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

I cleared my throat for effect, not with the intention of saying anything. I looked into Sinder's pleading eyes and sensed a quiet desperation that ran bone-deep. I'd lost count of the number of times she'd asked me to start a coven with her.

"Do I really have to go over this again?"

"I'll do it for you," Embry said, glaring at Sinder. "Guinan is not a witch. You're not a witch. There's no such thing as magic or spells or whatever. I think you need to start seeing the school shrink again."

The color drained from Sinder's face.
I averted my eyes and considered leaving the table to buy another brownie.

"Mr. Howard isn't
a shrink," Desmond said. "He's a psychologist. I see him sometimes, myself."

Sinder gazed at him, gratitude shining on her face
, then rolled her eyes at Embry.

"Why don't you ask your other friends?" I said. "I can't believe I'm your only hope."

I caught a meaningful look between Embry and Ione.

"I can't believe we have to be subjected to another year of Sinder's paranormal obsession," Ione said.

Sinder tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. "I'm not deterred by any of you. My so-called friends."

Embry sighed. "You can't expect us to go along with this witchcraft stuff just because we're friends. If we don't call you on it, who will?"

Something brushed against my back, and I jumped. The arrival of Luke Chapman broke the witchcraft-conversation tension and added a different kind.

"Well I'm not your friend, Gillespie," he said, "so I can tell you it's childish."
He pulled out the chair beside Embry with a loud scrape and sat down. He made eye contact with me and nodded. "Jones."

"
Hello."

He
flipped a lock of light-brown hair from his forehead. His hazel eyes looked green today. "Sully, you still going to the Blue Lane on Friday?"

"We plan to," Embry said. "Why?"

"I'm bringing Gabby Meyerson," he said with wink.

Embry gaped
at him. Gabby Meyerson was a model-tall junior with a senior Abercrombie and Fitch-looking boyfriend.

Ione raised her eyebrows. "But what about—"

"She and Tucker broke up," Luke said. He looked at me and held my gaze. Though it didn't show on his face, I sensed overwhelming smugness and satisfaction. I started to ask if he had something to do with their breakup but decided I didn't want to know. He leaned forward and stage-whispered. "I would have asked you, but I knew you'd say no."

"
You can read the future, huh?"

His expression shifted. "You
mean you'll go with me?"

I shook my head.
Sinder snickered.

Luke
shrugged and twisted the top off a bottle of protein water. He removed a plastic container and a silver fork from his bag. I watched him walk to the microwave to heat it up. I wasn't the only one watching. Luke was tall, with a swimmer's body. I dropped my gaze and began gathering up my trash. He returned to the table with delicious-smelling food that put my chicken salad sandwich to shame. He licked a finger, draped a cloth napkin across his lap, and ate without speaking.

"Luke, I didn't mean to make it sound like—"

He held up a hand. "No worries."

"So, anyw
ay," Embry said to him, "do you want to ride with us?"

"I'll pick you guys up in the Beemer," Luke said. "I put a new engine in it last week. Purrs like a kitten."

"Doesn't fit the stereotype, does it?" Desmond said to me. He rested his chin on his hand. "A trustafarian changing car engines."

"Sure doesn't," I said. A lot of things about Luke didn't fit the stereotype.

"Speaking of defying expectations," Ione said, "last year, this kid, Casey Markham, high IQ, bound for Harvard, was kicked out for buying a term paper online. Everybody was shocked he'd risk his future like that."

Sinder let out a shuddering breath.
"I wonder what happened to him."

Luke smirked
. "I heard his father pulled strings, got him into some second-tier school. But back to important matters." He resumed his conversation with Embry about Friday night.

My father
had told me all about the Thomas Grier School. Founded by some distant Grier at the turn of the century, the majority of its graduates went on to the Ivy League.

"Are you going
to the Blue Lane, Desmond?" I said.

He shook his head. "Things to do."

I turned to Sinder. "How about you?"

"I wasn't invited," she said, sulking.

She needed a distraction. "How about we check it out after the holiday?"

She wrinkled her nose. "That's not my kind of place. I'd rather go somewhere quiet."

I suppressed a laugh. If Desmond asked her to go to the club, she wouldn't hesitate. "Well, what about the Cavern?" It was a place for people who didn't do clubs and didn't like live music. It lived up to its name—a cavernous spot where customers sipped coffee or tea, and actually talked or read books. But Sinder wasn't listening to me. She was focused on Luke's and Embry's conversation.

"We'll discuss details later,"
Embry said. "You've got to tell me how you managed the thing with Gabby. She's so stuck up. And she was practically engaged to Brian Tucker."

Luke snorted. "Engaged? Please. Everything is for the taking."

Desmond, who'd been watching Luke, dropped his gaze. He took a huge bite of his brownie and glanced in Embry's and Ione's direction. He grabbed his water and gulped loudly.

Luke
watched him for a few seconds, then looked at me. "You still hung up on that guy?" he said.

"What guy?"
I said.

He
smiled. "Feigned ignorance. Charming. I'll bet he's moved on by now." I opened my mouth to speak, but he cut me off. "Mother locked up. Father resigned from the police force in disgrace. It's times like that when a man needs the loving of a good woman. And, well, you're so far away."

Desmond cleared his throat and coughed.

"Not that far away. And Ridge Grove will always be my home."

Luke
balled up his napkin. "I'm just saying maybe you should forget about that guy."

"That guy is still
a friend of mine," I said. Did I really believe it? I doubted things between Zeke and me would ever be normal. We both bore the heavy burden of blame, justified or not.

I expected a smart remark from Luke, but he only stared. His eyes traveled across my face as if trying to see something below the surface.
My cheeks grew hot.

Desmond coughed again, and
I lightly slapped him on the back. "Brownie go down the wrong way?"

"Yeah, right," Luke
said.

"Well, according to the
Malcontent, I've got my eye on a particular guy."

"Is it true?"

I shook my head. I wanted to end the conversation, so I turned my attention to Sinder, who was scribbling in a black-and-white composition notebook. No doubt writing a spell or coming up with a potion formula.

Desmond pushed away from the table and began to wheeze.

"Drake?" Luke said. "You okay, buddy?"

Desmond's face shined with sweat
.

"I think he's choking," I said, trying to visualize the
Heimlich Maneuver. "Desmond, can you speak?"

"My Pen," he said
in a raspy voice.

"Your pen?"

Luke jumped up from his chair so fast, it fell over. "He's not choking. He's having an allergic reaction!"

"Allergic reaction to what?" I said.
Angry, red splotches spread across Desmond's face. He scrabbled at his throat. My heart thudded in my chest, and I grabbed his water bottle.

"He doesn't need that," Luke said impatiently,
snatching it from me. "He needs his EpiPen."

"Oh my God," Sinder said, stumbling out of her chair. She
jerked Desmond's book bag from the floor, turned it upside down, and rifled through the contents. "Where are they, Desmond?

Desmond's lip
s began to turn blue, and he mouthed the word, "Locker."

Sinder ran from the room.

Luke leapt over the table and loosened Desmond's tie. "Hold on, man."

Embry scanned the room. "Does anyone have an
EpiPen? Benedryl...anything like that?" A few students shook their heads.

"I
just called 911," someone said. "I'll see if the nurse has anything like that."

Adrenaline shot through me.
I knew time wasn't on Desmond's side. I got to my feet and moved out of the way. His eyes and lips began to swell, and he gasped for air. As soon as Luke let go of him, he fell sideways out the chair. A collective gasp went around the room.

Ione shrieke
d. "Desmond!"

Embry and Luke
both fell to their knees at Desmond's side, whose eyelids fluttered. Embry performed CPR. "Guinan, elevate his legs," he said between breaths.

I looked around, grabbed a couple of book bags and tucked them under Desmond's fee
t. I kneeled and watched Embry do chest compressions. The room seemed to tilt. The last thing anybody needed was for me to pass out. I took deep, steadying breaths and prayed for Desmond to jump up and say he was okay.

"He's got to get some air!" someone shouted.

"How long has it been?" Embry said between breaths.

"
At least a minute," Ione said.

"This isn't working," Embry said. He
reached for something on the table, moved a finger across Desmond's Adam's apple, and stopped just below it. "Ione, give me a straw."

I looked up at her. Her face had gone pale. She didn't move. I jumped up and grabbed a straw off the tab
le. I scrambled close to Embry as he jabbed a pen into Desmond's throat. Bright red blood oozed between his fingers. He took the straw from my trembling hand and put it into the hole in Desmond's throat. He leaned over and breathed into the straw, stopped, and breathed into it again.

"What the hell is he doing?"
someone said.

"He's killing him!"

"No," I said, too low for anybody to hear. "He's trying to save him."

Embry
had performed an emergency tracheotomy. I ignored the strangeness of his knowing how to do this and listened for Desmond to start breathing on his own.

But Desmond wasn't breathing.

Sinder skidded through the doorway, strands of her hair floating around her head from static electricity. "I can't find his EpiPens!" She stopped short when she saw Desmond on the floor.

Luke stood over us raking a hand
through his hair, his face red. "Damn it, Drake!"

My body battled with my br
ain. Instinct took over. To conceal what I was about to do, I felt for a pulse on Desmond's neck. My hand moved to his face. I pulled back his eyelids. The swollen skin felt strange. I shuddered. I looked into his eyes and felt my own lids flutter.

I tried. I was trying. I wanted you to know me...to make up for...to have the chance to...I don't want to leave you.

Hands seized my arms and hauled me up. Luke pushed Embry aside and began chest compressions.

"It's too late," Embry said. "The trach didn't work. I think he's—"

"Shut up, Sully," Luke said, his voice cracking. He continued chest compressions and alternated with mouth-to-mouth resuscitation.

I watched
Luke's futile and desperate efforts. I peered around at Desmond's friends and caught Ione's eyes. They welled with tears, and I sensed deepening sorrow and affection. My ears rang, and my vision tunneled.
Death, again?

The passing
minutes seemed like hours. I wanted the boy on the floor to sit up, smile, and tell everyone not to worry. But that wasn't going to happen.

Desmond Drake was dead.

Desmond's friends had formed a protective circle around his supine body as Luke tried to get him breathing again. Someone shouted, "Out of the way!" I thought paramedics had arrived, but it was a teacher, Mr. Carson. He stooped and stared at Desmond.

"
Mr. Chapman, let me take over."

"He went into anaphylactic shock," Embry said.

Mr. Carson alternated between compressing Desmond's chest and breathing into his mouth. I suspected he knew Desmond was dead. With some effort, I managed to get Luke to his feet. His muscled arm trembled.

Students and teachers crowded near the
lunch room door, held back by the headmaster and several administrators. I scanned my immediate area, searching for my book bag. I'd taken to carrying a black-covered 7 x 5 sized journal to record dreams and thoughts. Its pages remained unblemished. Now that I had something to record, I couldn't find it.

Mr. Carson
stood and peered at Desmond, whose eyes were swollen shut now. The straw still poked from the hole in his throat. He said in a low voice, "He's gone."

Fifteen minutes later,
two paramedics rushed through the door, parting the crowd. They worked on Desmond while Embry explained what happened.

"He
was just talking to me," Luke said in a low voice. He looked dazed.

"What was he allergic to?' I said.

Luke looked into my eyes, his gaze unfocused. "Peanuts. Can you believe it? He had a really bad allergic reaction last summer."

"I'm so sorry."

"He and his parents were at Cape May. Some girl walking by just happened to have an EpiPen with her. Drake said she saved his life." Luke's body tensed. "He swore he'd never be without one again. How could he..." He trailed off.

How could he forget?
The paramedics' movements became less urgent. I'd seen enough death for a lifetime, going to scenes of death with my grandfather, but standing here, looking down at the body of a 16-year-old boy, was surreal. One minute he'd been cheerful. The next, he was gone. Just gone.

"He'll be alright, won't he
?"

I hadn't seen or heard Sinder's approach.
Her face was pale down to her lips. I let go of Luke's arm and put mine around Sinder's shoulder. She grabbed my other hand and held it tightly.

"He's dead, Gillespie."

Sinder jerked away from me and ran to Desmond's body. She was within inches of touching him when a teacher pulled her away. She screamed and fought. A woman I recognized as the school nurse helped the teacher lead her out of the lunch room. I wanted to go to her, but my legs wouldn't work.

"
The cops are here," someone said.

Luke looked around. "The police?"

The uniformed officers cleared the room more effectively than the staff. They directed lingering students out of the lunch room, and I got swept up with them. In the hallway, I stood against the wall. Stunned expressions abounded. A few students cried. Most looked at one another, wide-eyed. Embry and Ione, a short distance away, approached me. Ione leaned her head on Embry's chest.

"I don't understand," he
said. "How did he ingest peanuts?"

"
All of you knew he was allergic to peanuts?" I said.

Embry
furrowed his brow. "Of course."

"
Luke said Desmond kept two EpiPens with him."

He peered
up and down the hall. "Where's Luke?"

I looked around as well.
As though saying his name conjured him up, Luke appeared at Embry's side. He leaned his head against the wall and closed his eyes. He breathed in deeply and exhaled loudly.

"
Desmond had a history of forgetting his Pens," Embry said. "Luke, remember what he said at the Halloween party?"

I'd declined
the invitation to Claire Capwell's Halloween party. A junior and editor-in-chief of the school's news site and print edition,
The Grier Crier
, she'd asked me twice for an "exclusive interview" about what happened to me in South Carolina.

Luke didn't
respond to Embry's question. He kept his eyes closed.

"I remember,"
Ione said. "He joked that if someone wanted to kill him right then, all they had to do was slip him some peanuts."

I shook my head.
"Why would he joke about that?"

Embry shrugged.

Somehow, Desmond had eaten something he shouldn't have. I visualized what he'd had for lunch: a ham and cheese sandwich that he hadn't eaten, a brownie, a bottle of protein water.

"The brownie," I said aloud.

"What about it?" Embry said.

"Well, I'm thinking if anything had nuts in it—"

"Brownies are made with walnuts, aren't they?" Ione said.

"
Usually," I said. "I prefer them without nuts, but maybe some ended up in the mix." I chewed on a nail. If Desmond was carrying around two EpiPens, his allergy was serious. He'd be very careful to avoid anything with peanuts.

"Oh my God,"
Luke said, pushing himself off the wall. "That bitch killed him."

"What
are you talking about?" Embry said.

"Brennan. She must
have put peanuts in those brownies."

"I don't think so,"
Ione said. "Brownies are made with—"

"
Is that rule or something?" Luke said

I held up a hand.
"But those brownies didn't have nuts in them."

He gaped.
"But you just said—"

"I know what I said." I rubbed my forehead. "I was just..." I stopped talking. At this point, speculating would do more harm than good. The
adults would sort it out.

Luke suddenly bounded
down the hallway. I watched him, then gasped when I realized his target. I jogged behind him to catch up.

"You," he said when he reached the group.
"Why didn't you warn Desmond that those brownies had nuts in them?" He pointed at a short, plump woman at the center. Una Brennan had a shock of black hair that matched her eyes. Her mouth fell open.

"You poisoned him," Luke said. "That has to be what happened. You knew he was allergic to peanuts."

Mrs. Brennan's hand fluttered to her chest. "There were no peanuts in those brownies. No nuts of any kind."

Luke
shook his head. "You probably let something slip into the food. You've been known to be careless."

"Mr. Chapman, that's enough."

Mr. Howard, the school psychologist, approached the group. Luke stood a head taller than him, but the dark-haired, gray-eyed man radiated steely authority.

Luke ignored him and spoke to Mrs. Brennan.
"If I find out your carelessness killed my best friend—"

"There were no nuts in those brownies," Mrs. Brennan sa
id, her insistent voice rising.

"I hope his family sues the whole school," Luke shouted.

"Stop it," I said. "Come on." I pulled him by the arm. He didn't resist. He seemed to deflate. Embry and Ione hadn't moved from where they stood. When we reached them, Luke yanked his arm from my grip and pressed his forehead against the wall.

I looked back
at the group and saw Mr. Howard speaking to Mrs. Brennan. She leaned her head on his shoulder and sobbed.

"Luke, if Mrs. Brennan didn't know about Desmond's allergy, it's definitely not her fault."

He didn't respond. No one else did, either.

Another death. What will Granddad say when he hears about this? Would he wonder, as I did, why I hadn't
dreamed about Desmond's death? I itched for my journal. I paced and tried to recall exactly what Desmond had thought. Something about trying, wanting someone to know him, to fix something. The only part I was sure of was the last.
I don't want to leave you.

An officer stood at the door of the lunch
room, blocking the entrance. I approached the entrance, peered around him, and saw a cop and two paramedics near Desmond's body. I cleared my throat.

"Can I get my
book bag? It's got all my stuff in it."

"Where is it?"

I bit my lip and pointed to the table nearest Desmond's body.

The man pressed his lips together and shook his head. "After the room's been cleared."

I asked the first person I saw to borrow a pen and paper. A sandy-haired freshman boy, who seemed delighted by my request, obliged. I retreated and jotted down everything I remembered hearing. Most of it was paraphrase and impressions, except the last line. How strange it was that after all this time hearing dead people's thoughts, my capacity to retain what I'd heard hadn't improved.

"What are you doing?"

I jumped and folded the paper in half. "Journaling."

"Journaling?" Luke said, looking at me as if I'd lost my mind. "About what?"

Before I could respond, Mr. Grier, the headmaster, approached us. His icy-blue eyes darted from me to Luke.

"You were at the table with Mr. Drake, weren't you, Mr. Chapman?"

Luke nodded.

"So was I," I said.

He gave a slight nod and set his jaw. "This is most unfortunate. Drake was an excellent student. Talented."

Mr. Grier
must have been thinking about Desmond's acceptance to Georgetown.

"He ate something with peanuts," Luk
e said, his expression hard.

"Yes, I've been told," the head
master said. "Most unfortunate. And with Founders Day coming up..." He trailed off and shook his head.

Luke scowled. "
Founders Day? You're not going to cancel that?"

Mr. Grier
frowned at him. "It's weeks away. Tuesday, the seventeenth of December. We've never canceled Founders Day, not even during the world wars where many of our Grierdon boys—"

"
Headmaster," I said, trying to deflect an argument, "did you know before today that Desmond was allergic?"

"
No, but I doubt Mrs. Brennan would have used peanuts without the warning. As you know, we post weekly menus on the web site and common areas that list nutritional contents."

I always brought my
lunch, though I did recall glancing at this week's menu on a corkboard in the hall. The only thing that stood out were the desserts.

"If anything on that menu had contained
peanuts," Mr. Grier said, "there'd be a warning in red."

I didn't re
call any warnings in red.

The headmaster
looked at me and Luke thoughtfully. "The police will want to speak to you two and any others who sat at the table."

"That would
include Embry, Ione, and Sinder," I said. I felt Luke glaring at me. I waited for Mr. Grier to leave before I spoke. "You do realize the police will ask us questions?"

"I know that," he said, his voice strained.
"I just hope they grill Brennan as well."

I'm sure they will.

When Mr. Grier reached the others, he gestured to me and Luke. We joined them, and the five of us followed the headmaster to his office. He stopped us at the entrance.

"Wait here
."

We lingered near his office door
. No one spoke. The school nurse emerged from a room at the end of the hall. Sinder appeared behind her, her face puffy and dazed. When she reached us, she leaned against the wall and slid to the floor. I held her hand as she cried, and I shed a few tears, myself. Ione buried her face in Embry's chest, and he stroked her back. Luke stood stoically with his hands in his pockets.

A uniformed man who introduced himself as
Officer Moore told Mr. Grier to separate us. We stood at different points in the hall. Nobody spoke. I was the last to be questioned.

"Miss Jones,"
Officer Moore said as I entered Mr. Grier's office. He turned to a clean page in his notebook. "Spell your first name for me?"

I watched him as I did this, eager to make eye contact. When he finally looked up from his notes,
he said, "I've been following the Mansfield murder case. I'm very interested in what you witnessed in the lunch room."