Mourning Moon (A Guinan Jones Paranormal Mystery #2) (17 page)

"You broke up Ga
bby and her boyfriend," I said. "And you don't seem that into her. I think it was the challenge of getting the girl and not the girl herself."

"And you
think this is about the challenge of getting you to like me?"

"You've done it at least twice before."

"Touché." He moved even closer. I resisted the urge to step back. "What if I do really like you?"

I lowered my head, not wanting to sense his emotions. He lifted my chin with the tip
s of his fingers.

"Those eyes of yours," he said, stroking my cheek.

"We have the same color eyes," I said in a low voice.

He shook his head. "Yours
are more soulful." His body heat permeated the air. He pulled me to him so quickly, I didn't have time to resist. Then his lips, soft and warm, brushed mine. "I'm here. He's not." He drew me closer, our bodies touching. Then he kissed me. My stomach reacted as if I were on a roller coaster. The intensity of the contact started at my feet and reached the top of my head.

Luke kissed me deeper, and I let him.
Lost in a fog of longing, images of Gabby, Claire, and Ione sprang to my mind. I drew in a sharp breath and pushed away. But he held on, tilted my head back, and kissed me on the neck. I raised my arms to give in to the impulse to put my arms around him, but I stopped myself. When I pushed away this time, I took a few steps back.

Luke
held the same pose for a second, then dropped his arms to his sides. His face masked the disappointment I sensed in his eyes. He rubbed his nose.

"I'm no good at playing second
chair, Jones. I quit eighth-grade band because the teacher thought my fabulous trumpet playing was slightly more cringe-inducing than Robby Corrigan's."

I
tamped down the tenderness that had risen inside me. How could I be so... "As if I'd want to go out with you, Luke Chapman, the way you play with girls
and
the truth.

He
walked to the door, placed his hand on the doorknob, and looked back. "You know the old saying, it takes two to tango? Remember that whenever you get the urge to judge me."

I tuned
out thoughts of Luke's confessions and kisses and focused on what he'd said about his and Desmond's suspicions about Asher Hamilton. Granddad insisted on riding with me to Ione's house. I had no reason to believe she'd tell me anything, but I had a plan.

"I agree that the dream is related to this case,"
Granddad said. He sat with the passenger seat pushed all the way back to accommodate his long legs. "What I'd do if this were my case is tell you to trust your dream. I'd also focus on the five students who sat with Desmond before he died, and that includes you."

I gripped the wheel.
"What are the odds that the girl in the dream is some random student I may have spoken to once or twice?" I said hopefully.

"I'd say they're low. The dream about your
murder was related to Kate's and Skeeter's. The strangulation dream is more than likely related to this one."

"It's all related," I conceded. "Otherwise, why dream of death at all?"
We drove in silence as I navigated a traffic circle.

"
Grandma dreamed of accidents. I dream of murder. Why?"

He grunted. "Obvious to me, darling.

I dream only of deaths I can stop. I think you're supposed to try.

I stopped at a red light and looked at my grandfather.
"What if I can't stop the next murder?"

He gave a wan smile. "I like to think of it as fate. If we're working on the theory that you dream about events you can change, I think it's inevitable you will."

I rubbed my forehead, trying to wrap my mind around it. 'But at Jepson's Point, Zeke saved my life. After listening to my message, he figured I was still out there."

"Ah," he said, holding up a finger, "that was one possible scenario. You might have found a way had he not known up."

"Well, what about Grandma? She dreamed her death but couldn't prevent it."

"But accidents and murders are qualitatively different."
It was my turn to grunt. "Look, hon, I'm just guessing. But despite the supernaturalness of all this, there's a logic to it."

"That's what Mr. Howard said.
He doesn't believe in the supernatural. He considers it mental problems that have a rational explanation."

"You see?" he said, grinning. "The skeptic and t
he believer find common ground. Now let's puzzle this out."

Once I entered Ione's neighborhood, I parked a few houses away. I grabbed my
journal from the back seat and made a chart of all parties involved and added one more: Gabby Meyerson. Neither she nor Ione nor Sinder had fingernails that matched those in my dream. If either of those girls killed Desmond, who was the strangler? Strangling was most often done by males. Were there two killers? The next part I didn't—or couldn't—take seriously: possible scenarios that would lead either Luke or Embry to strangle Gabby, Ione, or Sinder.

"
Luke and Desmond were best friends, right?" Granddad said.

I nodded and drew a line between the two.

"And Luke said Desmond didn't want to get back together with Ione."

My lips tingled remembering Luke's kiss
es. "We, that is, Luke and I, think Ione's brother is actually her kid. I think Desmond wanted to claim him."

He gave me a sideways glance. My cheeks grew hot.

"Gotten pretty close since the murder, have you?"

"I...what are you saying?"

"I don't want you to ignore what might be in front of you because you like this boy."

A strong urge to protest rose inside me. I tamped it down.

"That's what happened with Tessa," he said. "And it wasn't just you. I had a blind spot. I didn't want to suspect her or Tim. But they both had the strongest motives."

"But that's the thing," I said. "Luke doesn't
seem to have any motive."

He watched me before speaking again. "Try to keep your feelings out of it. There might be a motive nobody's uncovered yet."
He pointed out the windshield. "Pull up in front of the house. I don't want them to think we're sneaking up on them.

***

Granddad and I sat so close together on the Hamiltons' couch, our legs touched. I'm pretty sure the contact was the only thing keeping me from hyperventilating. Mrs. Hamilton said Ione had gone to run errands, and she'd taken Asher.

The woman's eyes wide,
blue eyes seemed to pierce me. "You think my daughter killed her friend. That's what you came to
my
house to tell me?"

"That's
not what we're thinking, Mrs. Hamilton," Granddad said. "I know how this sounds, but it seems Desmond was killed deliberately. When there's a murder—and I strongly believe this was murder—these things have a way of coming out."

"I don't see what my family has to do with it."

She couldn't see? "Asher's parentage might be relevant," I said. "Listen, I'm sorry about this, but Desmond is dead. He deserves justice."

Ione's mother dropped her gaze. When she spoke again, she was looking at my grandfather. "
I don't know how I can help you."

"The truth would be a start."

"Who are you," she said, rising to her feet, "to question me about anything? You have no authority here."

I scooted
to the edge of the couch. "He's here because of me, Mrs. Hamilton. I don't know if Ione told you about...what I can do." Her expression turned skeptical. When I sensed she was about to laugh, I blurted out, "Someone else is going to be killed."

My grandfather tensed beside me. He'd wanted to ease into it slowly.

"Are you thr
eatening my daughter?" she said, her jaw tightening.

"Wha...no, of course not," I said quickly. "I...we..." I looked to Granddad for help. He stared
straight ahead. Fine time to let me handle things. "I had what I call a precog dream. I saw a woman or a girl being killed. I'm here, we're here, to make sure that girl isn't Ione."

She looked at me with an expression I'd seen many times—as if I were mad.

"I'm sorry to unload all this on you," I said. "But time is short, and we—"

"
I want you both to leave," she said, heading in the direction of the door.

Granddad
gave me a sideways glance. No time to waste, in my opinion. If you're fated to deal in death, you might as well face it head on. I whispered to him. "I have an idea." He frowned. I gave him a pleading look, and he nodded. We met Mrs. Hamilton at the door. Granddad stepped out onto the porch. I hung back.

"
I'm going to tell you something the police told me about his case." I waited for her to usher me out the door, but she hesitated. I could tell she was only pretending not to be interested. "You know Desmond's peanut allergy killed him. The detective on the case told me that none of the food he'd eaten contained peanuts."

Mrs. Hamilton finally looked at me with interest. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying that charges against Sinder will be dropped. Whoever killed Desmond put peanuts in something else he consumed that day."

Her hand fluttered to her chest. "I still don't see what that has to do with us."

"I'm not sure it has anything to do with you." I took a deep breath and decided to bluff. I felt like crap, but... "If Desmond wanted a paternity test on Asher, well, you know how that might look to the police. They'll probably get a court order for his DNA."

Mrs. Hamilton blanched. I swallowed to keep myself from tearing up. I displayed clinical calmness on the surface. Inside, I wanted to run to my grandfather. In those few seconds before she spoke,
I contemplated the eventual absence of the hazel-eyed man who raised me for six years. Granddad wouldn't always be there to guide me and hold my hand. Instead of crushing me, however, this thought bolstered me, making the fear recede.

Mrs. Hamilton studied me with a steely gaze. "What did you see in this dream? Is Ione in danger?"

"I don't know, but I'll do what I can to prevent any harm coming to her."

She folded her arms and looked me directly in the eye.
I couldn't tell if she believed I could see the future or not. "The details aren't important. Desmond was Asher's father. Ione gave birth to him overseas. I'd had several miscarriages, and she came up with the idea. I was reluctant at first, but I...I wanted another so badly." She dropped her gaze and brushed her hands over her face. "What I'm about to say to you...Ione doesn't know."

Intimate things. Private things. Things I shouldn't know.
I nodded.

Mrs. Hamilton
walked to a living room window and stared out of it while she spoke. "Desmond spoke to me and my husband about Asher. He planned to expose the secret. He wanted to claim his son, and I understood that. Ione didn't know. I'd asked him not to tell her, to let me be the one."

"If this has nothing to do with Desmond's murder, I p
romise you I won't tell anyone."

She closed her eyes and rubbed her forehead
. "Thank you."

I was just across the threshold when I remembered Desmond's
funeral. "I think Mrs. Drake suspects."

She nodded. "I know she does. That's a worry for another day."

On Friday, students
fled from the building like a prison break. The relief I should have felt going into a two-week vacation eluded me. Almost fourteen days had passed since the death dream, and I was no closer to figuring out what really happened to Desmond than I was the day he died.

On Saturday morning, Sinder and I had
our meet-up at the Cavern. As someone who was close to Desmond, she had to know more than she thought she knew. And I desperately needed to find out exactly what.

"I think I've finally settled on a career," she said. She sat
across from me at a table by the window, with a huge mug of coffee and her composition notebook in front of her. "A lawyer. Mine is awesome."

I nursed hot chocolate
and tried to imagine Sinder as a lawyer.

"He told me to write down things I could remember in the days leading up to Desmond's death," she said. "Impressions, theories, that sort of thing."

"It's over for you," I said. "Why are you still doing it?"

She widened her eyes. "
Somebody
poisoned Desmond."

I
winced, a flicker of shame snaking through my stomach. If I'd been falsely accused of taking a life and then let go, I don't know if I'd have the motivation to follow up on the case.

Sinder went down her list. I glanced at her short fingernails and smiled. She recited the names of people she'd seen near the kitchen in the week Desmond died. I knew some of them in passing.

"I also noted that Gabby was hanging around
Desmond's locker that day," she said.

"What do you mean hanging around?"

Sinder took a gulp of coffee. "Hold that thought. I'm going to get a bagel. Forgot to eat breakfast this morning."

While she ordered the food,
I peered around the room. Most patrons tapped on laptops. Two read books.

In my absence, she..
.

The voice was a whisper, and
I jerked my head to the left. I found myself staring into the hallway that led to the bathrooms. "I'm not hearing things," I said out loud.

"Where was I?"

I rubbed my arms. "Gabby was at Desmond's locker."

"Oh, yeah. It looked like a friendly convers
ation, but I put it in my notes, anyway."

"
Did you say anything to them?"

She separated the bagel halves and spread
butter across one. "I was going to, but Luke showed up. I just went to my own locker."

"Sinder, who do you think could have tampered with a bottle of oil in your closet?"

Her furrowed her brow. "The only people in our group who've been to my house lately are you and Desmond.

"Have Ione, Embry, and Luke ever been there?"

"Not since last year," she said. "Besides, I didn't want anyone to see my mother. She used to have blackouts where she lost hours. I could have cursed her out, and she wouldn't remember a thing."

I watched Sinder eat, lost in thought. I'd heard about alcohol-related blackouts.
"How often did Desmond come to your house?"

"Not often," she said. "Why?"

"Something your mother said when I met her. She asked if one of your cute boyfriends was with you."

Sinder rolled her eyes. "Don't try to understand anything she says."

I held up a finger. "She asked if it was the redhead or the other one. What did she mean?"

She frowned. "Well, the redhead was Desmon
d. I don't know who else she was talking about."

"Are you sure?"

She gaped at me. "Uh, I'd remember if I brought a boy home." Her puzzled expression turned to keen interest. "What are you thinking?"

I sat back and ran a hand through my hair. I was thinking that someone might have come to Sinder's house during one of her mother's blackouts
. "When your mother blacked out, did she forget everything that happened?"

Sinder bit into her bagel.
"This one time, she thought I'd moved her liquor. She yelled at me, and I went to my room and slammed the door in her face. The next morning, she remembered the door slamming but not the yelling." She looked at her watch. "We have to go. I have a surprise for you."

"For me?"

She wrapped her bagel in a napkin and steered me out of the cafe toward a cluster of stores across the street. With her arm looped through mine, she led me into one of the shops and spoke to the receptionist. "We're here for our appointments. Sinder Gillespie and Guinan Jones."

"What's going on?"
I said.

She grinned. "
I'm treating myself. And you. Early Christmas present."

I looked around.
On the far side of the room, manicurists bent over their work and clients yakked on their phones. Only one station was open. A short, smiling woman waved us over. My grandfather's words echoed in my brain.

I like to think of it as fate. If we're working on the theory that you dream about events you can change, I think it's inevitable you will.

My knees grew weak. "We can't do this. Not now."

Sinder gazed at me with wide eyes. "But we have an appointment."

I could feign a headache, but I decided on the truth.

"Before Desmond died,
you asked me if I'd had anymore dreams."

She covered her mouth
with a hand, then slowly lowered it. "You dreamed about Desmond dying?"

I shook my head. "I had one after he died. I don't know who the girl was but—"

"The girl?" she said.

"I dreamed a girl was being strangled. She had long fingernails."

Sinder looked at her hands. "I just wanted to try them, see how they looked."

"Another time," I said, taking
her arm. "After this is over."

I thought
she'd ask a million questions and bring up witchcraft again. She hadn't said a word as I drove her home. She spoke only when I pulled up in front of her house.

"You saved my life."

Or my own.

"I'm not certain i
t was you in the dream, Sinder."

"Who else could it be? I made an appointment to get fake nails. Whoever killed Desmond was going to kill me." Before I could respond
, she threw her arms around my neck. "Do you know how special you are?"

"No, I..." I trailed off. Anything I said at this point would ring of false modesty.

She sat back and cupped her hands under her chin. "This gift you have, you must stop being ashamed of it."

"I'm not ashamed, exactly. I just don't want it."

Her expression was a mixture of disbelief and pity. I averted my eyes.

"I'll tell my parents and my lawyer about this," she said. "It can't be used as evidence, but it's a lead."

I cringed at the thought of what her lawyer would think about a psychic's dream. I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Telling Detective Czarnecki, who was open to it, was one thing. But letting this bit of information get out, no matter how strange, would send the media and the weirdoes straight to my doorstep. I could see the headlines:

Psychic says fingernail dream will reveal killer.

As I visualized the words, I remembered when Gabby first came to our table after she and Luke started dating. She'd mentioned needing to get her nails done. Had she gotten them done already?

"D
o you know Gabby Meyerson's number?" I said.

Sinder
raised her eyebrows. "Why do you want to talk to her?"

"I
need to check on something. Do you have it?"

Sinder shook her head.

"Listen," I said. "You need to be careful, okay? The killer might be after you, manicure or not." She didn't seem afraid at all. I held eye contact and sensed a rush of excitement. "Please take this seriously."

She fixed her face into what passed as a solemn expres
sion. "You be careful as well."

***

I slowly drove away from Sinder's house and pulled into the first gas station I saw. I turned off the car. With a shaky hand, I pulled up Luke's number and hit dial. My heart thudded in my chest. His voicemail came on, and I froze. Seconds passed, and I said nothing.

I hung up.
I wiped sweat from my palm and called Embry. He answered on the first ring.

"Do you know Gabby's cell?"
I said.

"Sorry, no."

Damn.

"But I know where she lives."

I was surprised he didn't ask questions. He gave me the address, and I put it into my GPS. A car horn blared on his end of the line.

Are you driving?" I said.

"Running errands. Bet I can guess what you're doing. On the case?"

Where are you
really going, Embry?
"I'm following up on something," I said, trying to sound casual.

"
Something?" Embry said, the sarcasm thick in his voice. "Why would you need to talk to Luke's girlfriend? You think
she
killed Desmond?"

I
remembered the scene between her, Luke, and me. "I don't think he and Gabby are an item anymore. But while I have you on the phone...have you noticed Gabby's fingernails lately?"

He laughed. "Uh, can't say that I have. Why?"

"Just curious."

"Guinan, what are you up to?
Never mind. I know you won't tell me." A few, awkward seconds passed. "I've been a jerk to you lately. I'm sorry."

"
I've been asking a lot of questions, but I only want to find out the truth."

"Are you worried at all about yourself?" he said. "I mean, if Desmond was
murdered, don't you think the killer might come after you?"

Yeah, I am.
"I'm being very careful."

Embry cleared his throat. "Do you think I killed Desmond? Is that the sort of thing you and Luke discuss?"

"I...this whole thing is—"

"
I guess it makes sense to suspect me."

I
wanted to offer apologies and assurances but didn't. He was the one who should be on the defensive. "Did you write those papers?" I waited. All I heard were sounds of the road. "If you just told the truth about—"

"
Ione probably has Gabby's number," he said, his voice even. "Hang on."

Embry put me on hold
. I chewed on a fingernail. It would be so simple to deny the accusation instead of evading. It just occured to me he might be protecting someone else. When he came back on the line, he gave me the number and hung up.

I put his non-answer out of my mind and
narrowed my focus. First things first. I dialed Gabby's number and prayed she'd answer. As soon as she said hello, I got right to the point. "Have you gotten your nails done yet?"

"Guinan?"

"Yes, it's Guinan. I know this sounds crazy, but I need to—"

"How
did you know about my nails?"

I closed my eyes. "When did you get them done?"

"Yesterday after school."

"Did you tell anyone you were
doing it?"

She sighed impatiently. "A few people knew about my appointment. I made it a week ago.
I don't know what this is about, but I'm not in the mood for—"

"Gabby, I want you to listen. This isn't a joke." I told her about the dream, and she laughed.

"How can I be in danger," she shouted into the phone. "I don't know anything."

"You do know," I said slowly. "You're just not aware of
what
you know.

She exhaled loudly. "
Look, I can't even begin to understand how almost being murdered has affected you. But you really need to stop with the drama."

I cut through her condescension. "You were talking to Desmond at his locker the day he was killed, right?" When she didn't answer quick
ly enough, I continued. "I don't care how nosy or crazy you think I am. Just tell me, please, what you were talking about."

"Wait a sec. You think I killed him?"

"No, I—"

"
We talked about a
calculus
exam."

"Calculus exam?"
I said.

"
And I asked if he was going to the Blue Lane that Friday. Anything else you need to know?"

"Gabby, this is very important. Did you see any EpiPens in his locker?"

"I don't remember. Why are you asking—"

"Was the conversation interrupted at all?"

I knew the answer, of course, but I wanted to hear it from her.