Mourning Moon (A Guinan Jones Paranormal Mystery #2) (6 page)

When
the implication behind my question dawned on her, she shook her head. "Desmond wasn't allergic to almonds."

"How do you know?"

"Because I..." She stopped abruptly and looked at her feet. I'd already caught a flash of shame. She folded her arms. "You've got the wrong idea. I practice good magic. I don't hurt people."

"There is no such thing as—"

"There is," she said, her voice rising.

Before I
could receive another flash of emotion from her, I turned to leave. "I'll see you later."

She grabbed my arm. "I didn't do anything wrong."

I glanced at door. Could her mother hear us? "I'm not accusing you of anything."

"I feel that you are. Like I said, I'm an I
ntuitive."

I lightened the mood.
"I'm going to be late. We'll talk later, okay?"

She reluctantl
y let go of my arm. "I'm sorry. This is not how I wanted this to go."

"Don't worry about it
."

I left her house and walked three, long blocks to the nearest Metro station. I trudged down the stairs in a trance, the breeze from the incoming train making m
e shiver. A stab of regret shot through me.

I
should have gotten samples from both bottles of oil to test on Luke's allergy kit.

***

Granddad sat on a park bench wearing his prescription sunglass and reading a copy of the
Examiner
. I slowed my approach and watched him. A longing to be back in Ridge Grove with him reached deep into my bones.

"You look like you belong here," I called.

He peered around and smiled when he saw me. He closed the paper. "If I were a younger man, maybe. But city life ain't for me."

I sat beside him and leaned
my head on his shoulder.

"What's up, buttercup?"

"Why does it seem like death is following me around?"

He didn't answer right away. We
watched people go by. "Death is as natural as life," he said. "I could say it's coincidence, but if that boy's death turns out to be murder...well."

I closed my eyes and rubbed my temples.

He touched my arm. "I have a feeling death is destined to be a recurring theme for you because of your gifts."

I shuddered at the thought, then counted my blessings. At least I was
n't hearing or seeing dead people. Or whoever the beings were. "Maybe there's some drug to suppress the dreams," I said.

He
grunted. "I don't think you want to go through life without dreaming."

I shr
ugged. We watched a man with a huge, black Saint Bernard walk by. The dog dragged him along.

Granddad tapped my knee. "Let's walk."

I told him about my visit with Sinder and the bottles of oil on her altar.

"Hmm.
Someone allergic to peanuts might not be allergic to almonds, and vice versa."

"Really?"

"Peanuts are from the legume family," he said, "and almonds from the plum family. An almond isn't nut, although that's what people commonly believe. A peanut isn't really a nut, either...well, you get the point."

"And why do you know this?"

He grinned. "I went to school with a girl who was allergic to peanuts and made it my business to know more about it."

I smiled at him. "You wanted to serve and protect even back in the day?"

"Back in the day? Wasn't that long ago."

We caught a
crowded train headed in the direction of the Smithsonian. I'd forgotten that tourists descended on the city during the Thanksgiving holiday.

"
Sinder seemed sure Desmond wasn't allergic to almonds," I said once we were seated. "If she knew the difference between them, I don't understand why she hadn't mentioned it. Perhaps she'd seen him eating almonds. Again, why hadn't she just said so?"

Granddad
took off his sunglasses and peered at me. "You don't think this girl killed him, do you?"

"I don't want
to think that. I should keep my nose out of it."

He snorted. "That'll be the day."

I tried in vain to put all thoughts of murder out of my mind. I was trapped. As much as I wanted to escape, I couldn't. I had to face whatever this all meant. When I came downstairs Monday morning to fuel up on caffeine, the expression on my mother's face made my stomach flip. Her fear and panic were contagious. I followed her gaze to her laptop on the counter. I walked over and squinted at the words on the screen.

Questions Arise in Student's Death

Police are questioning whether the death of a Thomas Grier School student was accidental after it was determined that a bottle of canola oil found in the school's kitchen pantry contained traces of peanuts. The police also determined that the oil was used to make cheesecake brownies for that day's dessert. Witnesses reported seeing seventeen-year-old Desmond Drake, who had a severe allergy to peanuts, eating a brownie shortly before he collapsed. Police are also looking into allegations that his epinephrine medication was missing. The deceased died of anaphylactic shock at the school last Wednesday.

I glanced at my mother. She had her back to me, busying herself at the stove. I read on:

Mrs. Una Brennan, the school cook who baked the brownies, told the police, against the advice of the school's legal counsel, that she didn't know how peanut traces got into the canola oil bottle.

"I have worked at Thomas Grier for 26 years," Brennan said. "I am devastated by what happened, and I will cooperate with the police in any way I can."

Police refused to name a suspect or speculate about motives.

"We're giving this case our due diligence," a police spokesman said. "We'll investigate every aspect and go where the evidence leads us."

Mr. Drake, a senior at the distinguished school, founded at the turn of the century, had been admitted to Georgetown University.

The rest of the story included quotes from the headmaster. I walked over to my mother and put my arms around her.

"Somebody intentionally killed him?"
she said. "I can't believe this is happening again. Why?"

I had no answers or comforting words. My
grandfather bounded into the kitchen and went straight to a cabinet to get a coffee mug. He froze in the act of reaching for the coffee and stared at us. "What's going on?"

I pointed to the laptop. He scanned it. "Oh, no."

My mother broke from me and slumped into a chair.

"This doesn
't mean Guinan is in danger," Granddad said. "It has nothing to do with—"

"With what?" my mot
her said, her eyes wide. "With murder turning up wherever my daughter goes?"

"Mom, I—"

"I'm going to take you out of that school," she said, rising so abruptly, she knocked her mug to the floor. I bent to clean it up, and my grandfather waved me away. He winked and pointed to the door. I nodded and heard her sobbing on my way out.

I know it was irrational for me to feel guilt. This wasn't my fault. I didn't choose this. I also felt anger. Maybe in some weird way, I was supposed to end up where murder was ready to strike.
You're not a superhero.
What was I, exactly?

I walked the halls at school and sat in my classes feeling on display. I'd catch students watching me, then dropping their gazes or jerking their heads away like I had the Evil Eye. Between classes, I walked with my head down. At the bell, I left the classroom and rammed into someone with a hard chest.

"S
orry," I said. I looked into the face of Luke Chapman.

"Can you bel
ieve it?" he said, his lips drawn into a grim line. "The cops are only
now
questioning whether it's an accident?"

Two girls
I recognized as sophomores slowed as they walked by, their eyes lingering on Luke.

"
Yes?" he said.

The color drained from one girl's face
, and the other looked as if she might cry. They picked up the pace.

"You must be used to that by now," I said.

"What?"

"Girls staring at you."

"Guys stare at you."

I rolled my eyes. "B
ecause I'm new, and I'm a..." A freak? A witch?

He smiled. "They're
looking at you because you're cute."

I shook my head. "T
hey think what happened to Desmond is my fault."

His expression softened. "
Guinan, that's crazy, and you know it."

I gave a humorless l
augh. "Death follows me around. I brought it with me to Thomas Grier."

"
Ridiculous. Did you, uh, dream about Desmond's death?"

I shook my head.
"Not even a hint. I didn't dream of my grandmother's death or the death of a teacher at my old school. I didn't dream of Skeeter Watson's death, either."

Luke watched me, his brow furrowed. He seemed
fascinated.

"In fact," I said,
lowering my gaze, "I didn't even dream of Kate Mansfield's death. I dreamed of my own." One of those comfortable silences hung between us. "My grandmother dreamed about people dying."

"Did she t
ry to save the people she dreamed about?"

I frowned
and studied my feet. "I know of only one."

"So she just let the other people die?"

I looked up at him sharply. "I don't think it was her responsibility to dedicate her life to saving people from dying."
Death is as natural as life.

He held up his hands. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to imply...well, I guess I did. Let's say you dreamed about Drake suffocating like that. You'd have tried to save him, wouldn't you?"

"Of course."

Luk
e closed his eyes. "I can't believe he's gone. I shouldn't even be here today."

I reached for his
hand but drew back just before he opened his eyes.

"Come on," he said. "Let's at least try to eat."

At lunch, I discovered one reason everybody was staring at me. Embry slid his tablet across the table to me.

"I take it you saw the
Post
story this morning," he said. "Check this out."

I reluctantly took it. He'd been reading the
Morning Malcontent
.

I Hear Dead People

The demise of Desmond Drake is a tragedy this crusty old school will never live down. Snuffed out in the prime of his life, Mr. Drake was full of promise. But someone saw to it he'd never fulfill that promise. There's an unfaithful, disloyal, and homicidal maniac among us. Whoever you are, your days are numbered.

How does the Malcontent know? Because our resident clairvoyant, Guinan Jones '15, "listened" to Mr. Drake after he died.

You heard it right. We've speculated about what Miss Jones can do, you and I. Speculate no more. The Malcontent witnessed her kneeling beside him, looking into his eyes, and "listening" to his thoughts. Did he name his killer? I'd wager Miss Jones knows who the killer is, but for reasons that will become evident, she's keeping it to herself.

"That's not true," I blurted out. "I don't know anything, and if I did, I certainly wouldn't keep it to myself."

Embry broke the awkward silence
that followed. "Good thing I don't believe in the paranormal. Bad thing that others do."

I
read the post again and tried to remember noticing anyone pointedly watching me lean over Desmond's body. With so many people surrounding us, I couldn't exactly hide what I was doing. The person could be anybody who was in the lunch room that day.

Ione arrived at the table and took the seat beside Embr
y. I gave him back his tablet. She glanced at it.

"
Don't tell me you're letting that mess get to you."

I opened my lunch bag and pulled out
food I didn't want. I considered buying dessert—key lime pie today. "Is Mrs. Brennan here?"

"
She's taking a leave of absence," Luke said.

"What?" Ione said. "Why?"

"Are you kidding?" Luke said. "A kid died after eating something she cooked. She's probably the number one suspect."

Embry sat back and folded his arms. "Why would
she want to kill Desmond? It doesn't make sense."

"What motive would she have?" I said. "
And more important, why would she do it, knowing she'd be the main suspect?" I looked at Ione. She kept her eyes on the cup of yogurt she was stirring. She slowly raised her head and looked at me.

"I didn't kill him, if that's what you're thinking."

I gaped at her. "I don't think that."

Luke gave an exaggerated sigh.
"Take a pill, Hamilton."

Embry stared at his girlfriend
. "Guinan doesn't think you killed Desmond."

"
On to more important things." Luke said. He went over the
Post
story and reminded us that he was right about the oil.

"But that doesn't mean someone tried to murder him," Ione said.

Luke gave me a deadpan expression.
Is she for real?

"Murder or not," Embry said, "they definitely intended to cause him harm. But who'd do something like that?"

I leaned forward. "Does this mean you no longer think Luke tainted the canola oil?"

Embry
glanced at Luke. "Unlike some people, I admit I don't know what happened. I'll let the evidence speak for itself."

"
I have a confession," Ione said. She stared down at her well-stirred yogurt. "I saw Luke pour the oil on his tie. As far as I could tell, that's all he did."

Luke snorted and shook his head.

Embry's face paled. "Why didn't you say anything at the cafe?"

She shrugged.

"She enjoys the drama of it all," Luke said. "Isn't that right, Hamilton? You like seeing the two of us sniping at each other."

I looked at each them, not even wanting to understand the weirdness between them. "
I'm not hungry," I said, stuffing my lunch bag into my back pack. I left the lunch room and stopped at my locker to get my jacket.

"Mind if I walk, too?"

Luke stood behind me. I didn't respond. He didn't speak until we were outside.

"Can I ask you something?"

The cool air felt good on my face. I shoved my hands in my coat pocket.

"Did you really do your th
ing? You know, 'read' his body? And before you ask, yes, I believe you're clairvoyant."

I stared into
Luke's eyes and sensed no deception. This should have comforted me. It didn't. "I am so sorry to disappoint you, but I don't know who killed Desmond."

"What did you see...I mean, hear?"

I had nothing to hide, did I? "He was thinking, 'I don't want to leave you.'"

Luke waited.
"Is that all?"

"He wanted to make up for something. He wanted someone to know him."

"No names?"

I gave him a weak smile. "That would be too easy, wouldn't it?"

His brow furrowed in concentration. "I think you need to tell the others what you just told me."

I groaned. "Why?"

He looked into the distance. "Somebody might know something. In fact, I think you should broadcast it to the whole school."

I shook my head, my heart fluttering. "No way."

"Guinan, somebody murdered my best friend. If what you heard can help..." He rubbed his eyes.

"I guess it can't hurt," I said under my breath.

He touched my arm. "I understand why you're hesitating. Coming here was your chance to start over, to leave all that behind. You'd be pointing a spotlight at yourself and confirming to the whole school you hear dead people."

I winced.

"Everybody reads the
Malcontent
," he said. "I'm going to e-mail the blogger and tell him what you heard." He waited to see if I'd object. When I didn't, he began to walk away.

"Luke, do you know who runs that thing?"

He faced me. "Wish I did. By the way, do you want a ride to the funeral tomorrow? It's at ten."

The funeral.
This was the first I'd heard about it.

Seeing my confusion,
he said, "There was a notice on the school web site. I'll bet most people don't check it, but I do. Every morning."

"What about Gabby Meyerson?"

Luke cocked an eyebrow. "What about her?"