed to resolve the issue and finding the body was the only thing that would start an investigation into DeeDee’s death.
But the sky started darkening on her way home from school, and from the looks of the clouds, it was definitely going to rain. Not wanting to get caught out in another late summer thunderstorm, she began to walk faster. About four blocks from home, she heard the first rumblings of thunder.
Better run for it.
“Shoot,” Tara said, but she knew Millicent’s warnings well enough to heed them.
She shifted her backpack to a more secure location and started running, and it was a good thing she did. The first drops of rain were just beginning to fall when she hit the front porch steps. Now that she was safely under the porch, she quickly unlocked the door and hurried inside. The rain was coming down in sheets, and the wind had started to blow. She switched on the TV to see if they were under any weather alerts. Storms were one thing. Tornadoes were another. To her relief, it was just a fast-moving thunderstorm that was predicted to pass before nightfall. But it ended her plan to search the backyard again.
She made a quick run through the house, making sure all the windows were shut. Once she was satisfied all was well, she grabbed a can of pop and a couple of cookies and began working on homework. The intermittent weather reports kept breaking into regular programming. She kept the sound turned down low, but the background noise was somehow comforting.
When a particularly loud roll of thunder sounded overhead, followed by a close lightning strike, it made her jump. She winced, then looked up and out at the downpour and wondered where Bethany was, and if she was even still alive. It was a horrible thought, but the world was not kind a one, especially to kids. Predators were everywhere.
It had occurred to her more than once to try and get a “fix” on Bethany, but psychically, nothing came through. Neither Henry or Millicent had mentioned her, which wasn’t all that unusual. They didn’t usually bother Tara with information from their world, unless it directly affected her or Uncle Pat.
A few minutes later, the phone rang. Tara got up to answer. It didn’t occur to her until she was already putting the phone to her ear that Uncle Pat would have called her on her cell.
“Hello?”
“You bitch! What have you done with Bethany?”
Tara sighed. Prissy. “You know good and well I didn’t do anything to her,” Tara said calmly. “You’re just scared and upset because your friend is missing. I get that. But you need to stop telling lies about me. I’m not going to put up with it forever.”
“What? What are you going to do? Make me disappear, too?”
“Do you hear yourself?” Tara said. “Make you disappear? Are you nuts? I am no freakin’ witch or magician, here. I don’t make my classmates do disappearing acts.”
“Then how do you explain that dust devil? And food flying through the air in the lunch room, and the stuff you know about us that you shouldn’t know?”
“I don’t explain myself, Prissy. I try to mind my own business. You really need to do the same.”
Tara hung up.
She sighed in frustration and started to return to her homework when an image flashed through her mind so fast she almost thought she’d imagined it. It was Bethany locked in a closet. She held a half-eaten bag of cheese puffs and a bottle of soda near her feet. And she was crying. Then it was gone.
Tara turned in a circle, trying to decide what to do first. Should she call the police? Should she . . .
What do you plan to say to the police? That you had a vision?
Tara stopped. Her shoulders slumped, then she exhaled slowly as reality surfaced.
“Yeah. Right. What do I say? Oh . . . say guys . . . you might like to know I just saw Bethany Fanning. No . . . not in person. Just in my head. No, sorry, I don’t know where she is or who has her. All I know is she’s alive and tied up like a Thanksgiving turkey.”
She sat down at the kitchen table. “This sucks,” she said, then folded her arms on the table and buried her head.
It’s not your job to save the world.
Tara lifted her head. The rain was still coming down. The television was still playing. Nothing had changed—except that Tara knew something no one else in the world knew—that someone had kidnapped Bethany—and she couldn’t do anything about it.
“If it’s not my job, then why do I see what I see, if I’m not supposed to make a difference?”
Henry popped up in front of the window. Tara sighed. How weird was it to watch it rain through the belly of a ghost?
“I don’t suppose you have anything to tell me about Bethany?” He raised his hands in a helpless gesture. “Thanks anyway.”
Before she could ask him anything else, there was a knock on her door. The last time someone had knocked at the door, it had been Emmit. She grabbed her cell phone as she headed into the living room. If it was Broyles, she wasn’t going to be caught without a way to call for help again.
She didn’t see a car when she looked out the window, then she peered sideways and gasped. Flynn? Should she let him in? He knocked again.
Oh for pity’s sake. I�
�ll do it.
Before Tara could stop her, Millicent opened the door. The fact that Tara was a good fifteen feet away from the door handle was not lost on Flynn as he stared at her standing in the living room.
“What the hell?” he muttered.
“Don’t ask,” Tara said, as she hurried forward. “Oh my gosh . . . you’re soaked. What were you thinking, coming all this way in the rain?”
Flynn sighed. “I was thinking I didn’t want to spend another night feeling guilty for hurting your feelings.”
Tara’s heart skipped a beat. How sweet is this?
Don’t gush all over him. Play hard to get.
Mind your own business, Tara thought. “So come in out of the rain,” she said.
He shook his head. “No. I’ll get everything all wet. I just wanted to stop by and tell you I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”
Tara wanted to throw her arms around his neck and hug him madly.
“I’m glad you stopped by,” she said.
Flynn combed his wet hair away from his face with his fingers, then nodded.
“So . . . that’s that,” he said, and started to leave.
“Wait!” Tara said.
“Yeah?”
“You got grilled by the police today, too, didn’t you?”
“Oh yeah. Did they ask if you had an alibi for yesterday afternoon, too?”
“Yes. Luckily, Nikki Scott had given me a ride home. I can’t believe they think one of us would hurt Bethany. What did you tell them?”
“I was bussing tables at Eskimo Joe’s until almost midnight. Mom and I rode home together.”
“Lucky for you.”
“Yeah. Uh . . . Bethany and I sort of . . . uh, this past summer she—”
“Oh, I know all about that, including the fact that she didn’t dump you. You’re the one who called it off. She was using you to tick off her parents, wasn’t she? Stupid move. Hope it didn’t hurt your feelings.”
Flynn was stunned, and it showed. “How do you know all that? I didn’t tell anyone, and I can guarantee Bethany wouldn’t own up to it.”
Sharon Sala - [Lunatic Life 01] Page 9
