Mourning Moon (A Guinan Jones Paranormal Mystery #2) (18 page)

She scoffed and uttered an expletive.
"Luke showed up. He said he had something private to discuss with Desmond."

"Did you see
anything strange? Hear part of the conversation?"

"Luke
took something out of his bag," she said. "But that's not strange."

"What was it?"

"No idea."

I closed my eyes and clenched my free hand into a fist.

"
Hello
?" she said. "Look, you're scaring me with all these questions. What the heck is going on?"

"
Are you home alone?"

"My parents and sisters are out shopping.
Don't tell me you want to come over, because I don't want to see you or—"

"Stay there, okay? I'm on my way."

The doorbell chimed in the background. All I heard on the other end were muttering voices. I waited for her to finish her conversation with whoever stopped by. My heart skipped a beat.

"
Gabby, who is that? Hello? Gabby?"

Then the line went dead.

The protein water. The missing EpiPens. The long fingernails. Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday. Cake and brownies. Peanut oil, witches, and altars.

These images swirled in my mi
nd as I dialed Detective Czarnecki's cell. Somehow I knew that if the lab technicians had tested protein water bottles, they'd found nothing. The bottle Desmond had drank from wouldn't be among the evidence, because the killer took it. I knew how it happened, and I was almost certain when it happened.

I left messages on
the detective's cell and landline phone. I dialed 911 and told the operator someone was trying to break into my house. I read the address off my GPS and started driving to Gabby's house.

The dream about the second murder
was the key to unraveling the whole thing. A second, related death would lead the killer to conclude there was a witness to
something
. I blinked away thoughts of Gabby lying on the floor dead, eyes protruding and a sash wrapped around her neck.

Embry, Ione, Sinder, and Luke—they
all had motive, no matter how weak. As Desmond's closest friends, they also had the means and the opportunity. But only one had a motive so obscure, my guts roiled every time I thought about it.

I turned onto Gabby's street. My heart raced when I saw the police car in front of her house. I skidded up behind it, shut off the engine, and jumped out. One officer banged on the door
with his fist while the other peered through a living room window.

"
I called you," I said, my voice shaking. "I think my friend, Gabby Meyerson, is in trouble."

Both men looked at me. "You called to report a break in at this house?"

"She's in danger," I said, panic rising in my chest. "I was talking to her on the phone, and the line went dead."

The cops exchanged glances.

"This isn't a prank," I said. "It's related to the Desmond Drake murder." They didn't appear to recognize the name. "Someone is going to killer her. At least...he'll try."

One
cop banged on the door again. The other took a few steps toward me. "And you are...?"

"Guinan Jones."
I held my breath, waiting to see if that meant anything to him. "Gabby Meyerson and I go to school together. We're wasting time. The killer could be in there right now strangling her."

"Ma'am, we can't go busting in people's houses based on—"

But I didn't wait for him to finish. I grabbed a flower pot off the porch and rammed it into the window. The pot shattered in my hands, but the window remained intact. I spotted what looked like a cast-iron jar near the front door. I lunged for it, and one of the officer's seized me by the shoulders and pulled me off the porch. I shouted at him that Gabby could be dying. He jerked my arms behind my back and started to handcuff me. A car came to a screeching stop in front of the house. Detective Czarnecki emerged.

"What the hell is going on here?"

"This girl made a false report of a burglary, then attempted to break a window—"

"
This girl," the detective said, "is trying to stop a murder. Get those cuffs off her now. Guinan, I got your message. Where is Gabby?"

"I was talking to
her, trying to warn her." I panted. "She got her nails done on Friday. Long, fake nails. She saw—"

"Calm down," she said, steering me toward her car. The police had managed to get the front door
of Gabby's house open. Another police car pulled into the driveway, lights flashing. The two officers followed the others into the house.

I looked at my damp hands
. Tiny drops of blood dotted my fingers. I wipe them on my jeans. "I know I sounded deranged on the phone. Gabby was at Desmond's locker that day. She saw Luke take something out of his bag." If the detective had been any other cop, she'd probably ask if I was under the influence. But Detective Czarnecki waited patiently. I started to gulp involuntarily. I took a deep breath, wishing Granddad were here. "I think Luke gave Desmond a bottle of protein water laced with peanuts, and you're not going to find it in your evidence."

The detective stared at me and spoke slowly. "
That's what I thought you said on the message."

I licked my lips. "
He probably took the EpiPens, too."

"But why would
he—"

"It's me," I said, not
bothering to hold the tears back. "I think he did all this for me. Like a game or a...manipulation." My thoughts were beginning to jumble. Several times Luke had mentioned Zeke, "that guy." He asked about my dreams and my grandmother's. He'd wanted to know if I would have saved Desmond if I'd dreamed about his death. And Luke's reaction to the strangulation dream—he must have realized who the girl and murderer were and why she was being killed.

I read the
confusion on the detective's face. "You think he set the whole thing up just to see what would happen?"

"
I think he laced the canola oil and Sinder's almond oil to confuse the issue," I said in a rush. "To turn it into a big investigation. It was a production to him. Like a—"

The police radio crackled, and
a voice said a car matching the description of Luke Chapman's had been spotted in the lot of an abandoned building.

"Is Gabby okay?" I said.

"I don't know," she said, biting her lip. Seconds passed as she weighed her decision. "Get in."

As soon as I shut the door, the car
spend away from the house, the siren wailing.

"I chec
ked into Luke's background," the detective said. "When I interviewed him, he told me his mother wasn't around. I assumed he meant she lived in a different state or something. She doesn't live at all. She died five years ago."

Had this fact contributed to Luke's state of mind? I
tried to recall what Sinder said about him. But she'd said so many things.
...your friend isn't who you think he is.

We
arrived at the lot in fewer than twenty minutes. I gaped at the confused scene before me. Luke's car, faced away from the street, was surrounded by police cars. Several officers stood outside their vehicles with their guns pointed at the car. A police officer saw us pull up and ran to the driver's side.

"
We've got a hostage situation. The boy has a gun."

"Who's with him?"

"Teenage girl. And he's asking for someone named Guinan."

I started to open the door.

Detective Czarnecki gripped my arm. "You stay right where you are."

"It's over
, don't you see?" I said in a voice that sounded mad even to my ears. "I know what he wants me to do."

She gaped. "What are you talking about?"

I settled back in the seat. Her grip loosened, but she didn't let go. "I don't think he'll hurt Gabby or me." I left out what I suspected Luke
would
do.

The detective shook her head.
"You don't
think
? What is it you want to do?"

"Just talk to him."

Her eyes widened. "Talk? He has a gun."

"Please let me do
this. I can end this the way Luke wants, and Gabby won't get hurt."

Realization spread across her face.
"I thought I could let you do this. But I'm getting you out of here."

When
she released my arm to start the car, I unlocked the door and jumped out. I sidestepped a cop who reached out to grab me.

"Don't shoot! Hold your fire!"

When I reached the passenger-side window of Luke's car, the door opened. Gabby spilled out, crying. She wore a light-blue terrycloth robe. The sash was untied. She scrambled away on all fours. One of the officers lifted her off the ground and carried her away from the car.

"Stay back," someone shouted. "Easy. Hold you
r fire."

I peered through the open window and placed both hands on the door
. "Luke, don't..." I paused and tried to catch my breath. He stared straight ahead and loosely held the gun at chest level, the barrel pointed to the left. "You don't have to do this."

I felt movement behind me.

"Put the gun down, Mr. Chapman," Detective Czarnecki said. "Let's talk about this. Just lower the—"

"Talk about extreme," Luke said. He gazed around,
avoiding eye contact with me. "The extreme always makes an impression."

"It's a line
from
Heathers
," I said. "A psycho named JD killed people and made it look like suicide. It definitely made an impression."

I wanted to l
augh at the absurdity of it all. Luke sent Tamzen a link to his blog. Luke killed Desmond and planned to kill Gabby. Luke wanted me to dream of death.
And he wants you to hear him.

A hand touch
ed my arm. I flinched.

"Back away from the car."

Luke looked at me as if he'd come out of a trance. "You know what I'm thinking right now?"

I shook my head and
swallowed.

"All those girls," he said
, lowering his head. "Meaningless..." The words seemed to be caught in his throat. "And Drake was ready to turn his back on me. He'd changed. He wanted to leave all the bad things behind, including me."

This hadn't occured to me before, but it made sense now.

"The only person in the whole world who loved me is dead." He closed his eyes. "My mother. Do you have any idea what that's like?"

Anger and pity competed in my brain.
Regret, loss, waste, and love. Because of you, Luke, Asher will never know his father.

"The only person..." Luke stopped abruptly. He sighed heavily and raised the gun
to his chest.

Say it
just to save his life, to end this.
"I could have loved you."

Luke shook his head
and looked at me. "A game. That's all it is. Like pieces on a chessboard. No, it's like actors on a stage. I'm a part of it now. The Guinan Jones Experience. Crazy, right? And you know what else? I—"

Before I had a chance to hear the rest, s
omeone jerked me by the arm. The momentum carried me to the ground.

"
Now I'll be a part of you for—" Three shots rang out in rapid succession, cutting off the words. I screamed and scrambled to my feet. Someone held me in a vice grip.

"Please, I have to see his
—"

"It's okay," someone said. "Let her go."

On shaky legs, I ran to the driver's side of the car. My mind was calm, but my body was trembling. I squeezed my eyes shut, then opened them, prepared to see blood and brains splattered inside car. But I saw nothing but Luke's body slumped to the left. He'd shot himself in the stomach. Blood spread across his lap and pooled in the seat.

"He might still be alive," an officer shouted.
"Let the paramedics through."

"He's dead
," I said, peering into Luke's lifeless eyes. "I can hear him."

"Hear him? What the hell is she..."

I drowned out the voices and the sirens. Nausea came in waves, but I didn't move. I just listened.

Now I'll be a part of you forever. Remember our kiss
es.

They told me I screamed
myself hoarse. I recalled the grittiness of the dirt against my knees and strong arms lifting me from the ground. They told me I'd been afraid to go into the ambulance, babbling about a mental hospital. I ended up in a hospital, anyway—a regular one—to be "checked out." They released me after a few hours.

In a repeat of
the Ridge Grove incident, my mother wouldn't allow anyone to see me. My grandfather told me that Ione, and Sinder had come by together, with Sinder actually pleading with my mother to speak to me. My mother apparently had my cell phone, because I didn't recall hearing it buzz.

I existed in a fog and avoided the
news. One reporter had called the house asking to speak to me. Another arrived at our front door, where he got an earful from my father and grandfather. Finally, the fog began to recede, and I had no choice but to deal with what happened.

I wondered about the questions Embry, Gabby, and Sinder would face
when they returned to school. They'd violated the honor code. It was trivial compared to what happened to Desmond, of course, but consequences awaited all of us.

I questioned Luke's perception of reality. Was Desmond really planning to sever their friendship? Even if that were the case, why
murder
him? I wanted to bang my head against the wall for missing the signs. I wanted to curse my empathic so-called abilities. What was the point if they couldn't help me protect people? But the precog dream played a part in all of this. In a strange way, my dreaming of Gabby's death actually saved her life. Having the dream meant I was capable of preventing Luke from killing her.

Every time I thought about
his kisses, I wanted to rub my lips raw.

At the meals I managed to join, m
y parents tried to steer the conversation away from the case. But I needed to talk about it. I told them how I'd begun to suspect Luke, how he must have been at Sinder's house during one of her mother's blackouts. He might have brought a bottle of liquor with him. While she was passed out, he put peanut oil into one of Sinder's bottles.

"Between Desmond's allergy attack and before the police arrived," I said, ignoring the plate in front of me, "Luke got rid of the bottle. He took it from me when I tried to hand it to Desmond when I thought he was choking."

"Hon, why don't you eat something?"

I looked at my grandfather. Dark circles ringed his eyes. I wanted to tell him I was sorry for causing him so much worry.

"We're considering a different school next year," my father said. "In the meantime, you won't go back to Grier."

I
didn't look at him or respond. It wouldn't matter where I went to school. Death would still follow. As though my father hadn't changed the subject, I said, "Luke knew the case against Sinder would fall apart. The food with no peanuts in it...he wanted to create confusion. It really was a game to—"

"It's been a long day," my mother
said, rising from the table. She seemed to materialize beside me. I looked at Granddad as though waiting for him to tell me what to do. He gave a slight nod. I rose and followed my mother upstairs. But I didn't want her to take me up. I wanted Granddad. I was about to say this to her when I realized she was crying. She stopped me at my bedroom door, which was halfway closed.

"The timing is lousy," she said
. "I wish I could spare you all of this."

I gave a humorless laugh.

She shook her head. "Oh, Guinan. Mama's journals. You need to read them." She pushed the door open and pointed at my bed. A box that had seen better days sat in the middle of it.

"
I'll stay with you if you'd like."

My heart raced
.
She wanted you to wait until you turned eighteen, but it's up to you.

"
I started to burn them, but I knew I had no right—"

"You
've read Grandma's journals?" I said.

My mother nodded and sank
onto my desk chair. "About a week after we brought you back from Ridge Grove. I had to know, you see."

I stared at her, then I approached the bed as if the box contained a bomb. I peered inside.
The black, soft-cover one on top was dated 2009, the year she died. I lifted out the stack and placed it on my bed. I sat down and spread out the books. The oldest one had been on the bottom—1998. A year after I was born. I looked at my mother. She'd leaned forward, her hands covering her face.

Grandma
started keeping a journal a year into my life. There had to be a good reason. I re-arranged the books with the oldest on top and opened it with a trembling hand.

I watch Guinan toddle around the house, and it makes me so sad to know I can't protect her from the one thing that will pursue her. Why, God? What does it mean? What would you have me do? Spare her, please. I prayed to be free of this burden, but it's remained with me all these years. Will she hear those maddening whispers, too?

Those maddening whispers? I remembered hearing low voices and turning around to find no one there. I scanned the rest of the entry, searching for the one word I hoped wasn't there. But it was there.

The whispers of the dead...