Moon Spun (7 page)

I said something noncommittal.

Chad continued in a rush. “So, to answer your question, I think the metal in your trailer doesn’t affect you, because you have special powers your mother doesn’t have.

You’re different from her…stronger. Maybe you inherited something from your dad that made you different.”

“What about you? If you’re a changeling, how can you be around iron?”

Chad shrugged. “I’ve been sick all my life, so it probably is affecting me. When I get in a car, I feel like my blood is fizzing.”

“Like Alka-Seltzer?”

He nodded. “I used to get really car sick, but not so much anymore. Maybe I’ve built up immunity or something.”

Chad’s earlier comment had planted a dark seed of suspicion in the dim recesses of my brain. All at once, it sprouted and flourished.

I held up a hand. “Back up a sec. This older sister of your friend…was her name Caitlyn or 285

Lexie?”

“It was Caitlyn.”

“Ha!” I shouted. “I knew I couldn’t trust Nicole!”

“Who’s Nicole?”

“Never mind.” I shook my head in disgust. Nicole was Beck’s twin sister. She’d placed her hand on a bible held by her mother, and sworn she’d never tell a single soul what really happened that day. Except for her BFF apparently. Hmmm, I wondered if Caitlyn knew Nicole’s eyes glow in the dark, and she could leave her physical body and do a little astral travelling when she was bored, like during Mass. I’d bet Nicole hadn’t mention those little tidbits to her BFF. Nicole and I were overdue for a little chat.

We got back to Peacock Flats just in time to go to the fruit stand for the late afternoon rush. When I slipped behind the counter, Mercedes was ringing up a box of peaches. She pointed to Mrs. Prentice, an old lady whose husband drove her to the fruit stand each day to buy corn for dinner.

“She’s baaack!,” Mercedes announced in a loud whisper.

“Chad,” I said. “Grab a plastic bag and come with me.”

Chad trailed behind me as I ambushed Mrs. Prentice before she could ignore the sign, printed in English and Spanish, PLEASE DO NOT PEEL THE CORN!

“Oh, hi, Miz Prentice,” I gushed. “Let me pick out some good corn for you. How many ears do you want?”

She peered at me over the top of her glasses and pinched her lips until they disappeared in a narrow white line, letting me know I’d spoiled her fun. She loved to strip the husks back on the corn, and check to make sure the kernels went clear to the end of the cob. Then, she threw the rejects back on the pile and nobody else would buy them. My job was to keep that from happening.

“Two and they better be good or I’m bringing them back,” she said, glaring at me. I smiled sweetly. “Have I ever let you down?”

“Humph!”

I picked out two plump ears of corn and dropped them into the plastic bag held by Chad.

“Anything else? How about some nice fresh tomatoes?”

“Three and they . . . ”

“Better be good,” I finished.

After what seemed like an eternity of inspecting every tomato in the pile for defects, I guided Mrs. Prentice toward the cash register and then carried the produce to her Lincoln Town Car. It was the same every day. Mr. Prentice would smile pleasantly, pop the trunk open and say, “Thank you, Allie Emerson.” I guess old people like to stick to a routine.

After the Prentices pulled away, Mercedes said, “Hey, your mom was here looking for you. She had a guy with her. Somebody I’ve never seen before.”

I groaned and my heart sank. Not another boyfriend. According to my calculations, Faye had been through every loser in the valley. Had she started importing them from west of the Cascades?

Mercedes looked at my expression and added hastily, “I don’t think she had the hots for him or anything like that.”

“Why? Did he look normal?”

Mercedes giggled. “No, silly. Remember who you’re dealing with. Mercedes Trujillo knows these things.”

“Was she on her way to work?”

Faye worked as a waitress at Bea’s Honey Pot Diner, and I knew she was working the dinner shift tonight.

286

“Yeah, wanna use my cell phone to call her?”

I did, and that’s when I found out the guy with my mother wasn’t another loser boyfriend. (Huge sigh of relief) No, it was Special Agent Dennis McCarty of the FBI, and he would be stopping by to see me soon.

Great. Just great.

When Dennis McCarty showed up, it usually meant somebody was trying to kill me. 287

Chapter Nine

Dennis didn’t show up until the end of the week. When I finished work and pulled in next to the trailer, he was sitting on our front steps. Uncle Sid’s dogs, Lewis and Clark, were sprawled on their backs so he could scratch their bellies. L and C were yellow Labrador retrievers, but probably not British labs like Ms. Peacock-Tuman’s dog. Tongues lolling and mouths agape in wide, bliss-filled smiles, Lewis and Clark were in doggy heaven, all eight legs churning the air. I spotted a Domino’s pizza box, a pile of napkins and a six pack of Pepsi on the spool table. Dennis wasn’t just a FBI agent. He was my dad’s friend and a fellow Star Seeker. We’d met after the school incident last fall, supposedly for debriefing. During the debriefing, I’d fibbed a little when it came to Beck and Nicole and their role in the ordeal. I figured their mother, Melissa, didn’t need the FBI poking around in her life. Think about it. If you wrote Christian fiction, would you want the world to know your twins had been fathered by a lust demon? Ha! Didn’t think so.

“Hey, Dennis,” I called, after carefully locking Junior’s—oops, I mean my car. “I heard you were in the area. Must be bad guys around, huh?”

Dennis rose. “Hey, kiddo. How ya doin’?”

He stretched out a hand, fingers up, palm forward, taking care to stay clear of the moonstone. The last time we’d met, I’d zapped him with it to prove a point.

We pressed our palms together, interlaced our fingers and murmured, “Stella Potenza,” Italian for

“star power,” and the official greeting for Star Seekers.

“Eat first. Talk later,” he said.

He walked to the table, and lifted the lid from the pizza box, releasing the delicious aroma of tomato sauce, oregano and pepperoni. My stomach growled ferociously in response. I snagged a big slice, and sat down on a stump, leaving the rickety lawn chair for Dennis. He wiped his hands on his jeans, and dug into the pizza box. The dogs scrambled up, and flopped down on my feet, their unblinking gaze locked onto the pizza travelling back and forth to my mouth. Dennis must have been famished too. The only words we exchanged in the next five minutes were, “Mmm, good!”

Finally, we came up for air. Dennis tossed pizza crusts to the dogs, and then mopped his face with a handful of napkins. “To answer your question,” he said, still chewing his last bite. “No bad guys right now.”

I gathered up the debris from our dinner, and tossed it into the garbage can next to the trailer.

“So, is this just a friendly visit so we could share a pizza?”

“Not exactly.”

I studied his face. “So, why exactly are you here?”

“Your dad sent me.”

“Oh.” I bit my lip, remembering Mike’s shock and obvious sadness when he told me about his parents’ accident.

“He would have come himself, but he’s pretty busy making funerals arrangements and such.”

I nodded.

Dennis squirmed a bit before saying, “The funeral is tomorrow. Mike said if you want to go, you can ride over with me.”

“To the funeral?” I repeated, stupidly. In my mind, I saw Mike Purdy sobbing over his parents’

288

caskets, while his blonde wife and kids glared at me, the dusky, dark-haired teen stranger invading their family circle. “Um, don’t you think that would be a little awkward?”

Dennis shrugged. “Not for me to say. Your decision.”

“Pretty easy decision,” I said. “I didn’t know them.”

I couldn’t help but feel a little resentful when I thought about the prosperous Purdy family. Faye and I struggled every day to make ends meet. “Is that why you’re here?

To invite me to the funeral?”

I must have sounded a little snippy, because Dennis held up a hand. “Hey, don’t kill the messenger! The funeral invitation was an afterthought. The real reason is this.”

He pulled an envelope from his shirt pocket. I reached for it, but he jerked it away. “Before you read it, I have something to tell you.”

He looked so serious, I started to worry. “Is this about the moonstone?”

“Don’t know for sure.”

“Earlier, you told me ‘no bad guys,’ so what you’re about to tell me must be good. Right?”

Dennis said, “I’ll let you be the judge of that.”

“So what’s the big secret?”

Dennis cleared his throat. “Mike looked in his mother’s safety deposit box and got a bit of a shock.”

“Shock? Like in a good way?”

The corners of Dennis’ mouth lifted in a brief smile. “Depends on what you call good. Mike found out the man who raised him wasn’t his real father.”

“Figures,” I said. “More family secrets.”

He opened the envelope and withdrew a single sheet of paper, folded in thirds. “Mike had a copy made of the original. Since it involves you, he thought you should read it.”

I unfolded the paper, surprised when I read the date at the top. February 20, 1971. Written in black ink with a bunch of curlicues, the script looked old-fashioned, like the picture of the handwritten Declaration of Independence in my history book. It was that kind of writing. Even more surprising, was the content. It said: My days in this world are few. Those who would do me harm are closing in. As an emissary of the Tuatha de Danaan, I have accomplished my task. You, my unborn son, are the conduit. The moon and stars will bless the child who follows you. Descendant of an ancient race and daughter of Avalon, she is the chosen one. But, heed my warning. Forces of evil from the moon’s dark side will seek to destroy you both. The answers to your questions are hidden on the Emerald Isle. Your father, Kyle Cassidy

Bewildered, I shook my head and stared at Dennis McCarty, waiting for him to explain. He waved a hand in frustration. “I know, I know. It’s messed up. Instead of answers, we’ve got more questions.”

I nodded in agreement. “This thing, or person, this two-a-day Donna—whatever—that Kyle Cassidy is an emissary of . . . any idea what that is?”

Dennis rubbed a hand over his chin. “Nope. It’s Gaelic. The word is. That’s all I know.”

I re-read the letter. “So, is this guy dead, or what?”

“Yes. His death certificate was in the same envelope. He died on February 21, 1971.”

“The day after he wrote the letter?” My voice was squeaky with disbelief. “But how did he know about me . . . about everything? Could he see into the future? I mean, it’s like everything he said is—

289

what’s the word—supposed to happen?”

“Predestined,” Dennis said, with a grimace.

We sat in silence. I don’t know what Dennis was thinking, but my head was filled with images scrolling across my brain, like the breaking news crawl on CNN.

WASHINGTON STATE GIRL GETS SHOCK OF HER LIFE. FINDS OUT SHE’S

PART FAERY AND HAS A FAKE GRANDPA ALL IN ONE WEEK! STAY TUNED

FOR THE WHOLE STORY.

The whole story? Geez, wouldn’t that be nice!

When the silence got too heavy, I cleared my throat. “So, apparently this Kyle Cassidy guy could see into the future.”

“Looks that way,” Dennis said. “Your dad is leaving for Ireland after the funeral. You know, the bit about: the answers are hidden on the Emerald Isle. ”

Unexpected sadness for my father’s loss crept into my heart, along with the shame I felt for thinking bad thoughts about the Purdy family. Mike had not only lost both parents in a fiery crash, but also discovered his mother was living a lie. And now he had no choice but to figure out some mystery he didn’t ask for. Talk about piling on.

Sometimes family stuff just sucks dirty dishwater.

“Ireland, huh,” I mused. “Is that where Avalon is?” I pointed at the letter. “If I’m reading this right, it says here I’m the ‘daughter of Avalon.’”

Dennis said, “I think Avalon was part of the whole Camelot myth. If I remember correctly, it’s where King Arthur found his sword, Excalibur.”

“A myth,” I repeated and waved the letter at Dennis. “This whole thing is based on a myth?

Excuse me, but doesn’t the word myth mean it’s not true? Maybe Kyle Cassidy was nuts. It’s possible, you know.”

“Allie,” Dennis said solemnly. “Think about what’s happened to you the last twelve months. The moonstone prophecy. Star Seekers. Trimarks. Do you really think we should dismiss this letter as the ramblings of some crackpot Irishman?”

“I guess not,” I said. “It’s just that when I think I’m getting stuff figured out, something else comes along and knocks me down again.”

Dennis chuckled. “You know what that’s called, kiddo?”

I shook my head.

“Life.”

I grinned up at him. “Since you’re much older than me, I guess you know more about that than I do.”

He pulled a lighter from his pants pocket. “Look it over one more time. Then, we’ll burn it.”

Startled, I pulled the letter close to my body. “Burn it? Why?”

Dennis’s face looked grim. “Just a precaution until we figure out what it means.”

I scanned the letter again, committing it to memory. “You’ll let me know?”

“You can count on it.”

I handed him the letter. A few seconds later, all that remained was a tiny pile of ashes, and my fierce determination to log on to the nearest computer and research the unfamiliar words before I forgot how to spell them.

After Dennis left, I made a decision. It had been a long week, filled with strange revelations. I couldn’t do much about Mike Purdy and his newly discovered past until I had more information. But, Faye was a different story. Tantalizing new clues had come my way and with it, my resolve to discover why Faye had such a screwed-up life.

Maybe if I could figure out what went wrong, I could fix it and my mother would be happy. Actually, I would settle for less miserable. My new motto: One parent at a 290

time.

I went inside, picked up the phone and punched the number for the Bea’s Honey Pot Diner. When my mother came on the line, I said, “Hi. It’s Allie. I talked to Grandpa Claude.”