Synopsis | Reviews | Excerpt
New York Times
bestselling author Sharon Sala concludes her Lunatic Life mystery series the
way it began—with lots of Team Spirits.
In My Lunatic Life, Tara Luna is the new
girl in school, trying to hide her ghostly friends and fit in—impossible, since
she’s soon tracking down kidnappers and dodging Dee Dee Broyles, a murdered
teen girl who just happens to haunt Tara’s new house.
In Lunatic Detective, Tara and hunky
bad-boy classmate Flynn O’ Mara partner to find Dee Dee’s killer while
admitting they’re more than just friends. Now that he knows she’s "different,”
will he stick around?
The stakes are even higher in Lunatic Revenge, as bad guys come after
Flynn and Tara to find out where his dying father, and ex-con, hid a stolen
fortune. A surprising twist gives Flynn a gift neither he nor Tara ever
expected.
And
now, in Lunatic Times Two, that
still-hidden money threatens Tara and Flynn again. This time, Tara may not
survive. She’ll need the help of every friend she’s got on the other side.
Including some she’s never met before.
Sharon Sala is a seven-time RITA finalist, winner of the Janet Dailey
Award, four-time winner of the Career Achievement award from RT Magazine, and
five-time winner of the National Reader's Choice Award. Her books are New York Times, USA Today, and Publisher's
Weekly bestsellers.
Coming soon!
Excerpt
Chapter One
TARA
COULDN’T breathe, and despite how fiercely she was fighting, the hands around
her throat kept squeezing tighter and tighter. Her field of vision had narrowed
to the emotionless expression on the pockmarked face of the man above her. No matter
how many times her punches landed, or how hard she bucked and kicked trying to
throw him off her body, it had no effect. His sole purpose was to end her life
at any expense, and it appeared he was willing to suffer to make that happen.
Even after there was no breath left in her to make a sound, inside, she was
screaming for Flynn.
Help me!
Help me!
And then it was too late.
The man’s
face was fading before her eyes. She could actually feel her spirit leaving her
body. When she realized she was floating above, a wave of sadness swept through
her. She saw her lifeless body below.
I wasn’t
ready to die.
Tara!
Tara! Wake up! It’s just a dream!
Flynn, is
that you?
"TARA!
TARA! Wake up! You’re having a bad dream!”
Tara woke
up with a gasp then took a deep breath, shocked she could actually breathe. She
wasn’t dead after all. Thank God, thank God!
Her uncle,
Pat Carmichael, put a hand on her forehead to test for a fever.
"Are you
sick, honey?”
"No, I’m
fine, Uncle Pat. It was just a crazy dream.”
"Good. I
have to go in to work early. They are going to need all hands on deck at the
city barn today to help sand the streets.”
"Why? You
don’t work on Saturday.”
"It’s
snowing, and from the look of the roads, it’s been snowing most of the night.
I’m glad there’s no school. You stay inside and stay warm. Gotta go. Call if
you need me,” he said, and blew her a kiss as he hurried away.
She threw
back the covers and ran to the windows. A heavy snow was falling, and even
though the reality of her dream was beginning to fade, the horror of it was
still with her. She leaned her forehead against the cold windowpane and
shuddered. As she turned away, she glanced toward her dresser to the picture of
her boyfriend, Flynn. The fact that he had been able to mentally enter her nightmare
and pull her out of it was shocking. She was still struggling with how he’d
changed after his accident. He’d come out of the coma—from the brink of
death—with the ability to hear thoughts—even hers.
Moon girl?
Tara spun
around, but there was no one there.
Flynn?
Are you
awake now?
Yes. OMG!
This is going to take some getting used to, having you hear my thoughts. Did I
scare you?
No. I
could tell you were dreaming.
Really?
How?
I don’t
know. I just could. Stay inside and stay warm. Love you.
Tara put a
hand over her heart as a big smile broke over her face.
I love
you, too.
A pink
puff of smoke drifted across Tara’s line of vision.
What about
me? I loved you first.
Tara’s
smile widened as the ghost who’d helped raise her injected herself into the conversation.
"Of course
I love you, Millicent. I love you and Henry to death.”
You need
not put that much effort into the relationship, Tara. We’re already dead.
Tara
rolled her eyes. "You know what I mean.”
Henry, the
other ghost who was part of her life, popped up in the middle of Tara’s bed
wearing a coonskin cap and dressed in buckskins.
"Henry?”
He
saluted, blew her a kiss, and floated toward the ceiling in a horizontal
position, with the tail of the cap hanging down behind his neck like a rudder
on an outboard motor.
Tara
watched him floating, trying to figure out what was going on now. With Henry,
it was always a bit hard to tell.
"What on
earth is Henry doing?”
I think
he’s reliving one of his past lives. He was a fur trapper once. I haven’t been
able to get him out of that ridiculous cap. If he wants to wear fur, he should
go for something elegant, like mink, or ermine. I had an ermine coat once. A
Russian prince gave it to me then insisted I wear it, and nothing else, to bed.
Tara
shrieked and put her hands over her ears. "OMG, Millicent! What part of ‘too
much information’ do you not understand?” She grabbed a change of clothes and
headed to the bathroom. After this rude awakening, there was no way she was
going back to bed.
Later, she
settled down in front of the television with a cup of hot chocolate and a piece
of buttered toast as breakfast, absently watching the programming as she dunked
and ate. A few cars went by on the street outside the house, but none were
going fast. Some were even having trouble navigating. She watched them sliding
sideways. She thought of Uncle Pat having to work in this weather and began
thinking of what she could make for supper that would be hot and filling; she
wondered where their crock pot was. She remembered unpacking it when they moved
here, but hadn’t used it since.
Tara dug
through the cabinets until she found the crock pot, then started a stew for
supper. After that, it was down to the weekly chore of cleaning the house and
sorting laundry.
A couple
of hours later, she was making a grocery list and listening to the radio when
the phone began to ring.
It was
Nikki, her BFF.
"Hi,
Nikki. What’s going on?”
"Rachelle
and Morgan are outside trying to make a snowman, but the snow isn’t sticking,
and they’re basically just freezing themselves for the heck of it.”
Tara
laughed. "Isn’t that what kids are supposed to do? And why aren’t you out there
with them?”
Nikki
sighed. "I have a sore throat. Mom won’t let me.”
Tara
frowned. "Bummer, Nik. Do you have a fever, too?”
"No, at
least not right now. I sure hope I’m not getting sick with the flu. It’s going
around town like crazy. Mom said there are three out of her office with it, and
Dad’s got two out in his office.”
"Ick,”
Tara muttered. "At least stay warm and dry, and I’ll see you at school.”
"Call me
later. I’ll be bored.”
Tara was
still smiling as she hung up and went to get the clothes out of the dryer
before they wrinkled.
A short
time later, she was hanging up the last of Uncle Pat’s work shirts in his
closet when she felt a presence. The hair rose on the backs of her arms, and
there was a pressure on her chest, like she was being pushing backward. She
turned abruptly, quickly stifling a gasp.
There was
a woman standing in the doorway wringing her hands, and Tara could see through
her to the picture hanging on the wall in the hall behind her. Except for
Millicent and Henry, there hadn’t been a ghost in this house since DeeDee
Broyles, who had been in residence when they moved in, and she’d long since
gone into the light.
This
woman’s voice was shrill and shaking.
You can
see me, can’t you?
Tara
nodded.
Oh, thank
God. They said you could, but I wasn’t sure.
Tara
frowned. "They? Who’s they?”
A pink
puff of smoke swirled into view.
That would
be Henry and me. Sorry, but she has a problem you need to fix.
Tara
groaned. "Millicent! Are you serious? There’s a blizzard outside. I have no
car. What can I possibly do?”
Ask her
yourself. Her name is Connie.
Tara
frowned. The ghost was a curvy little blonde in a long pink flannel nightgown,
and her feet were bare. Not that she could feel the cold anymore, but it told
Tara that the woman had probably died in bed.
"So
Connie, other than the fact that you’re dead, what’s wrong?”
Connie
wailed. My husband! My children! They won’t wake up. They’re dying, too, and
I can’t find anyone to help.
All of a
sudden a wave of despair slid through Tara so fast there were tears on her face
before she knew it.
That’s how
mother love feels.
Tara
thought of her own mother, wondering if she had been in this kind of despair
when she died in the wreck that left Tara an orphan.
Yes,
that’s exactly how your mother felt, but this is no time to dwell on history.
Do something! Now!
Millicent’s
warning made Tara focus.
"Why are
they dying, too? What’s wrong with them?”
Carbon
monoxide! The alarm upstairs is going off, but no one is moving.
Now she
understood the need for haste.
"Connie,
what’s your last name?”
The little
blonde wailed. I don’t understand why this is happening, but I can’t
remember.
Tara tried
another question. "Where do you live?”
Connie was
wringing her hands. I don’t remember that either.
Tara knew
death was often confusing. Lots of times spirits didn’t even know they were
dead, and in the confusion lost memories that had to do with the world of the
living.
"We’ll come
at this from another angle,” Tara said. "What do you remember?”
My name is
Connie.
Tara
groaned.
Millicent
interrupted. She doesn’t remember the rest, Tara. The only thing I know that
might help is that she works at city hall, because that’s where I found her.
She was trying to make someone hear her and causing quite a stir. Papers were
flying, and the coffee pot exploded. She doesn’t know how to control the energy
her panic is causing.
Tara ran
for her cell phone and called the police. The fact that she had their number on
speed dial was not unusual—for a teenage girl who kept getting herself mixed up
in dangerous situations and had psychic talents she couldn’t explain.
"Stillwater
Police.”
"I need to
talk to Detective Rutherford or Detective Allen ASAP. Tell them it’s Tara Luna
calling.”
"One
moment, please.”
Tara
glanced at the ghost and the spiral of pink vapor around her head and knew
Millicent was trying to calm the little spirit. She was moving into panic mode
herself when she heard Detective Rutherford’s voice.
"Hey,
Tara, this is Detective Rutherford. What’s going on?”
"I need
you to find out the home address of a woman named Connie who works at city hall,
and then dispatch rescue to the house. Her family is dying.”
She heard
a gasp, then a groan, and sighed. Rutherford was obviously not happy with her.
"How the
hel... excuse my French... do you know
this?”
She
glanced at the ghost again.
"Well, Connie’s
spirit is standing in my living room begging me to help her family before they
all die, too.”
"You’re
talking to a ghost as we speak?”
Tara
rolled her eyes. "No. I’m talking to you, but I’m looking at her. She
said it’s carbon monoxide poisoning, and they won’t wake up.”
"Why
doesn’t she tell you her last name and address?” Rutherford muttered.
"Because
she doesn’t remember that anymore. Please! She has kids and a husband you might
be able to save. Hurry!”
"Well,
hell... excuse me again... hang on. I’ll
make a call and see what happens.”
She could
hear him yelling at his partner, Detective Allen, and then someone else saying
they knew a woman named Connie in the court clerk’s office.
"Connie!
Did you work in the court clerk’s office?”
I don’t know.
I have to go! My babies will be looking for me!
All of a
sudden she was gone.
"Now what?
How can she find her kids when she doesn’t know her address?” Tara muttered.
The
maternal cord of a mother is forever tied to her children, regardless of where
a spirit might be.
Tara felt
an instant pang of loss.
"Then why
have I never seen my mother and father?” she whispered.
What makes
you think you haven’t?
Before
Tara could pursue that comment, Detective Rutherford was back on the line.
"Okay, we
have a name and address and have dispatched a patrol car and ambulances. For
once, I hope you’re wrong about this.”
"Keep me
posted, okay?”
Rutherford
sighed. "I will. Stay inside. It’s cold.”
He
disconnected.
Tara
caught a glimpse of Henry through the window. He was marching back and forth
out on the porch with a long rifle cradled in his arms.
"Now
what?”
Millicent’s
voice was in her ear. He’s standing guard.
Tara
stifled a spurt of panic. "Why? Am I in danger again?”
He’s on
the lookout for other spirits. He thinks you don’t need to be bothered anymore.
Just ignore him.
Tara shook
her head and turned away. No one would believe her life, even if she tried to
explain.
She
glanced at the clock. It was already past noon, and whatever appetite she might
have had was gone. This day was going to be very sad if that whole family died.
She headed
for the kitchen to check on the stew. Her day might be in turmoil, but Uncle
Pat was still going to be hungry when he came home tonight.
RUTHERFORD
HUNG up the phone and grabbed his coat.
"Hey,
where are you going?” Allen asked.
Rutherford
sighed. "That dang girl has my curiosity up again. I need to see for myself if
that family is really in danger. If there’s a woman named Connie lying dead in
that house, I am never going to doubt Tara Luna again.”
Allen
snorted softly. "I have heard you say that before, and yet here you are, still
doubting and going for another look.”
Rutherford
was putting on his coat as he walked. "So sue me. Are you coming with me, or
not?”
"You know
I am, but we’re taking your SUV. You’ve got four-wheel drive,” Allen said.
"Then
hurry up. The ambulance and patrol cars are probably already there.”
They left
the police station, buttoning their coats as they went. The moment they stepped
outside, the swirling snow and cold hit them like a slap in the face.
"I hate
winter,” Allen said.
Rutherford
grunted as he unlocked the doors and started the engine. A few moments later
they were on the street, sliding sideways through intersections, with the
windshield wipers swiping uselessly at the swirl of icy snow.
As
Rutherford had predicted, the ambulance and a couple of cruisers were already
there. When they started toward the house, another detective met them at the
door.
"Hey, what
are you two doing here? Darrell and I caught this case.”
"We took
the call,” Rutherford said. "Wanted to see for ourselves if it was on the up
and up.”
The
detective shrugged. "It wasn’t a hoax, if that’s what you’re asking, and it’s a
damn shame. Fire department said carbon monoxide poisoning.”
Rutherford
felt the skin tightening at the back of his neck just like it always did when
he was presented with a truth about Tara Luna’s abilities he couldn’t ignore.
Allen was
brushing snow off his coat. "Any survivors?” he asked.
"The woman
is dead. Her husband and two kids still have a faint pulse. EMTs are working on
them now for transport. Do you want to check out the scene or anything?”
Rutherford
shook his head. "No. I only look at dead people when somebody makes me.”
"Coming
through,” an EMT shouted.
They
stepped back to make room for the gurney and the little girl on it. They had
her on oxygen and covered in blankets against the cold. There was a second
gurney coming up behind with a slightly older boy. Both children were ghostly
pale, but alive.
"Damn
shame,” Allen said softly. "I sure hope the father survives. It would suck if
those kids lost both their parents.”
"Let’s get
out of here,” Rutherford said. "We can check on their welfare back at the
station.”
They ran
to the car and jumped inside, shivering from the wind’s icy blast. Rutherford
started up the SUV and drove away.
"Hey, the
police station is that way,” Allen said, pointing to the left as Rutherford
took a right.
"Thought
I’d go by Tara’s house to let her know she was right.”
Allen
snorted softly. "She already knows she’s right. You’re the one who keeps on
doubting her. I’m staying in the car.”
Rutherford’s
eyes narrowed as a gust of wind sent the snow swirling around the vehicle,
making it appear as if they were driving in an arctic tornado. Just for a
moment he wondered if it was one of Tara’s ghosts doing that, then decided that
was stupid and kept driving.
He didn’t
know that Millicent was in the back seat, admiring the cut of Rutherford’s jaw.
She was fond of manly men, and these two fit her notion of manly just fine.
WHEN TARA
WAS troubled, she baked. And after the visit from the sad ghost, Tara was more
than troubled. If those kids lived, they were going to wake up and find out
their mother was dead.
She’d gone
to the kitchen with a heavy heart and began stirring up cookie dough to stay
occupied. She was already taking oatmeal raisin cookies out of the oven when
someone began knocking. She set the tray aside and grabbed a towel, wiping her
hands as she went, then peeked through the window before opening the door.
"Detective
Rutherford, come in.”
He stepped
inside, shivering noticeably as he shut the door behind him.
"Thank
you. It’s miserable out there.”
"I didn’t
expect to see you. Are you by yourself?” she asked.
"No,
Allen’s in the car. I wanted to apologize for giving you a hard time about your
phone call. Maybe one of these days I’ll learn to act without asking you
questions.”
"It’s
okay.”
"No, it’s
not. I don’t know how this will ultimately turn out, but the dad and two kids
were still alive when we found them, and you can take credit for that.”
Tara heard
a pop and saw the little barefoot spirit holding her hands against her breasts
and smiling.
Tell him
thank you.
"I will,”
Tara said.
Rutherford
frowned. "You will what?”
"Oh, sorry.
I was talking to Connie.”
Rutherford
eyed the room with a nervous glance. "So, you’re saying her spirit is here?”
"Yes.
There,” she said, pointing to a spot beside Rutherford.
He jumped
like he’d been goosed and landed right where Tara was pointing. When the hair
suddenly stood up on the backs of his arms, he moaned. "I’m standing on her,
aren’t I?” he whispered.
"Well,
let’s just say you’re both sharing the same space.”
"Excuse
me, Connie,” he whispered, and took four quick steps backward.
"You didn’t
hurt her,” Tara said, as she watched the little ghost beginning to lose
substance. "She wants me to tell you how grateful she is that you helped save
her family.”
All of a
sudden there were tears in Rutherford’s eyes. "I’m sorry we couldn’t save her,”
he said softly.
Tara could
hear Connie’s voice, but it was getting fainter. She was already moving toward
the light.
"She’s not
sorry. She says that she had to die to come find help, or they would have all
perished.”
He took
out a handkerchief and blew his nose. "Dang cold wind made my nose run,” he
said.
Tara felt
like crying with him and changed the subject. "I made cookies. Would you like
some?”
The fact
that she’d not only changed the subject but offered food was good.
"Yeah,
that would be great!” he said.
"I’ll send
enough for you to share with Detective Allen.”
"Don’t
send him more than a couple. He was too big of a coward to come in.”
Tara
laughed, then stopped and tilted her head.
"What’s
wrong?” Rutherford asked.
"Your
partner is going to wish he’d come inside with you.”
"Why?”
Millicent
is in the backseat of your car messing with him. He’s not sure what’s
happening, but he’s getting rattled.”
Rutherford’s
eyes widened. "Make sure she stays here when we leave, okay?”
Tara
smiled. "I’ll mention it to her, but she pretty much does what she wants.”
"Oh lord,
lord,” Rutherford muttered.
"I’ll get
the cookies,” Tara said, and hurried to the kitchen and bagged up a half-dozen.
When she
got back to the living room, Allen was standing by his partner. His eyes were
wide, and the expression on his face was somewhat shell-shocked.
"Someone
was pulling on my hair,” he whispered, and glanced around the room as if he
were about to be attacked.
"I’m
sorry,” Tara said. "If she does it again, just tell her to stop and leave you
alone. She has to obey. It’s part of the rules on the other side.”
"Nowyou tell us,” Rutherford muttered. "Thanks a lot for the cookies. We better get
going.”
"You’re
welcome,” Tara said, as she walked them to the door.
She heard
a loud pop. Millicent was ticked.
You didn’t
have to tell them about the rules.
Tara
closed the door behind the two men. "And you didn’t have to bother him. You
knew he was going to freak. You did it on purpose.”
Whatever.
There was
another loud pop, a large puff of pink smoke, and Millicent was gone.
"Whatever,
yourself,” Tara said, and headed back to the kitchen to finish the cookies.
Chapter Two
THE
COOKIES WERE cooling on the rack, and Tara was asleep on the sofa with an old
patch-work quilt pulled up beneath her chin. Outside, the snow was still coming
down, and the wind was causing it to drift. The electricity flickered off then
came back on again.
Millicent
was perched on the back of the sofa keeping watch over Tara as she slept, while
Henry was hovering between the living room and the kitchen, wishing he could
still smell and eat. The stew bubbling in the crock pot looked enticing.
An old
pickup truck with a load of firewood piled high in the truck bed drove past the
house. It was the fourth time it had circled the block, which was why Millicent
was keeping watch. She and Henry knew the person behind the wheel was up to no
good, but they weren’t sure if Tara was a specific target. Until then, they
would not interfere.
It was
close to four p.m. when the phone rang. Tara threw back the covers and reached
for the receiver even before her eyes were fully open.
"Hello?”
"Hey,
honey, it’s me. I’m heading home. Checking to see if I need to bring supper.”
"Hi, Uncle
Pat. No, don’t bring food. I made stew. It should be done by five.”
"Stew
sounds so good. Do you need anything?”
"Not a
thing. You just come home and get warm.”
"On my
way.”
When he
disconnected, Tara got up, folded up her covers and then headed for the
kitchen, pausing in the hall to turn up the thermostat. The house was chilly,
which meant it must be getting colder outside. The good news was, it had
stopped snowing.
She had
cornbread baking in the oven, and coffee was brewing, when she heard the front
door open.
"I’m
home!” Pat called.
"In the
kitchen!” she yelled back.
Pat popped
in long enough to give her a kiss and peek at the stew. "This looks so good,”
he said. "I won’t be long, but I need to change into some dry clothes.”
"I did
laundry, so your sweats are clean.”
He gave
her a thumbs up. "I’ll be right back.”
Tara began
to set the table, adding butter and molasses for the cornbread. Uncle Pat liked
cornbread with stew, and cornbread with molasses for dessert, so she knew he
was going to make a sizeable dent in the pan still baking.
A few
minutes later he was back. "What can I do to help?”
"Just pour
yourself a cup of coffee and sit and talk to me.”
He took
his coffee to the table, stirred in some cream and sugar, and then leaned back,
watching her work. She reminded him so much of his sister, Shirley, right down
to the long legs and dark hair. All of their family was tall; the fact that
Tara was like her mother was no exception.
"So what
did you do today?” he asked.
Although
what happened this morning wasn’t a secret, she wanted him to hear it from her.
"I have to
say it was quite a morning. I was doing laundry and cleaning when the spirit of
a woman who’d just died popped up, begging me to help save her family.”
Pat’s
hands tightened around the coffee cup, but other than that, he didn’t react to
what she was saying. However, he could tell by the expression on her face that
she’d been shaken, which was unusual.
"How
tragic, honey. Was it a traffic accident?”
"No, it
was carbon monoxide in their home. She was frantic, trying to find someone to
help before her husband and children died, too.”
"Dear
God,” Pat said softly, and leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table as
she continued the story.
"To make a
sad story short, we found out her name and address, and the police rescued the
family. I haven’t heard anything more, but they were still alive when they
found them.”
"Then
that’s good, right? She accomplished her task and moved on. She did move on,
right?”
Tara
nodded then took the cornbread out of the oven and cut it into squares, then
began dishing up the stew. She piled a platter full of the crusty yellow
squares and carried it to the table.
"Yes,
she’s gone, but when it was all happening, I could feel how frantic she was,
and how much she loved them.”
Pat
frowned. "Well, sure, honey. Any parent would be frantic.”
She
carried the bowls of stew to the table, setting one at her place and one at his
then went back for the cornbread. Even as she sat, Pat could tell there was
more.
"Do you
think my mother and father felt like that?” she asked.
Pat
stifled a groan. So that was it. He reached for her hand and gave it a squeeze.
"Oh, honey, you don’t even have to ask. There was never a mother more proud of
her child than Shirley was of you.”
Tara’s
eyes were glistening with unshed tears. "I can see spirits all the time.
They’re around me no matter where we go, and yet I’ve never seen my mom or dad.
They’ve never even tried to talk to me.”
"How do
you know?”
She
frowned. That was almost the same thing Millicent had said earlier. "I don’t
know, but I would have thought they would at least have identified themselves.”
Pat
sighed. He didn’t like to admit he’d grown up in a house full of psychics, but
he knew enough to answer some of her questions. "I don’t know how the other
side works, but I can remember my mom and Shirley talking about it some. Their
rules are different than ours, right?”
She
nodded.
"So maybe
they aren’t allowed to pop up and say, ‘Hi, I’m Mom. How’s it going?’ You were
so little when they died that maybe you just never had time to form a bond that
would help you recognize them from this side. Do you know what I mean?”
Tara’s
eyes widened. "Yes, I do, and that makes sense. I never thought of it that
way.”
He smiled.
"Then for now let’s agree that you were loved, and still are loved to
distraction. You saved some lives today, this stew smells wonderful, and I’m
starved. How’s that?”
She
smiled. "Good.” She took a bite of the stew. "Needs salt,” she added, and
passed the shaker.
After
that, the conversation was less serious. She listened absently as he talked
about the snowdrifts and the streets they’d sanded and the cars stranded all
over town. It wasn’t until she’d carried away their empty bowls and was running
water in them at the sink, that her uncle shifted the conversation again.
"It’s just
a couple of days until New Year’s, and then you’ll be back in school.”
Tara
nodded. "I know. I can’t believe that I’ll finally be graduating high school.
Growing up is exciting and just a little bit scary.”
"No
scarier than it is for me. Some days I don’t want to face the fact that you
will get married and move away from me.”
She
frowned. "Well, I can promise you that will be down the road a few years, so
stop dwelling on that, okay?”
"Okay.” He
was silent a few moments as he continued to eat. When he finished his stew, he
pushed the bowl aside and then leaned forward. "So... if I
took Mona to a New Year’s Eve party, how would you feel about that?”
Tara
frowned. "What do you mean, ‘How would I feel?’ I’d feel fine. That’s a weird
question.”
He
shrugged and reached for another square of cornbread, then began drenching it
in molasses. "We seem to be putting down some roots here in Stillwater, and I
thought it might be a good idea if I got to know some people. She wanted to go
and asked me. I told her it depended on what the dress code was. She laughed,
but I was serious. I don’t own nice clothes.”
"Oh, Uncle
Pat! I can help you with that. After we get groceries at Walmart tomorrow, we
can swing by some of the clothing stores. It’s not a formal party, is it?”
"No, but
she said anything I might wear to church would be fine, but as you know, that’s
yet another thing I’ve failed you on. We don’t go to church. The older you get,
the more I am beginning to realize that your life has been negatively impacted
by me and my failures to provide.”
Tara
strode over to the table and threw her arms around his neck, hugging him
fiercely. "That is so not true, and I don’t ever want to hear you talk bad
about yourself to me again.”
He patted
her arm. "It’s apparent there are holes in your social life because we moved so
much.”
Tara
laughed. "Uncle Pat, get serious. There are holes in my social life because of
who and what I am. Not because we moved around. Now, tomorrow we go shopping,
and that’s that.”
She hugged
him again and then got a small plate and a piece of cornbread and sat down.
Pat arched
an eyebrow, popped a bite of his cornbread and molasses into his mouth and then
shoved the thick, sweet syrup across the table. "I might want another piece of
cornbread,” he said as she tilted the jar, eying the amount of dark syrup
pouring freely onto her plate.
"Chill,
Uncle Pat. It’s over half-full.”
His bushy
eyebrows knitted over the bridge of his nose as he watched it continue to flow.
"Ummhmm, I see it.”
She
laughed, and just to make him nervous, poured an extra dollop on the plate,
then shoved it back toward him.
He
laughed. "You are something else, girl.”
A couple
of spoons banged in the sink.
He jumped.
"What was that?”
Tara
glanced over her shoulder. "It’s just Henry checking out the stew. He wants to
taste it, but unfortunately for Henry, ghosts don’t eat.”
"Lord,”
Pat muttered swiped a bite of cornbread through the molasses, and popped it in
his mouth.
Tara
laughed. Right now, her lunatic life felt just about perfect.
SNOW
HAD DRIFTED behind the old black pickup and onto the load of wood in the bed,
concealing everything but the front part of the cab and the hood. The
windshield wipers were frozen to the window, and the battery was dead because
the driver, Vince Dudley, had tried to start the truck so many times after it
stalled that he’d run it down. Now he sat huddled behind the wheel with his
coat collar pulled up around his ears, cursing the weather and his boss for
sending him out in this mess.
When he
saw a small pair of headlights suddenly appear out of the dark, Vince breathed
a shaky sigh of relief. It would suck eggs to freeze to death on this
wild-goose chase here in the States, tracking down some stupid teenager who
supposedly saw ghosts. Michael O’Mara was dead, and wherever he’d buried that
damn drug money, it would most likely stay buried for eternity. If Vince had
his druthers, he’d pack up and go back home to Canada.
He jumped
out in the snowdrift, cursing softly as the snow went up past his knees, and
began waving his arms as the old John Deere tractor came near.
Boots
Digby pulled up to the snowbound truck and turned around until he was facing
the other way, then got out of the tractor cab and waded through the snow.
"Man, this stuff is deep here.”
Vince didn’t
bother to comment. He wanted to get back to the house. "Did you bring a chain?”
"Yep, yep
I did,” Dig said, returned to the tractor, and unwound the large coil of chain
on the back.
"Here,
give it to me,” Vince said. "I’m so cold I can’t feel my feet.” Vince dug
through the snow beneath his truck to get to the front axle and hooked the
chain around it. He got up, brushing snow off his clothes as he crawled back
into the truck.
Dig had
already hooked his end of the chain to the tractor and was patiently waiting
for Vince to get back in the truck. When he did, Dig put the tractor in gear
and moved forward slowly until the chain was fully extended, then began the
laborious process of pulling Vince and his vehicle back to the house.
The house
belonged to May Schulter, who’d been part of the gang Michael O’Mara belonged
to when he was arrested and sent to prison. Their boss, Marshall Story, was
May’s only child. She’d given him up at birth, never knowing what became of
him: that he was adopted and raised in Canada.
It was
only a few years back that they’d reconnected and ever since kept up a
relationship through letters and phone calls. When all of the mess with Flynn
and the Nettles gang was going down, she’d told him everything, including the
fact that the money in question was close to a half million dollars, and she
was looking for a psychic to help her find it. Then she got herself arrested,
and they lost touch. Afterward, he’d thought and thought about all that money
just waiting to be found, until it was driving him crazy. When he mentioned it
to Vince and Dig, their excitement fed his interest, until they found
themselves leaving Canada and on the way to Oklahoma to find it.
They
arrived and found May’s house with no problem. The condition it was in had been
staggering, but it was too far to go back without at least giving their plan a
try. So they did their investigating, finally located the psychic, only to have
the weather become an issue. Their visitor visas would expire soon, and,
blizzard or not, they had to act fast or back out.
Vince’s
fingers were so cold it was difficult to grip the steering wheel, so when his
cell rang, he almost didn’t answer. Then he saw it was Marsh and picked up.
"This is
Vince.”
"Did Dig
find you?”
"Yeah.
We’re about a mile and a half from the house, and I’m nearly frozen.”
"Coffee’s
hot, and there’s some chili on the stove. We’ll talk when you get here.”
The line
went dead.
"Yeah,
goodbye to you, too,” Vince muttered, and dropped the phone in his pocket.
THE
FEATHERS ON the dream-catcher hanging on the wall above Tara’s bed shifted
slightly as the heating unit kicked on, sending a rush of warm air into the
room. Tara moaned softly as she rolled over in her sleep.
Millicent
hovered at the foot of her bed while Henry continued to keep watch outside.
They knew she was in danger, but didn’t know when it would happen or where it
would come from. They had decided between them to tell her in the morning. Even
if it did frighten her, it was better for her to be forewarned.
While they
were keeping watch, Tara was far from having a restful sleep. Once again, she’d
fallen back into the same dream she’d had the night before and was running from
the man with the pockmarked face, knowing that he would catch her before she
could reach her phone, and knowing that she would die.
She was
screaming for help when a voice forcefully entered her dream.
Wake up,
Tara! Wake up!
Tara was
gasping for air when she heard the voice. Her eyes flew open. The pockmarked
man was nowhere in sight, and she was safe in her bed. She rolled over onto her
back then sat up.
Flynn?
Yes, it’s
me, Moon Girl. Same dream?
Yes. I’m
scared, Flynn. I think I’m going to die.
Don’t say
that, damn it!
I can’t
help what I see.
It’s a
dream. It doesn’t have to come true.
Tara combed
the hair from her face with shaky fingers.
Tara?
I’m still
here.
I’m coming
to see you tomorrow.
She
thought about the upcoming shopping trip.
Then I’ll
come, after you and Pat get home.
She
blinked. You heard me thinking about that, too?
Sorry. I’m
so tuned into you it’s automatic, and I don’t know how to turn this off yet.
Don’t
apologize. Just come see me.
I’ll be
there. Go to sleep, Moon Girl. I’ve got your back.
Tara
shuddered.
We’re
here, too, honey. Go to sleep.
Tara’s
chin quivered as her eyes filled with tears. "Am I going to die, Millicent?”
We all
die.
Tara’s
heart skipped. "Are you saying that my life is in danger?”
We were
saving that for in the morning, but yes, Henry and I feel it. We just don’t
know who or why.
Instead of
increasing her fear, the verification of what she’d been seeing just made Tara
mad. "Well, that’s just great. Why couldn’t I have been born normal, like
everyone else? Being me is like living with a target painted on my back. I
can’t turn around without ticking someone off or running into creeps.”
If you
hadn’t been born as you are, Connie’s family would be dead, and so would a
whole lot of other people you helped rescue after the tornado earlier this
year. Not only that, but Flynn would never have been able to come out of the
coma after the accident you two were in. Everything comes at a price. You’re
not dead yet. Stop whining, pay attention, and I would assume it can be
prevented.
Tara’s
anger shifted. It was rare that Millicent ever scolded her, which made it all
the more pertinent.
"You’re
right. I’m sorry,” she whispered.
Go have
some milk and cookies—and eat one for Henry and me. We won’t be far.
Tara threw
back the covers, slipped into her house shoes, and pulled a hoodie over her
pajama top as she headed down the hall. She paused in the living room, then
moved to the front windows and shoved the curtains aside to peer out into the
darkness.
Snow
blanketed the houses and streets. The wind had finally quieted, but not before
it blew massive drifts against the north sides of all the houses and cars.
Uncle Pat was going to have to shovel their car out before they could get
anywhere tomorrow. It looked so peaceful, and yet she knew better than most
that evil lurked, always looking for the weak and unprepared. Well, she wasn’t
weak, and she was no longer unprepared.
She let
the curtains fall back in place as she headed to the kitchen and turned on the
light. The worn blue and white tiles on the floor were clean and shiny. The
dishes were done and put away. Everything was in its place. It felt safe to go
farther. She poured herself a glass of milk and got a couple of cookies out of
the cookie jar, then settled down at the kitchen table to eat.
She’d just
taken her first bite when Henry popped up, still in his buckskins and coonskin
cap, looking wistfully at the cookies. She smiled.
"I’m
sorry. They’re chewy, oatmeal raisin cookies with a hint of cinnamon. Do you
remember that?”
He nodded
and rubbed his stomach.
She took
another bite and leaned back, eyeing his outfit thoughtfully. "Did you ever
know Daniel Boone?”
He nodded
and clapped his hands together, indicating they had been buddies.
She
thought about the stories she’d read and the song people had made up about
Daniel.
"Did
Daniel Boone really kill a bear when he was only three years old?”
Henry
shook his head no.
"I didn’t
think so,” Tara muttered.
He held up
four fingers.
She
laughed. "Oh, so he was really four years old and not three?”
Henry
winked.
"You’re
not going to tell me, are you?”
He shook
his head and disappeared, but by then, Tara was in a much better mood. She
finished the cookies and milk, rinsed the glass and put it in the sink, then
turned out the light and went back to bed.
Just
before she closed her eyes, she thought she saw a puff of pink smoke by the window
and sighed. Millicent. She might be in danger, but she had her own brand
of backup. It was enough to give her peace of mind.
