Mourning Moon (A Guinan Jones Paranormal Mystery #2) (13 page)

Mr. Howard knows who the cheater is.

Had the new and improved Desmond intended to re
port the paper writer? Maybe he only wanted to confess his own violation. But if the writer hadn't known this...

Sinder convinced me to buy several candles to evoke various moods, but she couldn't convince me to participate in her protection spell.
My efforts would be better served hunting for non-magical, real-world solutions.

When I arrived home, I went straight to my room,
took out my journal, recorded everything I could remember from the last few days, and promised myself I'd update it every day from now on. I was scribbling like mad when a knock sounded on my bedroom door.

"Come in."

Granddad poked his head through the opening. "Busy?"

I
shook my head and propped myself up against the pillows. He sat at the foot of my bed and sighed heavily. "The dream, Guinan."

I swallowed and closed the journal. "You think it was about me?"

White stubble dotted his chin. The bags under his eyes told me he did.

"
You fooled me," I said. "I thought you believed me when I told my parents it wasn't me."

He raised his eyebrows, waiting.

"I should have told you before. The girl in the dream had long fingernails." I held up my own. "I don't think they'll grow long in the next week."

With a sigh of relief, his whole body relaxed
.

"I'm sorry I forgot to mention that important detail."

He chuckled. "I shouldn't be as relieved as I am. Somebody's still going to die."

I furrowed my brow. "
Why didn't I dream about Desmond's death? Why did I dream about this one?"

"
I have a theory about that," he said, shifting on the bed. "I think some people are meant to be saved. Others, not."

I gaped.
"You mean I dream only of deaths I can stop?"

Granddad nodded slowly. "That's the most logical explanation I can figure. I think Tilda kept dreaming of her death because it was meant to happen. She avoided driving as long as she could, so the dreams kept coming."

"And I didn't dream of Kate's death because I couldn't stop it."

"More than that," he said. "You weren't supposed to stop it."

"Just my own."

"Yes."

I gulped. "That's why I didn't dream about Desmond. But I'm supposed to stop the other one."

"I think you're supposed to try."

***

Armed with new insight into my abilities, I tried
to ignore the noise in my brain and focus on the signal. Why was Desmond meant to die and not the other person? What made one death inevitable and the other contingent on something I had to do? The weight of it all mentally exhausted me.

Sunday night, while
I lay in bed staring at the ceiling and trying to puzzle things out, my cell buzzed. An unfamiliar number with a familiar area code. South Carolina. Ridge Grove? I sat up, my heart thudding in my chest.

"
Hello?"

"Hey, stranger."

Zeke's voice made me tremble. I swallowed. "How are you?" I pictured his square jaw, his cleft chin, and his ruffled brown hair.

"I hope I
didn't wake you," he said. "I..." He faltered and sighed heavily. I waited. "I'm sorry about what my mother did to you, Guinan."

I rubbed my forehead and shuddered from the memory of the three of us in the woods.
"You don't have to apologize for her. It wasn't your fault."

"It's just...I feel like
I should have known sooner that something was wrong with her. Like I missed the signs."

"You saved my life," I reminded h
im. "If it weren't for you—"

"You'd be dead?" he said, with a humorless chuckle.

Yes, I'd be dead.
"How are the twins?"

He
told me what I already knew. They're a handful. They run you ragged. They are awesome.

"They ask about Mom every now and then," he said in a low voice. "Dad and I tell them she's gone away for a while."

One day, he and Tim would have to tell the whole truth. I didn't envy them. "So, I hear you're being homeschooled."

He laughed. "Well, I am in theory. I go through the workbooks myself. I should take it seriously, but I'll probably end
going for a GED."

"You still want to be a cop?"

"Yeah," he said. His voice sounded strained. "I still want to serve and protect." He cleared his throat. "I heard about what's happening up there."

I sniffed.
"Oh, um, that has nothing to do with me."

"Really?" he said.
"Because a guy you know died. Remember that conversation we had about why you dream about death?"

After Kate and Skeeter were killed, and I dreamed of my death, Zeke had speculated about what it all meant. He'd said there was something about the finality of death that demanded attention, and that I already knew the answers I sought.

"You believe I know the truth," I said.

"Stop avoiding it, Guinan.
That blogger also seems to think you know."

The Malcontent?
I'd wondered if Zeke read it, but I'd dismissed the idea. "You know about that?"

"What do you mean?"

"Tamzen called the other day and said someone e-mailed a link."

"Oh,
um...right. She mentioned it."

I took a deep breath
, exhaled quietly, and pretended what happened between me and Zeke hadn't happened. "Don't worry about me and my issues."

"Guinan, I will always worry a
bout you. I don't want anything bad to happen to you ever again."

"How is Tamzen?" I said quickly. "I hear she's babysitting."

Zeke was silent for so long, I thought he'd hung up on me. I wanted to bang my head against the headboard. Instead, I balled my hands into fists.

"
She helps out. This has been really hard. I can't believe I'm still functioning. I mean, my mother is a murderer."

The old crappy feelings returned. "I'm sorry. I wish I could say something to make it better."

"Are you kidding?" he said. "I'm just glad you're speaking to me after what my mother did to you. I know it's not my fault, as you say. Things are just so screwed up."

"No, they aren't. Not between us."

He paused. "Really?"

"Really."

***

Zeke Hicks
's face stayed with me. Everywhere I looked, I saw it. Now, walking down the hallways at school, I thought I saw him turn a corner or heard him call my name. It wasn't until I saw Gabby that I remembered my task.

I intercepted
and cornered her. Almost as tall as Luke, she peered down at me, her eyes widening in surprise. I skipped the small talk and asked about the paper she bought. Her nostrils flared.

"Who told you about t
hat?"

"Doesn'
t matter," I said quickly. "I want to know who the person is."

Her e
yelids fluttered. "I don't know, and I don't care."

I held her gaze and sensed a combination of deception, suspicion, and confusion. "I'm not going tell
anyone," I said. "I promise. You have no reason to believe me, Gabby, but I give you my word."

She exhaled heavily and glanced
over her shoulder. "I really don't know. I bought two papers. If a teacher ever found out—"

"I'm trying to figure out who poisoned
Desmond."

Gabby furrowed her brow. "I thought Sinder Gillespie
did it."

I shrugged noncommittally.

"You think it was somebody else?" she said. "Like who?"

Who, indeed.
"I don't know. That's why I need to find out who wrote those papers."

"But why would that help
you?" She opened her mouth, then covered it with a hand. "You think the person who wrote the papers is the killer?"

"
Desmond bought at least one, and I think he was going to reveal the identity of the writer."

She
ran a hand through her hair. "There is one strange thing that made me wonder."

I didn't want to seem to
o eager, so I leaned against the wall casually.

"One of the
papers I bought was for health class. It's supposed to be an elective, but the kids in the class take it so seriously." She rolled her eyes.

I smirked
knowingly, as if to agree that kids shouldn't take an elective health class so seriously.

"Anyway," she said, tossing her hair, "
I was supposed to write about emergency life-saving techniques. Something other than CPR. So I e-mailed Private Paper and—"

"Heads to
gether, whispering? What's up?" Gabby and I jumped. Luke brushed a hand against her cheek. "Talking about me?"

I wanted to punch him.
"As a matter of fact—"

"Talking about what
we did last weekend," Gabby said. "Why don't you go save us a table? I'll be there in a second."

He cocked his head at her, then glanced at me. "Right." Without another word, he walked away.

I watched him disappear around the corner. I knew he figured I'd tell him what Gabby and I talked about later.

"Guinan,
don't breath a word to him about this."

I blinked up at her. "Of course, not. Now, what about this paper?"

She glanced around again. "I asked the guy to pick a topic for me, which I paid extra for."

"Okay."

"When Desmond started choking that day...I mean, I'd paid someone to write this paper, and then I see someone performed the same technique."

My stomach lurched.
"Gabby, what technique?"

She leaned in
. "An emergency tracheotomy."

"I'm looking at the
autopsy report, Miss Jones. Desmond Drake died of asphyxiation brought on by anaphylactic shock, not from a hole in his throat."

I'd cut class to call Detective Czarnecki. I'd walked across the
lacrosse field and leaned against a tree. "Are you sure?"

"Quite sure."

I'd filled her in on what I suspected and learned about the term papers. More than once I'd heard that Embry was the smartest guy in the school. He'd won academic awards for the school, and he seemed to know a little about a lot of things. He'd performed the tracheotomy on Desmond as though he knew it well.

"It could be a coincidence," I said.
"It's a heck of a coincidence. If he wrote those papers, I don't see why he'd risk it. It's not like he needs the money."

The detective sighed. Papers rattled in the background. "
When I asked you to keep your eyes and ears open, you got my meaning, right?"

"You wanted me to use my
clairvoyance."

"Yes, I did," she said, her voice low. I pictured her hunched over her phone and looking o
ver her shoulder. "What you found out is good. Don't get me wrong."

"But it's something you could have
discovered yourself."

"
Bottom line. But you suspect Embry Sullivan wrote the papers?"

I winced. "No
. I mean, yes."

"Ha
ve you received anything else like the notes and flowers?"

I told h
er I hadn't. "What are going to do?"

She made a grunting
sound that reminded me of Granddad. "Likely call him in for more questioning. The thing is, our case against Sinder is strong enough."

I bit my lip. "You need to know something else." I told her about my dream. "I strongly believe the death I saw is connected to this case and—"

"Miss Jones, I can't do much with dreams." That's what I expected a cop to say. I waited. "Did you see the strangler's face?"

"No."

After we'd hung up, I pulled up the blog, dreading what I'd see.

Psychic Grierdon Smarter Than the Police?

The Malcontent can't think of anything worse than one of our own committing homicide, and committing it against another Grierdon. Since Sinder Gillespie's '15 arrest, our resident psychic won't rest. It seems that Guinan Jones '15 is out to prove Miss Gillespie is not the culprit. When she graced these ivied halls for the first time, the clairvoyant from the South was almost timid in manner. But give her a death, and her inner Jessica Fletcher emerges fully formed and out for blood, so to speak. If Miss Gillespie didn't pull the figurative trigger, who did? Who had the most to gain from Desmond Drake's death, and who had the most to lose if he were still alive?

Was Embry Sullivan '15 only pretending to have gotten over the humiliations the deceased exacted upon him? Was the deceased after Sully's girlfriend, the alluring Ione Hamilton '14, with whom he had a brief fling? We can't completely strike Luke Chapman '15 from the picture. The blogger wonders. Perhaps it was a crime worthy of Agatha Christie, where each suspect played a part in it. Or—and this is potentially HUGE—someone involved in a term paper-buying scandal got rid of a Grierdon who strove to be honorable and expose the cheating.

My guess? We'll know soon enough.

I looked up from the tablet in time to see Embry enter the building. He held my gaze for a few seconds. He had a wild look in his eyes. I approached him despite my reluctance. "Embry, can we—"

He held up a hand.
"Don't tell me about any of the crap on that blog. I'm no longer interested."

"
Forget that stupid blog. Do you have a minute?"

"Nope," he said
.

"Embry!"

He stopped in his tracks, but didn't turn to face me. I caught up with him and saw his bored expression. "I think the five of us should get together and talk."

"About what?"

"Seriously? Our friend is being charged with killing another friend. Doesn't that concern you?"

He
grimaced. "Look, Guinan, all I want to do is keep my head down. I don't know anything about the killing or the investigation, and frankly, I don't care."

I already sensed that, but I feigned shock.

"I'm sorry Desmond's dead, but he and I weren't friends like that. We sat at the same table at lunch."

"Do you think he was trying to get Ione back?"

"Honestly?" he said, glancing around. "I don't think so. At least I didn't suspect it. He and Ione weren't serious, you know. It wasn't like some great love affair. They hung out for a few months in the summer."

"What about Sinder?"

Embry shrugged. "What about her?"

"Don't you care that she's been accused of something she didn't do?"

He stared at me, and I shivered as though standing near a draft. "How do you know she didn't do it? Oh, let me guess. You have a feeling?"

"That's not how it works."

He held up a hand. "I don't mean to be rude, but this thing you do...it's getting on my nerves. You're not a cop. If the police think Sinder did it, they must have the evidence, right?"

I conceded the point.
But the police in Ridge Grove had gotten things wrong when they arrested Eric Rodman for Kate Mansfield's murder.

"I'm going to be late for c
lass," Embry said. He turned and headed down the hall. I followed.

"I spoke to Gabby Meyerson
."

His
stride slowed. "I'm happy for you."

"She mentioned
buying a term paper on emergency tracheotomies. I guess the rumors are true."

He gave me a sideways glance but kept walking. "What rumors?"

"About the cheating going on at this school."

He laughed
. "You think that has something to do with Desmond's death?" Before I could reply, he continued. "You know, I think you need to talk to your teachers. You obviously don't have enough studying to do."

"I just thought it was a coincidence, Gabby's paper on the very thing you did
to try to save Desmond. How many kids would even think of that?"

He glared at me. "Any kid with ha
lf a brain. You saw him. He wasn't getting enough oxygen. The CPR wasn't working."

"Yeah, but cutting a hole in his throat?"

Embry assumed the tone of an adult speaking to an obstinate child. "I want to go to medical school. I read a lot and watch hours of documentaries. It's not that complicated."

"I get it,
but—"

"But nothing. Are you accusing me of writing Gabby's paper?"

I bit the inside of my cheek and tried to come up with a non-accusing way of getting the point across. "Embry, if you
did
write it—"

"Since you're
accusing me of that," he said, cutting me off, "then next you'll claim I killed Desmond."

"All I care about right now
is the truth."

He gave
a loud, humorless laugh that made me feel unsettled and exposed. I didn't like arguing with Embry. People in the hall looked in our direction.

"You know what?" he said. "I made
a mistake bringing you into our group. I felt sorry for you. I was trying to be nice because our mothers are friends."

I swallowed a lump in my throat, angry with myself for letting him get to me. Defensive people deflect
ed. I tried to keep my expression neutral. "Whether you think it was a mistake or not is your business. I've never been the kind of person to cave to peer pressure, and I certainly won't start now."

He on his heels
and disappeared into a classroom. In my own class, I tuned out the teacher and wrote in my journal. If Desmond's death was murder and not manslaughter, who did it and why? Sinder's motive: unrequited love, loss. Ione's motive: Desmond tried to break up her and Embry, or Ione was pregnant with Desmond's child and threatened to tell. Embry's motive: Desmond was ready to rat him out as the term paper writer. Luke's motive: ?

I put down the pen
and rubbed my temples. Luke and Desmond were best friends. Why would he murder his best friend? And the dream—a female will be strangled. Who was she? Who was the strangler? I looked at my hands. A person would have to be pretty strong to do it. But if the killer used an object like a sash, the killer could just as well be a female.