Mourning Moon (A Guinan Jones Paranormal Mystery #2) (3 page)

Right after Tessa Hicks was arrested, the story remained local for a few weeks. Then it became national news. The housewife and mother who bludgeoned to death her husband's teenage mistress, killed a witness, and tried to kill her young cousin.
I naively assumed—more like hoped—a local story would stay local. As much as I surfed the web, I should have known better.

Now here I was,
standing before a member of the Metropolitan Police Department in Washington, D.C., about to be questioned in another death. But the officer didn't open with the Mansfield murder case.

"
Where was Mr. Drake sitting in relation to you?"

"
Uh, beside me, to my left."

"Did he leave the table at any time?
"

"No."

He wrote in the notebook. "What was he eating?"

"
He brought lunch from home. He had a ham and cheese sandwich, and he bought a brownie. He also had a bottle of water."

"
Did you see him with anything else?"

"
That's all I remember."

"Now think carefully,"
Officer Moore said. "Did you notice if anyone touched in his food?"

I furrowed my brow
. "Not that I recall. But Sinder Gillespie bought him the brownie."

He raised his
eyebrows. "Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"Did you know Desmond was allergic to peanuts?"

"I just learned that today. Luke told me he always carried two
EpiPens with him."

"Luke Chapm
an?" he said, turning a page in the notebook. "Have you ever seen Desmond Drake with these Pens?"

"No."

"I think that's all for now," he said. "I need your home address and phone number. If I have anymore questions, I'll be in touch."

I left the room and looked at my cell.
My mother was scheduled to pick me up in forty minutes. I wondered if either of my parents had heard about what happened yet.

Mom is going to lose it.

***

On the way to my locker,
I heard whispering. I looked around and saw Luke, Sinder, Embry, and Ione standing a few feet away. They stared at me.

"There's
something we need to check out," Luke said.

"Why so secretive?" I said.

Instead of answering me, Luke bounded down the hall. We ended up taking a circuitous route to the kitchen, avoiding the lunch room. As we neared the kitchen, the odor of bleach assaulted me. I breathed from my mouth. The smell always nauseated me. The kitchen's white floor gleamed in the afternoon sunlight streaming through the large, high windows. Trays were piled on top of counters, and the door to the industrial-sized dishwasher was open. Voices traveled down the short hallway between the kitchen and lunch room.

"What are we doing here?" Embry said.

Luke didn't respond. He stopped in front of an alcove filled with food. The open pantry was stocked with staples like flour, pasta, rice, and jars of sauces, ketchup, and mustard.

"What did she serve today?" Luke said.

Sinder wiped her eyes and glanced around the pantry. "Chicken and noodles, peas and carrots. Brownies."

Luke stared at something
on a shelf, and I followed his gaze "See this?" He pointed at a large, plastic bottle of oil sitting between bulk-sized packages of egg noodles and chocolate syrup.

"Yeah," Embry said. "So?"

"She probably made the brownies with it," Luke said.

"
That's canola oil," I said.

"
Aren't brownies made with oil?" he said.

A deep voice floated across the kitchen. We stopped moving.
I pulled out my phone, googled a recipe for cheesecake brownies, and followed several links.

"
Some of the recipes list oil in the ingredients."

"What kind of oil?" Ione said.

"One says vegetable oil, another canola."

Luke was still pointing
at the bottle. "Brennan probably used oil from this bottle. I'll bet you dollar that she did."

"What of it?" Embry said.

Luke set this jaw. "I'll show you what of it."

Before I could tell him not to touch
the bottle, Luke ripped off his tie and used it to hold the bottle and screw off the top. I turned in the direction of rapid footsteps. A police officer with leathery skin appeared and glared at us.

"What are you kids doing in here?"

My heart pounded. The forensic people would obviously test food in the pantry. And we were standing among evidence.
In
the evidence. I heard Luke's slight movements behind me. He stepped forward.

"We just wanted to make sure you go over al
l of this stuff. Desmond Drake is a friend of ours."

"I understand," the man said, suppressing irritation. "A
nd we know how to do our jobs."

Luke scoffed.

Embry grabbed Ione's hand and Luke's arm. "We were just leaving." Sinder and I shuffled out behind them.

"That cop's going to catch it," I said.

Luke cut his eyes at me.

Ione's head
swiveled between us. "What do you mean?"

"Anything in the
kitchen and pantry could be evidence," I said. "And the five of us, Desmond's friends, might have tainted it. Or that's the way it'll look if..." My voice fell silent.

"Spill it, Jones."

"Forget it," I said, feeling the color drain from my face. "What were you doing, anyway?"

"Later," he said, giving me a meaningful look.

"That's ridiculous, Guinan," Ione said. "Looking at food in a pantry doesn't mean we tampered with evidence."

We had no business in that pantry, but there was no point debating it now.
Embry began to explain the difference between tampered and tainted and stopped speaking when three girls approached us. The one in front spoke, an elfin girl with short, dark hair.

"I'm so sorry about Desmond, Sinder. Everybody liked him."

Sinder swallowed and nodded.

Ione mumbled something under her breath.

"What was that?" I said.

She glared at me, her eyes wide. I was equally shocked that I'd asked the question.

"All of us were friends of his," she said. "I don't know why she's telling Sinder she's sorry. I've known Desmond since I was five." Her lips trembled.

Sinder returned Ione's glare
, her eyes welling with tears. "Oh, yeah, you knew him from
way
back. Whatever. And you dated him, for what, five minutes?"

An ugly sneer crossed Ione's face. "At least I dat
ed him. More than I can say for you."

Sinder made a choking sound.

"You were like his pet poodle, always scampering at his heels, begging for a treat." Ione mimicked a dog with its paws up.

I caught Luke's eye. He shook his head.
"Vicious little bitch, our Ione."

"
Look," Embry said, glaring at Luke, "this is unseemly."

Ione wiped a tear
from her cheek. "You're right. I'm sorry, Sinder. I didn't mean to—"

"Forget it," Sinder said, turning to leave.
Her sobbing echoed down the hall.

Ione covered her mouth with her hand.
"I don't know why I said that."

I felt like an outsider witnessing pri
vate and unspoken things. Ione's biting comments to Sinder stung even me. But I made allowances. Desmond died right in front of her. In front of all of us.

"We're all upset," Luke said. "No one has a greater claim on grief."

The three girls looked at each other, mouths open. They turned and drifted down the hall huddled in a tight group.

I looked at Luke, who was watching me.

"You didn't, by any chance, dream about this?"

Blood pulsed
in my ears. "No. Besides, you said it was childish."

"I was talking about Sinder's w
itch crap," he said. "But what you do isn't magic."

"You really believe that stuff you've read about me?"
I didn't wait for an answer. "My mom's probably outside. I'm going to get my bag."

"I'll call you," Embry said.

I nodded. Ione pointedly looked everywhere but at me.

So she and Desmond dated.
I wondered if she still had feelings for him and didn't want me to sense them. She could have had a running X-rated fantasy about him, for all I cared. Her emotions were her private business.

Mr. Grier explained to students waiting to get their belongings in the lunch room that
the police intended to search them. We'd have to wait until after the holiday to retrieve them. I left the building, stood at the entrance, and inhaled the crisp autumn air. A police car and an ambulance were parked in the circular driveway ahead of a long line of cars. Eyes stinging and lips trembling, I turned away from other students. Desmond's voice rang in my ears.

Well, I appreciate her.

The boy with the beautiful, dark-red hair was gone. Aside from Embry, he'd been the most welcoming to me in the group. I wiped my face, looked across the street, and spotted my mother's gray Volvo. She emerged and waved frantically. I waved back, relieved, and sprinted across the road.

"I'm so sorry, honey."

My mother
rummaged through a purse the size of an overnight bag and pulled out a small pack of tissue. She wore her freelance-ghostwriter uniform of wrinkled blue T-shirt, a pair of faded jeans, and pea-green bedroom slippers. Her brown hair, grown out from its bob, reached the top of her shoulders.

I look a tissue and dabbed eyes that dripped like a leaky faucet. After I'd told her what happened, I noticed her knuckles were white from gripping the wheel.

"They told me there was an accident, not that someone died," she said. "That poor boy died of an allergic reaction?"

The image
of Desmond scrabbling at this throat made my eyes sting again, and I squeezed them shut.

"
But I suppose it was an accident, right?" she said, glancing at me.

This time last year, I'd have been shocked by the question. But lately I realized how much like my grandfather she was, even though she denied it—skeptical of any death until all facts c
onfirmed it was accidental or natural.

"As far as I
know," I said, turning to stare out the window. Golden brown leaves swirled in the wind, skittering between a jogging couple and a woman pushing a stroller.

"You've seen more than your share of dead bodies," my mother said.

"I just can't believe Desmond's gone. I mean, we were eating lunch, then I thought he started choking."

She patted my leg. "
It's a shame."

"
We think peanuts somehow got into the brownies."

"His poor parents," she said. "And the school. If they were at fault..." She trailed off, shaking her head.

I'd seen Desmond's parents during parent-student orientation. His father had a slightly lighter shade of red hair than his son's. His cheerful blue eyes crinkled when he smiled. His mother was dark-haired and sullen-looking. I don't remember her smiling.

"Every Thanksgiving from now on
," my mother said, "they'll have to relive this."

I looked at her. She chewed the nail on her index finger
. I looked down at my own. Nubby. "Does Dad know?"

"Not about the death," she said. "I'll
call him again when we get home."

I remembered the way
Officer Moore had looked at me. He'd mentioned the Ridge Grove case. Did he think I knew more about Desmond's death that I said?

"How's your
friend Sinder taking it?"

"She cried a lot, and she's just as confused as everybody else."

A
month into the semester, I'd explained the group's dynamic to my mother. Everybody knew how Sinder felt about Desmond. She didn't like Luke or Ione, and she seemed indifferent about Embry. But me...she was both fascinated and wary. Whenever I caught her eye when Desmond and I talked, I sensed jealousy. Natural, since she liked him, but I wasn't aware of giving her any reason to think I was trying to move in on him.

"Well," my mother said, sighing. "We'll have a nice, restful holiday. Try not to dwell on all this."

It was only three o'clock—four whole hours until I could see Granddad.

My heart flooded with relief w
hen we pulled into the driveway. My parents had lived in this house since I was three. While I considered Ridge Grove home, this is where I spent the earliest years of my life and various summers and holidays.

"I have a surprise for you
," my mother said.

My brain scanned
the possibilities. A new puppy? Gumbo? The whole family's moving to Ridge Grove?

"Want to guess?"

"A new puppy?"

She
rolled her eyes and opened the garage door. Parked in my father's spot was my dark-blue Honda Civic. Granddad was supposed to drive it up for me.

"Dad arrived early," she said.

"Really? He's in the house right now?" I didn't wait for an answer. I jumped out of the car without closing the door. I tore through the house like a little kid gunning for the Christmas tree. I skidded into the kitchen and almost ran into him.

"Now
there's a sight for sore eyes."

I looked into
my grandfather's face, and a warm wave of comfort washed over me. I buried my face in his chest and felt his arms close around me. His plaid shirt smelled like coffee and lavender.

"My favorite grandchild."

"I'm your only grandchild." I hadn't realized I was crying until I felt the tears soak his shirt.

"
It's so good to see you, Guinan."

***

Isaac Jepson, my grandfather and Ridge Grove's chief of police, reclined in a lounge chair in the den. I draped myself on the couch. It was probably my imagination, but his hair appeared more silvery. Grown out of its buzz-cut stage, it was long enough to part.

"You make it sound like you haven't seen him in years," my mother said,
pouring coffee into his mug. "It's only been four months."

Four
long
months.

Granddad winked at me behind her back
as she left the room. He'd filled me in on major developments back home and pointedly avoided any mention of the Hicks family. So far, I pretended I wasn't interested. I held my curiosity it check. But the dam burst.

"H
ow's Tim?"

"Finally, we get to it, eh?
Tim's as well as can be expected. It's awkward running into him. At one point, he'd planned to move away. I think he changed his mind, though."

I stare
d at my cup of tea on the coffee table in front of me and thought about Tessa. She was locked away in a prison seventy miles from Ridge Grove. "Have you seen her?"

He nodded. "Last month
."

I sat up.

"She looked me dead in the eye and told me she was sorry," he said.

A dish clanked
in the kitchen. Tessa was a sore spot for my mother. I lowered my voice. "How did she look?"

"She still looks like herself. Lost a few pounds.
"

I settled back on the couch and pretended to be interested in the movie. Minut
es passed before Granddad spoke again.

"Why don't you just ask me about him?"

"Who?"

He
rolled his eyes. "Okay, you twisted my arm. Zeke had a hard time that first month. Started drinking, getting a little wild."

My jaw dropped. I tried to imagine
that my mother had killed two people and attempted to kill a third. Yeah, I'd probably have a nip every now and then.

"He got into
some trouble," Granddad said, staring at the TV. "Fighting. That sort of thing."

"He didn't get
arrested, did he?"

"Nah.
He's settled down. He knows he has to help his father with Jacob and Jude."

Tessa's mother, a fortuneteller in Atlantic City, had no contact with the family.
I pictured Zeke chasing after toddlers, giving them baths and feeding them in their high chairs, as I once did. I'd babysat for the Hickses since they were born.

"How's Tim managing now that Zeke's in school?"

Granddad cleared his throat. "He's not in school."

"What?"

"He quit. Well, sort of." He turned to face me. "Tim's supposed to be homeschooling him. I don't think he's doing that, but there you go."

"He should be in school," I said, angrier than the occasion called for.

"Hon, this just happened a few short months ago. That family's gonna go through a lot of changes."

And I should be there helping them.
If their mother hadn't tried to murder you.

"I guess I forget about that," I said. "Being up here."

"And thank God you are." When he saw the expression on my face, he added, "I miss you like crazy. You know that."

I have him
a wan smile. Keys jangled at the front door.

"Reggie's home," my mot
her said, peering into the den and wiping her hands with a dish towel. Her brown eyes looked bright. Granddad cleared his throat again and sat straighter.

The two most important men
in my life were polite to each other, but there was no love lost between them. It was strange that my father had entrusted my grandfather to raise me for so many years, while their relationship remained stiff and formal.

I stood when my father entered the room, and he gave me big hug. He
suit jacket smelled like autumn—crisp leaves and spice.

"Sweetheart, I'm so sorry
about what happened at school," he said. "Desmond Drake was a fine young man."

"Yeah, he was."

He kissed me on the forehead and turned to my grandfather. "Isaac."

"Reggie," he said, shaking his hand.

"How was the trip?"

"Not as bad as I expected. Made good time. Thanks for having me."

My father's smile reached his green eyes. "We're glad to have you. Make yourself at home." He looked at my mother, who still stood in the doorway. "I'm going to wash up."

After he left,
Granddad sat down and noticeably relaxed.

"I'm so glad you're here," I said. "Can't you stay longer
than a month?"

He gave a crooked smile. "I wish I could, darling. I had to
fight for that month. We're down an officer, and with the hiring freeze, well..."

I sank onto the couch and resumed my bored, TV-watching position. "It's fun
ny to think that Zeke's babysitting," I said. "With me around, he never had to."

"
Well, sometimes Tamzen Parker goes over to..." He stopped abruptly.

My stomac
h dropped. My mouth was dry. "Tamzen?"

He rubbed his chin.
"She's helping out, you know." When I didn't respond, he added, "I don't think there's anything going on between them."

I gave him a weary gaze.

His cheeks reddened. "Yeah, well. It doesn't matter."

I wanted to clear the air, contaminated with the hint that Zeke and Tamzen had gotten back together, but my thoughts jumbled. I wanted to cry, scream, and laugh at the same time. Instead, I kissed my grandfather on the cheek and excused myself. I trudged upstairs to my room.

In spite of my nonchalant attitude, the tears came. I didn't try to stop them. I closed the door and the drapes, and I slunk down on the bed. I closed my eyes and remembered the feel of Zeke's mouth on mine, his hands around my waist.

Your eyes remind me of cinnamon. Did I ever tell you that?

I was out of the picture. History. Old news. Old love. Zeke and Tamzen were back together, her cheating with Eric Rodman apparently forgotten.

The kiss between us forgotten, too.