by Sharon Sala
When he saw a small pair of headlights suddenly appear out of the dark, Vince breathed a shaky sigh of relief. It would suck eggs to freeze to death on this wild-goose chase here in the States, tracking down some stupid teenager who supposedly saw ghosts. Michael O’Mara was dead, and wherever he’d buried that damn drug money, it would most likely stay buried for eternity. If Vince had his druthers, he’d pack up and go back home to Canada.
He jumped out in the snowdrift, cursing softly as the snow went up past his knees, and began waving his arms as the old John Deere tractor came near.
Boots Digby pulled up to the snowbound truck and turned around until he was facing the other way, then got out of the tractor cab and waded through the snow. “Man, this stuff is deep here.”
Vince didn’t bother to comment. He wanted to get back to the house. “Did you bring a chain?”
“Yep, yep I did,” Dig said, returned to the tractor, and unwound the large coil of chain on the back.
“Here, give it to me,” Vince said. “I’m so cold I can’t feel my feet.” Vince dug through the snow beneath his truck to get to the front axle and hooked the chain around it. He got up, brushing snow off his clothes as he crawled back into the truck.
Dig had already hooked his end of the chain to the tractor and was patiently waiting for Vince to get back in the truck. When he did, Dig put the tractor in gear and moved forward slowly until the chain was fully extended, then began the laborious process of pulling Vince and his vehicle back to the house.
The house belonged to May Schulter, who’d been part of the gang Michael O’Mara belonged to when he was arrested and sent to prison. Their boss, Marshall Story, was May’s only child. She’d given him up at birth, never knowing what became of him: that he was adopted and raised in Canada.
It was only a few years back that they’d reconnected and ever since kept up a relationship through letters and phone calls. When all of the mess with Flynn and the Nettles gang was going down, she’d told him everything, including the fact that the money in question was close to a half million dollars, and she was looking for a psychic to help her find it. Then she got herself arrested, and they lost touch. Afterward, he’d thought and thought about all that money just waiting to be found, until it was driving him crazy. When he mentioned it to Vince and Dig, their excitement fed his interest, until they found themselves leaving Canada and on the way to Oklahoma to find it.
They arrived and found May’s house with no problem. The condition it was in had been staggering, but it was too far to go back without at least giving their plan a try. So they did their investigating, finally located the psychic, only to have the weather become an issue. Their visitor visas would expire soon, and, blizzard or not, they had to act fast or back out.
Vince’s fingers were so cold it was difficult to grip the steering wheel, so when his cell rang, he almost didn’t answer. Then he saw it was Marsh and picked up.
“This is Vince.”
“Did Dig find you?”
“Yeah. We’re about a mile and a half from the house, and I’m nearly frozen.”
“Coffee’s hot, and there’s some chili on the stove. We’ll talk when you get here.”
The line went dead.
“Yeah, goodbye to you, too,” Vince muttered, and dropped the phone in his pocket.
THE FEATHERS ON the dream-catcher hanging on the wall above Tara’s bed shifted slightly as the heating unit kicked on, sending a rush of warm air into the room. Tara moaned softly as she rolled over in her sleep.
Millicent hovered at the foot of her bed while Henry continued to keep watch outside. They knew she was in danger, but didn’t know when it would happen or where it would come from. They had decided between them to tell her in the morning. Even if it did frighten her, it was better for her to be forewarned.
While they were keeping watch, Tara was far from having a restful sleep. Once again, she’d fallen back into the same dream she’d had the night before and was running from the man with the pockmarked face, knowing that he would catch her before she could reach her phone, and knowing that she would die.
She was screaming for help when a voice forcefully entered her dream.
Wake up, Tara! Wake up!
Tara was gasping for air when she heard the voice. Her eyes flew open. The pockmarked man was nowhere in sight, and she was safe in her bed. She rolled over onto her back then sat up.
Flynn?
Yes, it’s me, Moon Girl. Same dream?
Yes. I’m scared, Flynn. I think I’m going to die.
Don’t say that, damn it!
I can’t help what I see.
It’s a dream. It doesn’t have to come true.
Tara combed the hair from her face with shaky fingers.
Tara?
I’m still here.
I’m coming to see you tomorrow.
She thought about the upcoming shopping trip.
Then I’ll come, after you and Pat get home.
She blinked. You heard me thinking about that, too?
Sorry. I’m so tuned into you it’s automatic, and I don’t know how to turn this off yet.
Don’t apologize. Just come see me.
I’ll be there. Go to sleep, Moon Girl. I’ve got your back.
Tara shuddered.
We’re here, too, honey. Go to sleep.
Tara’s chin quivered as her eyes filled with tears. “Am I going to die, Millicent?”
We all die.
Tara’s heart skipped. “Are you saying that my life is in danger?”
We were saving that for in the morning, but yes, Henry and I feel it. We just don’t know who or why.
Instead of increasing her fear, the verification of what she’d been seeing just made Tara mad. “Well, that’s just great. Why couldn’t I have been born normal, like everyone else? Being me is like living with a target painted on my back. I can’t turn around without ticking someone off or running into creeps.”
If you hadn’t been born as you are, Connie’s family would be dead, and so would a whole lot of other people you helped rescue after the tornado earlier this year. Not only that, but Flynn would never have been able to come out of the coma after the accident you two were in. Everything comes at a price. You’re not dead yet. Stop whining, pay attention, and I would assume it can be prevented.
Tara’s anger shifted. It was rare that Millicent ever scolded her, which made it all the more pertinent.
“You’re right. I’m sorry,” she whispered.
Go have some milk and cookies—and eat one for Henry and me. We won’t be far.
Tara threw back the covers, slipped into her house shoes, and pulled a hoodie over her pajama top as she headed down the hall. She paused in the living room, then moved to the front windows and shoved the curtains aside to peer out into the darkness.
Snow blanketed the houses and streets. The wind had finally quieted, but not before it blew massive drifts against the north sides of all the houses and cars. Uncle Pat was going to have to shovel their car out before they could get anywhere tomorrow. It looked so peaceful, and yet she knew better than most that evil lurked, always looking for the weak and unprepared. Well, she wasn’t weak, and she was no longer unprepared.
She let the curtains fall back in place as she headed to the kitchen and turned on the light. The worn blue and white tiles on the floor were clean and shiny. The dishes were done and put away. Everything was in its place. It felt safe to go farther. She poured herself a glass of milk and got a couple of cookies out of the cookie jar, then settled down at the kitchen table to eat.
She’d just taken her first bite when Henry popped up, still in his buckskins and coonskin cap, looking wistfully at the cookies. She smiled.
“I’m sorry. They’re chewy, oatmeal raisin cookies with a hint of cinnamon. Do you remember that?”
He nodded and rubbed his stomach.
She took another bite and leaned back, eyeing his outfit thoughtfully. “Did you ever know Daniel
Boone?”
He nodded and clapped his hands together, indicating they had been buddies.
She thought about the stories she’d read and the song people had made up about Daniel.
“Did Daniel Boone really kill a bear when he was only three years old?”
Henry shook his head no.
“I didn’t think so,” Tara muttered.
He held up four fingers.
She laughed. “Oh, so he was really four years old and not three?”
Henry winked.
“You’re not going to tell me, are you?”
He shook his head and disappeared, but by then, Tara was in a much better mood. She finished the cookies and milk, rinsed the glass and put it in the sink, then turned out the light and went back to bed.
Just before she closed her eyes, she thought she saw a puff of pink smoke by the window and sighed. Millicent. She might be in danger, but she had her own brand of backup. It was enough to give her peace of mind.
Chapter Three
THE SKY WAS clear the next day, and the sunshine was blinding on all the snow. Someone had cleaned off the Walmart parking lot, then salted and sanded the walkways to make it safe for shoppers to come and go. From the number of cars in the lot, it appeared half the county was inside.
“Oh my gosh, Uncle Pat. We’re going to have to park all the way at the back of the lot.”
“No, there’s one,” he said, and took a quick turn down the next aisle and wheeled into the empty spot a car length ahead of another shopper.
“Do you have the grocery list?” he asked.
She patted her pocket.
“Then let’s get at it.”
The air was so cold that when they got out, she felt like running as they headed across the parking lot. Her steps were long and swift, and her dark hair bounced in rhythm to her steps. She was a tall girl and would have been noticeable anyway in her bright yellow hoodie and skinny-leg black jeans, but after her rescue efforts in the aftermath of the tornado a couple of months ago, nearly everyone knew she was the girl who saw ghosts. It made for interesting shopping experiences, and there was nothing she could do about it.
As soon as they went to get a shopping cart, Uncle Pat realized they were being watched. He frowned and moved closer to her.
“It’s okay, Uncle Pat. Don’t pay any attention to them. I’ll be fine. I can’t hide. We live here. Besides, Henry and Millicent have a good handle on refocusing people’s attitudes.”
He grinned. “Yeah, like scaring them silly.”
“Whatever works,” she said, and grabbed a cart. “It’s not on the list, but if you get some marshmallow fluff and a bag of chocolate chips, I’ll make fudge.”
He nodded as he pulled a cart out of the stack. “Oh, I’m all over that.”
They took a left toward the grocery section with Pat pushing the cart and Tara picking out the produce they needed. She felt the double-takes and stares as they moved through the aisles, but stayed focused on stocking up their pantry.
Her uncle had wandered over to the fruit display to get some apples and bananas, and Tara was choosing a head of lettuce when someone tapped her on the shoulder. She turned to see an older, elegantly dressed woman with diamonds on her fingers and tears in her eyes.
“I’m so sorry to intrude, but are you the girl who sees ghosts?”
Tara felt the woman’s agony.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“My only child died in the tornado. You helped the rescuers find her body. I just wanted to thank you.”
“It was a bad time. I was happy to be of service,” Tara said quietly.
The woman nodded, but didn’t walk away. Tara knew there was more, and when a spirit suddenly manifested beside the woman, Tara heard the message that needed to be delivered. “She’s with you. You know that, don’t you?”
The older woman exhaled slowly. “I thought . . . no, I felt that was so, but wasn’t sure. I’ve never experienced anything like this before.”
Tara glanced at the spirit. She was beautiful, but very sad, which told Tara she hadn’t moved on, then quickly got the reason why. “She knows you’re sick. She’s sorry she won’t be here to help take care of you.”
“Oh my God, no one knows that,” the older woman whispered.
Tara listened, and then nodded. “She also wants you to know that when it’s time, she’ll be waiting for you.”
The woman took a deep, shuddering breath, and then briefly closed her eyes. As she did, tears ran out from beneath her eyelids and down her face. She dug a tissue from her purse and quickly dried her eyes. “I apologize. I never meant to—”
Tara laid a hand on the woman’s arm. “No need. She says to tell you to stop worrying, and that you won’t hurt.”
The woman gasped. “Dear Lord, child. You are a gift from God. Thank you. Thank you.”
She turned away and disappeared into the crowd.
Tara dropped the head of lettuce into the cart and tried not to think of the sadness that had enveloped her. After a few moments, it began to fade.
“Are you through here?” Uncle Pat asked, as he put a couple of bags of fruit into the cart.
She nodded. “On to the cereal aisle.”
They moved through the rest of the list without incident and headed to checkout. As usual, the lines were long, and the checkers were working madly trying to keep up.
“We can do self-checkout, Uncle Pat.”
“Do you know how to do that?”
“Yes. Were you going to pay with cash or debit card?”
“Debit card.”
“Then we’re good to go. Follow me.”
Within ten minutes they were checked, sacked, and on their way out of the store. They quickly loaded the groceries into the trunk and got in out of the cold.
Pat shuddered as he started the car and turned up the heater. “You know, that wind is brutal. Why don’t we go back to the house and—”
“No, we’re not going back to the house until you get clothes for your party. Go to J. C. Penney. It’s on Perkins Road, remember?”
Pat sighed. “Yes, I remember.”
I’m excited! It’s been ages since we’ve gone shopping.
Tara stifled a groan. Millicent! Millicent, you will NOT go into that dressing room with Uncle Pat and embarrass him. Do you hear me? This is important.
I hear you. Ice yourself.
It’s chill, not ice, Millicent, and you have to promise not to mess with him.
I promise. He’s family, after all. I wouldn’t do that.
Tara sighed. Thank goodness Uncle Pat couldn’t hear this conversation. The rest of the trip to the store was quiet. Pat was concentrating on driving on the still snow-packed roads, and Tara was thinking about Flynn, wondering what he was doing for New Year’s Eve. When she got home, she’d call and ask. Maybe he could come over, and they’d bring in the New Year together at her house, while Mona and Uncle Pat were partying elsewhere.
As soon as they reached the store, Tara was all business. She led the way to the men’s department. “So, would you rather have slacks and a sports coat or a suit?”
“Not a suit,” Pat said.
“Agreed,” she said, and began sorting through the racks. “Hold these,” she said, and handed him three pairs of slacks, then moved to the other side of the rack and pulled out a couple more before going to the sports coat section.
A clerk quickly approached.
“Hello, I’m David. Would you like me to put these in a changing room for you?”
“Yeah, sure,” Pat said, and handed him the slacks, while Tara was sorting through the sports coats. The selection was slim, considering Christmas had just passed, but the good news was that everything was on sale, because Christmas had just passed.
“I don’t know your arm length, Uncle Pat.”
The clerk reappeared, ready to help. “Let me,” he said, and whipped out a measuring tape, took a couple of measurements, then began pulling out the ones that would fi
t.
I like the brown wool. It’s the color of chocolate. I loved chocolate. I miss chocolate a lot.
Tara stifled a grin. Millicent.
“For sure try on the brown one, Uncle Pat. There are a couple of pairs of slacks that it would go with.”
David, the clerk, smiled an approval. “Your daughter has a good eye,” he said.
Pat looked at Tara and winked. They never bothered to correct their relationship. It was a logical assumption.
Tara chose three more sports coats and handed them over, then watched as Pat followed the clerk into the waiting rooms.
“You have to come out and model them for me,” Tara said.
“Okay,” he said, his step light as he walked away.
Tara watched him go, thinking she’d never seen him this happy. It made her wonder how much Mona had to do with his willingness to stay in Stillwater, then decided it didn’t matter. Whatever it took to stay was fine with her, because her future played into this scenario, too.
Tara loved Flynn. Right now, it felt like she would love him forever. No one knew what the future would bring, but she would like to have a heads up now and then.
“Hey, Millicent?” she whispered.
I’m here.
Tara walked over to a rack of ties and began looking through them so that no one would see her talking to herself. “Is Uncle Pat going to marry Mona O’Mara?”
The future is not set in stone. You know that.
Tara sighed. “Yes, but I would appreciate your best guess.”
They would be happy together.
Tara sighed. “And how would this affect me and Flynn?”
The future is not set in stone.
“Dang it, Millicent, I—”
“Hey, Tara, honey, what do you think?”
She turned, and then breath caught in the back of her throat. Uncle Pat was wearing the chocolate sports coat and a pair of black slacks. All of a sudden, she saw her uncle as a stranger would see him, and a lump came in her throat. Her Uncle Pat was handsome.
