Krysta's Curse (15 page)

But I wasn’t holding my breath.

Too many years of neglect had taught me not
to hope for anything.

Once again, I
felt like I was stuck in the middle of a really bad dream. My
friends and I had been touting protest signs for over an hour.

Sunday traffic wasn’t heavy, but those who
did drive by didn’t seem to notice us. I didn’t know why I had this
crazy idea onlookers would sympathize with my noble cause and join
the protest.

The air was hot and humid, making my hair
frizz even more than usual. Dark clouds overhead threatened rain. I
silently prayed some of the wet stuff would fall on my head and
weigh down my dandelion-do.

The flimsy sign I held over my head was
feeling like a dead-weight. AJ and I had slept in this morning, but
for some reason, I was still bone-tired.

That’s when I saw the Channel Seven van pull
into the gravelly parking lot.

Great. They had to wait until the weather
zapped my hair into a ginormous, magnetic frizz- ball.

Mindy walked across the gravelly road in her
heels and business suit.
Hadn’t she learned anything after last time?

AJ snorted out loud and Sophie squealed into
her hands when Mindy fell over. Her whole body tumbled down like a
crumbling tower of wooden blocks.

Her camera man rushed to pick her up and she
managed to make it to the grass by holding onto his arm.

You don’t have to be a fashion diva to know
grass and stilettos don’t mix, like sinking toothpicks through
quicksand.

With each step, Mindy made this little high
pitched squeaking sound, as she inched her way toward me.

When she finally arrived at our protest
sight, I could tell she wasn’t amused by AJ’s gloating grin.

I shot AJ a warning look. I needed this
woman on my side if I wanted to win my cause.

After Mindy glared at AJ, she applied fresh
lipstick and then the camera was rolling.

“Mindy Mays reporting for Seven News where
we’re live at Greenwood’s future site of The Crossover Mall for day
two of a protest initiated by junior high student, Krysta Richards.
Until recently, many Greenwood residents weren’t aware that The
Crossover is also the site of an early pioneer burial ground. No
one from Greenwood claims ancestry to the residents of this
decrepit graveyard, but that hasn’t stopped Krysta Richards, who
says the dead must be respected.”

I inwardly groaned at the tone the news
reporter used when quoting me, as if this was all some big
joke.

“Joining me now are Krysta and her friends,
other Greenwood Junior High students.”

The camera briefly turned on AJ and Sophie.
They smiled and waved their signs. Sophie squealed like a mouse. AJ
was hooting and hollering like she was trying to distract the rival
pitcher in a softball game.

Mindy waved her hand at them, like she was
shooing away a cat. I guess she wanted them to be quiet.

They both took the hint, but only after AJ
stuck her tongue out at the camera.

I wanted my own stilettos, so I could sink
into the ground and hide.

“Krysta, have you gotten any response from
the mall developers?”

The camera was back on me and I wondered if
all my hair fit in the picture.

“No,” I sighed. “Not really.”

“Why should we respect these gravesites?”
She swept her hand across the expanse of grass behind us. “No one
even knows who’s buried here.”

Okay, now I was angry. “Why should that make
a difference? We’ve all got family members who’ve died. We wouldn’t
want anyone disrespecting their graves.”

Just then, I heard some commotion behind me.
I turned to see Bryon high-fiving AJ and Sophie. My heart swelled.
How did he get here? After he didn’t answer my texts last night, I
was sure he was grounded.

Mindy rushed over to him with her wobbly-
legged chicken walk. “I see another protester has joined the group.
Could you tell us your name, young man?”

Bryon grinned at me and then looked directly
into the camera. “Bryon Thomas.”

Mindy licked her lips, her eyes taking on a
feral glare. “Are you related to mayoral candidate and mall
developer, Cliff Thomas?”

“Yeah.” He shrugged.

Poor Bryon was Mindy’s lamb on the
slaughter. I knew she was only interested in Bryon because his dad
was running for mayor. Suddenly, I realized why she’d come back to
my pathetic little protest—it wasn’t to dig up dirt on the
cemetery. No, she was after a bigger story.

Heat filled my chest and flamed my face. I
had the most awful feeling of being used.

“In what way are you related to Mr. Thomas?”
Mindy had shoved the microphone so far into his face, Bryon was
close to choking on it.

“He’s my dad.” Bryon grimaced, pushing away
the mike.

Her eyes were alert. Her features sharpened.
If she were a wolf, she would’ve been howling. “How does your dad
feel about you protesting the mall?”

I could tell by the deep mar in his forehead
and his twisted scowl, Bryon was unhappy with her questions. “You
should ask him.”

She was unfazed. “Why are you out here,
Bryon?”

For a moment, he looked like he’d walk away
from the camera. So many emotions crossed his face at once that I
couldn’t gauge his mood. His eyes glossed over and I knew he was on
the verge of crying.

“My mom is dead. I wouldn’t want anyone
tearing up her grave.”

“I see.” Mindy’s voice dropped, her mouth
turning in a heavy pout. After what sounded like a forced sigh, she
paused long enough to appear sorry for Bryon’s loss. “And here
comes Cliff Thomas right now. Zoom in on this. I can tell by the
look on his face, he is not pleased with this protest.”

I looked beyond the camera and past the
gravelly parking lot. A luxury car had come to a screeching halt.
Mr. Thomas bounded out, and in a few long strides, came storming up
to us.

“Mr. Thomas!” Mindy crowed.

“Not now,” he growled, turning his back on
the camera. “I’m just here to collect my son.” He scowled at Bryon
and with a rigid arm, pointed toward the car.

Bryon wasn’t looking at his dad.

His pale puppy dog gaze was focused on
me.

I wanted to melt at the look of anguish in
his eyes. He was such a nice guy for doing this and I felt so bad
for him. I couldn’t imagine having Mr. Thomas for a dad. What it
must be like for Bryon to live with him. For once in my life, I
actually felt grateful for my father.

Tossing up his hands in an apologetic
gesture, Bryon slanted a crooked smile in my direction before he
turned and shuffled his feet toward the car.

His dad stormed off behind him.

Mindy followed.

Rolling my eyes, I swore under my breath as
my feet propelled me forward.

Here we go again.

“How do you feel about your son protesting
your development?” Mindy called.

Mr. Thomas swung around, almost going nose-
to-nose with the reporter. “I said, not now!”

She jerked her head back and I could see her
limbs visible shaking. Then she chased them again. “Will this have
any effect on your run for mayor?”

This woman was nuts.

Bryon had already taken a seat inside the
car. He slouched down while he fumbled with the buttons on the
stereo.

“Turn off the camera,” Mr. Thomas growled as
he swung open his car door. “Please respect my privacy.”

“Like you’re respecting these
gravesites?”

A strangely familiar, deep male voice
rumbled behind me.

I swung around, half-believing who I
saw.

“Zoom in on the cop,” Mindy squealed.

Dad, still in his security guard uniform,
walked down the grassy hill toward us holding up AJ’s ‘Respect the
Dead! Preserve their Past!’ picket sign. He threw the sign to the
ground, pointing to the gravely drive. “These people deserve a
proper resting place. Not crushed tombstones and a parking
lot.”

Bryon’s dad actually slammed his car door
and walked up to my dad.

My heart thumped so loudly in my chest, it
threatened to explode my eardrums.

“They’re dead!” He yelled. “What do they
care?”

Dad bridged the distance between them until
they were within punching distance.

I was about to crap my pants.

Puffing up his chest, Dad looked Mr. Thomas
square in the eyes. “So let’s just build over all the tombstones in
Greenwood, even your late wife’s.”

Mr. Thomas took a step backward, wiping
perspiration off his brow. “I don’t know who you are.” He spoke
through a shaky voice. “You’ve got no business talking about my
son’s mother that way.”

Dad folded his arms across his chest, his
face a mask of stone. “And you’ve got no business desecrating a
cemetery. There are mothers and fathers here, too.”

Without another word, Mr. Thomas turned and
marched back to his car. Barely getting the door shut, he punched
the gas and tore out of the parking lot with squealing tires.

Mouth agape, I stood there staring at the
retreating dust cloud and then to my dad.

My
dad.

This guy in uniform who actually appeared
sober and in control of a situation.

From the corner of my eye, I spied Mindy
standing in front of the billowing cloud of dust made by Mr.
Thomas’s car. It made quite a dramatic backdrop.

She was grinning ear to ear before the
camera lens turned on her. Then, she plastered on a grim
expression, as if she was about to report World War III.

“Well, there you have it. Mall developer,
Cliff Thomas, is in the hot seat today as he faces protesters
accusing him of desecrating a burial ground. One of those
protesters is his own son.”

The dust cloud inched toward her and she
waved her hand in front of her face while choking on fumes. “So
much discord in his personal life amid his bid for mayor,” she
sighed. “How will this affect his future in politics? Will this
stop construction of The Crossover Mall? We’ll keep you posted only
here on Seven News, Greenwood’s information connection.”

My heart sank.

Was Mindy right? Had this protest really
caused this much trouble for Bryon and his dad? If this interfered
with his run for mayor, would he resent Bryon?

Would Bryon resent me?

****

Sitting in my dad’s car, I toyed with a
crease in the corner of my ‘Respect the Dead’ poster. I still had a
hard time believing I was in my dad’s car, that he’d come to
support me and then offered me a ride home. “I didn’t think you’d
come.”

My dad’s face had been difficult to read
since I first saw him at the protest. He kept his stony gaze on the
cracked windshield, both hands on the wheel. “This is important to
you.”

“Thanks,” I murmured, not really sure what
to say next.

Dad’s response was to squeeze the steering
wheel until his knuckles whitened. “You don’t need to thank me. I’m
your dad. I
should
be doing this.”

The muscles in my neck and back tensed. Was
I his charity case now? I didn’t want a dad who only did stuff for
me because he ‘should’. I wanted a dad who really cared. “You don’t
have to do things with me just because you’re my dad.”

“I want to, Krysta. I want to be a better
father.” Dad stopped at a red light and turned to me, his eyes had
softened.

“Okay.” I shrugged, feeling kind of choked
up inside.

“You know…” He coughed into his hand and
looked at me with searching eyes, like he was trying to find the
right words to say. “I don’t think I’ll ever be comfortable with
your
other
friends.”

“You mean spirits?” I laughed.

“Yeah. Adela used to do this kind of stuff
and look what happened to her.” He sounded like he had to struggle
to get out those last words.

The light turned green and he focused on the
road.

I could tell talking about this was hard for
him.

“I’ll be careful.” I tried to reassure
him.

“That’s what
she
said.” He squeezed the steering wheel
so hard that it looked like his fingers would snap.

“I can’t just ignore my powers.” I spoke
with determination in my voice. If he
really
wanted to be my father, he’d
have to accept me for who I was.

“No.” He shrugged. “I guess you can’t.” His
voice trailed off as he kept his gaze firmly on the road.

I knew he was lost in thought somewhere, but
at the moment, I didn’t want to know what he was thinking.

“I spoke with Garza,” Dad blurted.

I didn’t know if his change in subject was a
good thing.

“What’d you talk about?” I asked, wondering
if I really wanted to know the answer.

“He found the gloves. It’s all over for the
boyfriend.”

“That’s good.” I exhaled, not realizing
until that moment I’d been holding my breath.

I’d been kind of regretting that promise I’d
made to my dad not to go back to the lake. Not a day had passed
that I didn’t wonder what happened to Sunny. Would she be forever
stuck in darkness or would her boyfriend’s arrest force her to
accept her death and move on to a better place?

“He’s not contacting you again or he’ll have
to deal with one pissed-off dad.”

“He was nice.” I tried to shrug off the dull
pain that settled in my chest.

“I don’t care, Krysta. He’ll involve you
with more cases—dangerous cases. Once was enough.”

“All right,” I murmured. Setting the poster
at my feet, I slumped in my seat, feeling kind of deflated. Even
though the thought of working another murder case frightened me, I
wanted to see Garza again. He was my mom’s partner and I wanted him
to tell me more about her.

We came to a stop at an intersection. I
could see the pot-hole filled side street up ahead that lead to our
apartment complex.

“I spoke with his supervisor.” Dad’s voice
was barely audible.