I’d spent the last couple of years feeling sorry for myself. Even coming to St. Paul to get my new start, all I’d done was dwell on what happened a thousand miles away. I’d let people who didn’t know me have this strange power over my life.
Suck it up, Buttercup. It’s what my internal voice constantly told me.
I was going to make some changes. Lots of changes, for that matter. And Candy Cornelius was just the person to help make that happen. In the morning, I was going to find her number and give her a call.
Chapter 11
The next morning, I sprang forward in bed, my heart racing. Sunlight flooded through the windows. Quiet surrounded me.
I blinked, wondering what I was missing. I’d slept all night, and I hadn’t heard a thing. And this was after my window shades went missing. One would have thought that eerie reality would have kept me up all night.
Then I remembered Cooper sleeping on my couch, and the truth fell over me. I’d slept better only because there was someone else in the house watching out for me.
Slowly, I threw my legs out of bed and tiptoed to the door. I cracked it open and scanned the hallway. Nothing appeared out of place. I crept forward until the living room came into focus. The empty living room.
I frowned. Where was Cooper? All the blankets and pillows I’d pulled out for him were now neatly folded and placed on the sofa. But no Cooper.
I glanced at the clock. It was nearly nine o’clock. Of course he’d had to wake early and go to work, get Austin to the sitter’s. And I hadn’t heard any of it?
I shook my head. That only confirmed the fact that someone could sneak up on me during the night and I’d be oblivious.
My gaze scanned the rest of the room. The windows were still uncovered, causing my gut to twist. Who had ever heard of someone stealing your blinds? Someone either had a sense of humor. Or they really wanted to watch everything going on in this house. Other than those windows, nothing appeared out of place.
The fact that nothing had happened should comfort me. Instead, I felt even more suspicious.
I was really quite the contradiction. I was certain ghosts weren’t real, unless I wasn’t. I didn’t want to believe in God, but my thoughts always came back to him. I certainly couldn’t understand myself, so I didn’t expect anyone else to.
Especially not Ben Cooper.
After taking a shower and wandering into the kitchen, I found a note from Cooper. “Stay safe. Can we talk sometime?”
I crumpled the note, threw it in the trash, and poured some cereal. What was there to talk about? Nothing. He had an opinion. I didn’t like it. And that was the end of it.
Still, I frowned. Why did I care what he thought of me? I’d only met the man two days ago, and it wasn’t like he was going to be a lifelong friend or anything. I only had a few weeks in Minnesota. Let people here think whatever they wanted. I’d be gone soon.
Which made me feel empowered to do things I’d never done before.
I grabbed my cell phone and called my sister to get Candy’s number. She answered on the first ring, giggling at something in the background. We did our preliminary chatting about her trip and my stay. Then I brought up her stalker.
“I’m glad you asked, because I did some checking on Travis White, my stalker. His company transferred him to India, so he’s not in St. Paul anymore.”
I guess I could rule him out. That realization was both comforting and disturbing. I was glad a deranged stalker wasn’t hanging out around the house, but if not Travis then who?
“Weird things still happening?”
I filled her in.
“Oh Tara, that is creepy. I wish I knew what to tell you.” Serious and sincere Lana had landed. It didn’t happen very often, but I was glad it had happened now. When Lana wanted to, she could be the most well-mannered, charming person this side of the Mississippi. Other side too, for that matter.
Lana, the rule-breaker, had always been my father’s favorite. I, on the other hand, was like the older brother in the story of the Prodigal Son. I was always there, always faithful, and basically ignored. But none of that mattered right now.
“When did you start playing the guitar, Lana?”
She paused. “Guitar? I don’t play guitar.”
“You have one in the closet of your spare bedroom.”
“No, I don’t.”
Cold fear crept in me again. “I see.”
“Look, Tara, Nate’s telling me we’ve got to leave for this tour we’re doing. I hate to leave the conversation here.”
“Don’t sweat it.” I got Candy’s number from her and hung up.
Just where should I start on my quest to remodel Tara Lancaster inside and out?
~*~
After sticking my cereal bowl in the sink, I called Candy, who promised to be over at one o’clock. That left me a little more than four hours to get a few things done on my own.
I plopped down at Lana’s computer, located in the guest bedroom. After doing a little more work as a virtual assistant, I did a search for Danielle Miller.
Finally, I saw an article I could use, detailed, “The Psychic House Murder.”
Psychic house? Was the lady doing palm readings in the living room? The house was close enough to the main road that it could have been used as a business. I closed my eyes and pictured a woman with curly red hair piled high on her head, big, dangly earrings, a flowery robe, and a crystal ball.
When Danielle’s picture appeared, I was surprised at how normal she looked. Almost pretty even. Her face was wide and her eyes a little close, but her smile looked genuine. Jeremy was skinny with dark hair and a beak-like nose. Did he really kill his wife?
I skimmed the article. Danielle’s body had never been found, but apparently there was evidence of a lot of blood in the front bedroom. In the room where I slept. Jeremy claimed he came home from a boy’s night out and found his house a mess. He panicked. Began trying to clean up the blood. Then he came to his senses and called the police.
Though his friends agreed he was out with them, there’s unaccounted time. The gang was watching a football game at a restaurant about fifteen miles from this house. No one saw him for an hour—just enough time to go home and do the deed. Others said the two were having marital problems. Jeremy had been charged once with disorderly conduct for getting into a fight while in public. Apparently, he was tired of his wife’s fascination with the occult. There was no body and no murder weapon.
So, where was Jeremy Miller now?
Another article profiled a fellow psychic who claimed Danielle’s spirit couldn’t cross over to the other side until she had a conclusion to her murder.
In other words, she was roaming Lana’s house.
Great.
Would I have to find her killer before she’d leave me alone? Not exactly my cup of latte.
Then again, whoever plagued the outside of my house and stole my blinds wasn’t a ghost.
I dropped my head to the table. What was a girl to do?
I read a few more articles that didn’t give me any new information. I noticed the same reporter wrote most of the news pieces about the murder, so I jotted his name on a kiss-shaped notepad belonging to Lana. I also took the name of the psychic who claimed Danielle still roamed the earth, unable to cross into the netherworld. Maybe I’d talk with her. Maybe I wouldn’t.
I glanced at my watch again. I had just enough time to go knock on a few doors before Candy got here. I started with the neighbor’s door across the street, and a kindly older woman answered. She introduced herself as Winnie. She was heavyset with a poof of styled gray hair curling back from her round face and a sweet smile.
I pointed my thumb behind me. “I’m Lana’s sister, Tara, and I’m in town for a while. I think someone was in my house yesterday while I was out, so I just thought I’d check with a few neighbors and see if they saw anything out of the ordinary. Did you, by chance, see anyone creeping around my house at around six or seven?”
; “You mean while you were over at Cooper’s?” The woman’s voice was so high-pitched that she almost sounded cartoonish. It only added to her sweet aura, though.
I raised my eyebrows. “That’s right.”
She smiled. “I watch Austin sometimes for him. Such a nice little family.”
I didn’t know what to say, so I smiled, swallowing all of the negative emotions that rose when I thought about my conversation with Cooper last night. “Did you happen to see anything else?”
“I saw a girl with blue hair and hooker boots. There was a man with her.”
I hid my smile. “That was Candy.” My smile slipped. Would they have had time to slip inside? Could this all be some kind of publicity prank? I hadn’t thought to ask Candy if she had a key, but she very well could.
“I’m really not as nosy as I sound.” She laughed nervously.
“Nosy neighbors are good neighbors. Isn’t that how the saying goes?”
She rubbed her hands. “I think you’re right. I didn’t see anything else.”
“No suspicious cars or anything?”
“Sorry, dear. I wish I could help you more.”
If Winnie hadn’t seen anything—and she seemed pretty attuned to what was going on—then what was the chance that someone else had? Or was the most obvious answer the right answer—that Candy was behind this?
The house right next door to Lana’s was vacant, complete with a for-sale sign in the front yard. I’d already talked to Cooper. But, there were still a few other houses where the neighbors might have seen something.
I knocked on three more doors. One person wasn’t home. One was a stay-at-home mom who didn’t notice the stray curler left in her hair, so I doubted she’d notice any strange cars. At the last house, a man in his forties answered. He had blond hair that was gelled away from his face and revealed a harsh receding hairline. The only place he seemed to gain fat was in his stomach, which bulged like he was pregnant. However, it was the look in his eyes that made me step back. His gaze was intense and cold.
And from the second story of his home, he’d have the perfect view of Lana’s place. Shivers wracked my body at the thought. Could this be the person responsible for everything going on at Lana’s?
The man partly leaned against the doorframe and partly leaned toward me. “Can I help you?”
I glanced beyond him. A woman stood in the background, her eyes as wide as saucers. She halfway hid behind the wall, as if too afraid to come any closer. She had milky brown skin, and her eyes seemed to beckon me.
Was she this man’s wife? Then why did she look so frightened?
“Ma’am?”
I glanced back at the man and forced a tight smile. The last thing I wanted was to tell this man I was staying at that house alone—even though he might already know that. But my mind drew a blank as to what else I might say.
I licked my lips and fidgeted. As my grandma might say, I’d gotten myself into a real pickle. “You’re not Marvin Henderson, are you?”
“Marvin?” His eyes narrowed.
I raised my palms in confusion, going into airhead mode. “I think I have the wrong house. Someone else’s mail was put in my box, and I’m new in the area. I thought you might be Marvin.”
The man looked at my hands. “So where is it?”
“Where’s what?” I blinked, having no idea what he was talking about.
“The mail?”
Another stab of cold fear clutched my heart. “Oh, the mail. It’s at my house. I didn’t want anyone stealing it or anything. Isn’t there a law against that or something?” What in the world was I talking about? I had no idea. I swallowed and took a step back. “I gotta go. Sorry to bother you!”
I ran back across the street and into Lana’s house, locking the doors behind me. Why had that man scared me so much? It didn’t make sense. On the other hand, it was all about sense—my senses, my gut feeling. That guy just gave me the creeps.
And I couldn’t stop thinking about the woman standing in the distance. Was my imagination working overtime or was that woman frightened?
The doorbell rang and I gasped, nearly jumping out of my skin. The doorbell. Just the doorbell, Tara. I scolded myself for overreacting.
I looked out the peephole and saw Candy standing on the other side. I pulled the door open and ushered her inside.
“Hey, Jamaica. I’m glad you called.” She had her normal attitude. Today, she’d be known in my mind as Hubba Bubba since she smacked her gum with the best of them.
“I’m glad you’re available.” I ran over a list of things I wanted to do. It might drain the little bit of savings I had, but I didn’t care. Being responsible had gotten me nowhere.
“So, are we taking the motorcycle or the Hummer?”
I thought about it a moment. “The motorcycle. Definitely the motorcycle.”
Candy grinned. “First stop?”
“The police station.”
“To talk to detectives?”
I shook my head. “No, to fill out some paper work.”
Chapter 12
My gut told me this was going to be the not-to-miss episode of Extreme Makeover: Tara Lancaster Edition. Candy hadn’t let me look in the mirror all day, and I was anxious to see the final result of all of our work.
We arrived back at my place at seven after stopping at the police station, the mall, and Candy’s place. I’d found a note from Cooper, asking when he could stop by to upgrade the house’s security. I’d crumpled it up, trying to put Cooper out of my mind. I didn’t need him or his help.
Candy didn’t seem to notice the scowl across my face as she chattered on and on in the background. I had to admit that I’d enjoyed getting to know Candy today. She had a genuine smile that emerged on occasion, she never scurried around the truth, and she was totally comfortable in her own skin. Wherever we went, she got lots of looks, but she kept her chin up—unless she was looking at her cell phone or posting Facebook updates. Today, she’d been less of an Atomic Fireball and more of a Bit-O-Honey.
I’d discovered through our conversation that she’d been in one national advertising commercial—it was for feminine hygiene products. Perhaps it was in honor of that commercial that she’d dyed her hair toilet bowl blue? The Iowa-native had gone to college for two years and studied acting, but dropped out because of too much partying. Her goal was to one day be famous enough to be on Dancing with the Stars, one of my favorite shows and a fact that made me instantly like her. I’d also discovered that she had an amazing ability to quickly and accurately text message someone using only one hand.
As she led me to the bathroom mirror at Lana’s, her lips curled into a curious grin. I held my breath before stepping into the small room. Would this be the start of How Tara Got her Groove Back? It wasn’t seeing myself that caused me anxiety—it was the fear of seeing another eerie message left on my mirror.
I glanced at it. No, not today. Thank goodness.
She shoved me in front of sink. I blinked. Instead of ectoplasm, I saw the reflection of someone I hardly recognized. Me.
“What do you think?” Candy stood in the doorway grinning.
I studied my skin, which now had an instant tan. Red streaks now ran through my hair—not red as in auburn, but red as in fire engines were now put to shame. A small nose ring, no bigger than a freckle, sparkled, and I’d bought some new trendy clothes that didn’t scream “Church Lady” as my others apparently had.
Gone was the safe Tara and in her place...someone who wasn’t afraid to try new things. Now maybe people couldn’t say, someone like you wouldn’t understand.... I could single-handedly thank Cooper for giving me that final bit of initiative to make some changes.
I nodded. “I like it.”
Candy stared at me in the mirror. “I think you look totally hot. Cooper’s going to think you look totally hot also.”
My lips parted in surprise. “Cooper? I don’t care what he thinks.”
“Really?” She raised her eyebrows i
n doubt.
I touched one of my new red streaks. “Yeah, really. Why?”
One of her shoulders lifted. “You two just looked pretty content over there on his deck last night.”
On the deck. Yes, that’s when we were content. Then he’d let it slip what he really thought of me. “Friendly’s about all there is to it. Nothing else.”
She crossed her arms across her chest, Bit-O-Honey gone and Atomic Fireball back. “You should think about Mark then.”
Normally, I would have said no right away. But that was the old Tara. Maybe the new Tara would go out with Mark. The new Tara would have the Bad Girl Rules, starting with Rule #1: Whatever you would have done in the past, do the opposite.
“Mark? He seems...” What? What did he seem? “Buff.” I shrugged, no other descriptors coming to mind.
A question had been nagging at me all day, but I hadn’t wanted to ask Candy until after I was home safely and she’d done my hair—no one wanted an angry hairstylist working on him or her. We moved into the living room. Candy helped herself to one of Lana’s leftover bottles of beer. She offered me one, but I declined. I’d already had enough excitement in my day without adding any alcohol to the mix.
“Do you have a key to Lana’s place, Candy?”
She shook her head. “No, why?”
“Just wondering.”
“Oh, come on. We both know there’s more to your question than that.”
I told her about the shades.
Her eyes widened. “You’ve got to be kidding me?”
“I wish I were.”
She moved from the chair to directly beside me on the couch. “I talked to my friend with Ghost Chasers. He said he’ll come out and do some tests for you. In fact, he’s going to be out in this area on Friday.”
“I don’t know...”
“It would be fun. Maybe you’d finally get some answers you’ve been looking for. And if you don’t believe in ghosts, then what could it hurt to have him out? He’ll get his kicks, and you’ll have some funny stories to tell people once you get back home.”
The Good Girl Page 8
