Lunatic Revenge (12 page)

Tara’s heart stopped. “You are kidding me. Please tell me they didn’t broadcast that.”

“What? It’s wonderful that you can do that and—”

Tara tuned her out. She was in panic mode, already imagining the far-reaching implications of what this could mean, and none of it was good.

“Uh
 . . .
hey, my order is here. I’ve got to go. I’ll talk to you later, okay?”

“Yeah, sure. Call me when you get time. Come over if you want. We’re just hanging out today.”

“Yeah, I’ll call you later.”

She dropped the phone in the seat.

The cute guy with your food is here. His name is Andy. Tell him I said hello.

Tara looked up. The carhop was waiting for her to roll down her window.

“Oh, sorry,” she said, and dug out her money. “Keep the change.”

The guy grinned. “Thanks.”

Henry appeared on the seat beside Tara, watching her open the sack with serious intent.

You didn’t give him my message, but it is okay. He’s cute, but he doesn’t have aspirations of furthering his education. What a shame.

Tara sighed. Crazy. Her entire life was lunatic crazy.

Did you get the hot sauce? Henry likes the hot sauce.

“OMG people! I’m not putting hot sauce on this just so Henry can watch. I’m the one who has to eat this and I don’t do hot.”

Pity. I once—

“Millicent. No. Please. I’m freaking out here right now. The whole world knows I’m psychic now.”

Take a bite. You’ll feel much better.

Tara stared at the burrito and then peeled the paper back and took a bite.

“I’m chewing, and so far it hasn’t done a thing to reassure me that it is okay about my life going to hell.”

Henry filched the packet of hot sauce and promptly squeezed it out on a napkin then leaned over, as if trying to smell it, which was silly because once someone becomes a spirit, there is no longer a need to eat or drink.

See, I told you Henry loves hot sauce.

Tara rolled her eyes and then took another bite. It was weird, but in a way, Millicent had been right. The food made her empty stomach feel better even though she still didn’t know how to prepare for what lay ahead.

Don’t borrow trouble. It will find you in its own time.

“And that’s supposed to make me feel better,” Tara muttered.

She finished off her burrito and drink and was gathering up her trash when her phone rang again. This time she checked Caller ID.

It was Flynn. OMG all over again. What do you say to a guy who texted that he hearts you?

Try hello. I find that works best.

Tara frowned. “Hello.”

“Hey you,” Flynn said. “Are you okay? I saw that piece on television this morning about you helping finding storm victims. That was beyond sick, Moon Girl. Way to go.”

Tara sighed. “Thank you. But now the world knows I’m
 . . .
that I can
 . . .
oh, whatever. You know what I mean.”

“That you’re psychic? Don’t worry about it so much. Most of the people who saw that won’t believe it, and the few who do probably won’t say anything to you about it for fear you can ‘read their minds’. You know how people are. Everyone has something to hide.”

Tara grinned. “I didn’t think about it that way, but you’re right. Thanks. You just made me feel way better than I did five minutes ago.”

“Hey, making my girl feel better is part of my job.”

Tara’s smile widened. “Thank you. You’re the best.”

“I do what I can. So I just called to check on you. I’ve gotta go. Dad’s funeral is this afternoon. We’ll be home sometime tomorrow. Don’t get in any trouble while I’m gone.”

Tara laughed. “I’ll certainly do my best. Drive safe.”

“We will. You, too.”

Tara was still smiling as she backed out of the parking space and headed for the supermarket. She hoped Flynn was right about people not treating her weird. As she drove, she was so focused on the road in front of her that she didn’t notice the guy on the Harley a short distance behind her, and it was just as well. Knowing French Langdon was tailing her every move would have sent her right over the edge.

Tara was in the cereal aisle
at Walmart when the first person accosted her.

“Hey. Aren’t you the psychic girl who found that baby up a tree?”

Tara’s heart stopped. She turned around to see a short, heavy-set man staring at her and waiting for an answer.

“Uh
 . . .
no, I think you have me mixed up with someone else,” she muttered, grabbed her box of cereal and headed for the end of the aisle. To her dismay, the man followed.

“You are her. I am good with faces. Look, I won’t tell anybody. Just listen to this deal. Since you’re psychic and all, they probably won’t let you play the Lottery. But if you pick the winning numbers in the 68 million dollar Hot Lotto jackpot and tell me, I’ll buy the ticket and split with you 50/50. What do you say?”

“Leave me alone or I’m going to call the manager,” Tara muttered.

“But—”

At that point, a box of Crunchy Pops suddenly flew off a shelf and whacked him on the side of the head.

“Hey!” he yelled, and then to his horror the entire top shelf of cereal boxes came down on top of him.

Make a run for it.

“I can’t. I don’t have everything on the list yet,” Tara muttered.

Then do your thing. I’ve got your back.

Tara glanced down at the list and headed for the dairy aisle, praying she wasn’t bugged here, as well. It would be a lot messier to clean up milk and eggs than it was the upended cereal boxes.

She got the milk and a dozen eggs, and was heading for butter and cheese when a woman pushing a cart turned a corner and came toward her.

“It is you,” she said. “I saw you a couple of aisles over and wanted to tell you how great it was that you found that baby up a tree.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Tara said, and began grabbing eggs and looking for a wedge of the jalapeno cheese that Uncle Pat liked.

“It’s okay. I understand you wanting to keep a low profile. I just wanted you to know that I think you’re a real heroine.”

Tara refused to make eye contact, found the cheese, and then glanced down at her list.

Green beans and hamburger meat.

She backtracked to the meat department, sorted through the packages until she found what she was looking for, and then headed for the canned vegetable aisle.

To her horror, the same lady was right behind her.

“Hey, I want to ask you something,” the woman said, as Tara dumped a couple of cans of green beans into her cart. “My husband is up for a promotion. Could you tell me if he’s going to get it or not?”

“Lady. Leave me alone.”

The woman frowned. “Look. You owe it to people to use your—”

The loaf of bread in the lady’s cart suddenly elevated. The twist tie fell into the cart below as the entire loaf was dumped onto her head. The scream that came out of her mouth could have peeled paint off the walls.

Tara headed toward the checkout stand without looking back.

“What’s going on back there?” the cashier said, as she began to scan Tara’s purchases.

“I don’t have the faintest idea,” Tara said, quickly paid and headed for the parking lot.

It wasn’t until she got into the car that she began to breathe easy.

“Well, that was fun,” she muttered.

Henry popped up on the hood of her car with a big grin on his face, waved, then morphed into the seat beside her as she backed out of her parking space.

She glared. “I’m happy you were entertained,” she said, and drove away.

French Langdon was on
the far side of the parking lot waiting for her to emerge. As she headed for Hall of Fame Boulevard, he started the car and began following her at a safe distance when his phone rang.

“What?”

“Update me.”

“She’s been shopping, but I think she’s heading home.”

“If you see the need, snatch her. We’ll worry about the consequences later.”

“I don’t think—”

“Look. After that piece came out on the morning news, you know where that’s going to lead. She’s Flynn O’Mara’s girlfriend. If she’s the real deal, we’re not the only ones who might figure out she could find the money.”

“I hear you,” French said.

“Keep me posted.”

As French disconnected, he realized he’d momentarily lost sight of her car, but he wasn’t worried. He knew where she lived.

Tara was home putting up
groceries when she heard a knock at the door. Still leery after the chaos at the grocery store, she didn’t recognize the big Suburban in the drive, but her concern vanished when she opened the door. It was Nikki Scott and her entire family. When she saw Nikki’s mother, she knew where the pretty eyes and dark hair came from, but Nikki definitely had her father’s smile.

“I know we should have called,” Nikki said.

“I just got home. I’ve been grocery shopping at Walmart. Come in and have a seat.”

Nikki was trying to be cool, but Tara could tell she was a little embarrassed, which set off an alert on Tara’s warning system. She kept eyeing Nikki’s parents, trying to get a read on what was going on, but she’d didn’t get any warnings. At least everyone was happy. It couldn’t be bad.

“Tara, this is my dad, Rick, and my mom Ann. Guys, this is Tara Luna.”

Tara smiled. “It’s really nice to meet the both of you. Nikki is the best.”

Rick immediately shook Tara’s hand. “It’s our pleasure, believe me. Look, Nikki made sure we understood you like to downplay your
 . . .
your abilities, and we get that. But it’s because of you that Rachelle is still alive and we can’t downplay that.”

Ann started to shake hands, too, and then hugged her instead. “You are amazing and so brave. A simple thank you will never be enough for what you did for our family.”

Tara immediately locked into her wave of love and felt bereft when Ann let her go.

That’s what a mother’s love feels like.

Tara blinked back tears.

Rachelle got up and slid into the seat beside Tara, then gave her a hug.

“Thank you for saving my life,” she said, and then started to cry.

Tara hugged her back. “You’re welcome, honey. I wish I could take credit for being this amazing person, but the deal is that I came this way so I don’t know any other way to be.”

Not to be outdone, Morgan got up and then dropped a package wrapped in shiny blue paper into Tara’s lap.

“Here, this is from all of us, but I thought of it.”

Tara grinned. “A present for me?”

Nikki rolled her eyes. “You may not think it’s much of a present when you see what it is.”

Tara tore off the paper then took a deep shaky breath as she read the words on the framed and, obviously handmade, certificate.