Mourning Moon (A Guinan Jones Paranormal Mystery #2) (12 page)

I dreamed of someone's death after Sinder was arrested. There was no doubt that the two things were connected. That night, my mother calmed down only after I'd promised that the person in the dream wasn't me. After hours of discussions over the weekend, I'd agreed to talk to a professional.

"But I'd like to see
the school psychologist first. I'll try to catch him on Monday.

Fine with us, they said.

Now, sitting at the table watching their expectant faces and Granddad's unreadable one, I asked myself the question: why hadn't I dreamed of Desmond's death as I'd dreamed of this one? Was this person me?
Flesh peel away and embed into my fingernails...

I looked at
my hands. The nails were short, and the right index finger was chewed down to a nub. The person in the dream had long fingernails. A woman. Or a teenage girl.

"I'll try to see Mr. Howard today," I said
, hoping they couldn't hear the quaver in my voice.

My father kissed me on the cheek. "
Your mother and I want to help you, sweetheart. I'll drop you off at school today."

I looked at Granddad and tried to read his expression. He kept it neutral.
He was probably thinking the same thing I was. When I dreamed of my death, Tessa tried to kill me roughly two weeks afterward. This fact didn't make me feel better, but it gave me some leeway to figure out the who, what, where, when, and why of this future death.

Restless in
math class, I was anxious to catch Mr. Howard in his office. Teachers had a hard time settling their classes as students were eager to talk about Sinder's arrest. Some expressed shock, while others said her desperate actions confirmed the worst about her. When I made eye contact with some of them, I knew they longed to ask questions. My impatient expression must have done the job of deflecting them.

Mr. Howard
wasn't in his office when I stopped by before my next class. I chewed on a nail and caught Embry's eye. I smiled. He didn't return it. When the next class was over, I rushed to Mr. Howard's office. I skidded to a stop when I saw him unlocking the door.

"Mr. Howard," I said, louder than I'd intended.

He seemed to brace himself in case I collided with him. "Miss Jones. Everything all right?"

"Yes. I mean...no. I'd like to make an appointment with you. Do you have anything open today?"

"I'll check," he said. I gazed into the gray eyes and put up the red-brick wall. "Come on in."

I
waited at the door of his office while he searched his schedule on his computer. The room contained dark-wood paneling. Mahogany and blue dominated the color scheme. I glanced at a photo on the bookcase behind him. A pretty blonde woman and three, small, tow-headed children smiled up from a large picture frame.

"Hmm...looks
like a light day. Do you have time now? I have some paperwork to complete, but I can spare perhaps thirty minutes."

Now that I'd accomplished
this task, the nervousness returned. I sank into the chair across from his desk and cleared my throat. "My parents think I should talk to someone about my..." I faltered and licked my lips. "I'm sure you've read or heard that I'm clairvoyant."

To his credit, Mr. H
oward kept a straight face. He picked up a pen and opened a notebook.

"I've never seen a profess
ional about it before," I said. "I mean, what do I say without sounding crazy? Psychic powers? It's unreal, right?"

He smiled and put down his pen. "I don't use the word 'crazy' to describe someone with mental
or physiological issues. Even when a person is irrational, for example, there's usually an underlying logic for it. Once that can be determined, I can work with the client and help him or her learn how to cope with the world as it is."

"That's interesting. So you're sayi
ng you don't believe in psychics?"

"Let me put it this way," he said, clasping his hands in front of him. "I believe that everyone has different levels of intuition
. Not supernatural intuition, but a kind of knowledge or insight shaped by relationships and events. I don't believe that people see or know things before they happen or move objects with their minds."

I realized I still had my book bag on my shoulder. I eased it to the floor. "What if...
" I paused and shook my head. "Forget the hypothetical. I have real-life examples." I told him that I'd dreamed of my murder at Jepson's Point, that Kate Mansfield was murdered afterward, and that I was almost murdered in the same place.

He scratched his cheek. "
My theory is the dream was about her. Perhaps you sensed some tension between the girl and her murderer. Your own perceptions, based on your interactions with the girl, prompted your unconscious to act out a scenario in which she was punished for what you suspected she might have done."

I blinked. I actually understood what he just said.
I also figured it was pointless to tell him about the differences between the vision of my death and Kate's murder.

He paused for me to respond. When I didn't, he
continued. "All I'm saying is there's a rational explanation for why you might be more sensitive to underlying tension than other people."

"In other words, it's all in my head."

He smiled. "Is there anything specific you wanted to discuss with me? Is someone at school giving you a hard time or—"

"Nothing l
ike that." How far should I take this? "I had a dream recently. It was disturbing."

Mr. Howard rested his elbows on the desk. "Go on."

"I dreamed that someone, a female most likely, was being strangled."

He nodded but didn't speak.

"I know what you're probably thinking. It was only a dream."

"
You think you dreamed of someone being murdered?"

I
didn't want him to write me off as mentally disturbed. I pulled back. "Well, as you said, maybe my unconscious acted out a scenario, or I'm sensing that someone might be in danger." My gaze shifted to the floor. "Someone like Sinder Gillespie, for example."

I looked up in time
to see Mr. Howard's mouth form an O. He sat back. "If I understand you correctly, you think someone, a female student at this school, is in danger, and that danger is related to Desmond Drake's death?"

I
nodded. "I know she's been to see you, and that you can't discuss what you talked about."

"You're correct
," he said. "I think you should talk to the police about your concerns."

"Have they questioned you?"

He waited several seconds before speaking. "I provided them with information relevant to their investigation. Miss Gillespie didn't confess a desire to kill anyone nor give me any indication she was capable of such a thing."

"What about Desmond? You saw him as well. He told me, by the way."

"Again, I can't—"

"I only ask because I'm wondering i
f he feared for his life, if he suspected Sinder or someone else might..." A flash of irritation on his face stopped me short

"Miss Jones, I'm sure the police investigation will be th
orough. This isn't Ridge Grove."

I couldn't hold back my defensiveness. "My grandfather's department was
thorough."

Mr. Howard raised an eyebrow. "As I recall from the news,
the police arrested the wrong person, and the murderer almost killed you."

Unrighteous indignation flared in my chest. "Well, Tessa Hicks was clever and unassuming."

"Look," he said, closing his notebook. "I don't mean to be insensitive. It's just that I don't see what you can do that the police can't. They obviously believe they have a solid case against Miss Gillespie."

I studied the floor
.

"Is there anything I can help you with
?"

"Yes," I said rising and gathering up my book bag. "Do you know anything about students buying term pa
pers?" I held his gaze, and his nervousness flitted across my brain.

He set his jaw,
got to his feet, and walked around the desk. "When you're ready to speak to me about your issues, let me know."

***

So Mr. Howard knew about the term paper-buying scheme. He probably counseled students who'd bought papers. Claire Capwell said she knew someone who'd bought one. I searched for her, and she turned out to be a difficult person to catch up with. I stalked her locker, but she never seemed to go there. I hadn't seen her at lunch, either. I staked out her locker at the final bell. I spotted her coming toward it. Her eyes grew wide when she saw me.

"
What a coincidence," she said. "I was looking for you."

I eyed her warily
.

She glanced over her shoulder
and spoke in a low voice. "I want to do a big spread about Desmond's death. You're friends with Sinder, right?"

"Claire, I don't want to—"

"An interview with you, that anonymous blogger, and anybody else I can think of who might have the inside scoop."

I took a step back.
"And you think I have it?"

She rolled her eyes and edged me away from her locker so she could open it.
Her hands spun the combination. I looked at her nails. Short and neat.

"
Grier doesn't want us to write about it, but, hello? The First Amendment? Now that we know it wasn't an accident, I mean, he'll have to relent, right? The public deserves to know what happened here. If I could get a series of stories up, submit the whole package in the state competition, and win, think how it would bolster my college applications."

Cla
ire said all of this very fast. My mind reeled. I'd planned to ambush her, and she'd turned the tables. Set to refuse the interview, I remembered I wanted something from her.

"I'll agree
to give you some insight if you tell me who bought a term paper online."

She slammed the locker shut
. "What? No freaking way!"

"
This person is probably a friend of yours," I said, narrowing my eyes. "That's why you haven't investigated the rumor."

She shook her head and pushed a lock of hair behind her ear.

I mimicked her earlier glance over the shoulder, moved closer to her, and whispered. "I'm not interested in getting anybody in trouble." I paused for effect. "I might be in the market for a paper myself, and I want to make sure everything's secure."

Claire gaped. "You
, a cheater?"

I suppressed a wince
. "I said I
might
be interested. I need to consult with someone who's done it. Have you?"

Her cheeks reddened.
"I'd never risk getting kicked out of here. Not for that, anyway. My great-grandfather went to this school. So did my grandfather and my father. Do you know that I'm my grandfather's first grandchild to attend Thomas Grier? My father sent my brothers to St. Albans, but I was determined to carry on the—"

"Claire, will you tell me who bought a paper?"

She cocked her head, bit her lip, and blew out a long breath. "Gabby Meyerson."

Luke's girlfriend, a cheater? Had his best friend been a cheater, too? I wondered who else violated Thomas Grier's honor code.

All week, I made
eye contact with as many people in the halls as I could, as though mere emotions would point the way. I'd resolved to stay out of it. Luke was busy with his new girlfriend, so he didn't pester me as often about the case. All I had to do was make it through the next week and a half, then I'd be on Christmas break for two long, glorious weeks.

I helped my mother put up the Christmas tree and hang decorations all over the house. I pretended to be cheerful. I thought if I faked it, I'd eventually feel it. But the strangling dream stay
ed on my mind, and I counted down the days on the calendar.

Around
eight on Saturday morning, I was in bed online looking up term paper sites when my buzzing cell phone made me jump. I stared at the name on the screen. I answered. Before I had a chance to say hello, Sinder rambled about supplies.

"It's called Pagan's Portal. Just get off at the U Street stop and walk
two blocks. You can't miss it."

"
Sinder, what are you talking about?" I heard sounds of traffic and a horn on the other end. "You're out on bail, and you're shopping?"

"
I really need to talk to you. Meet me here?"

Am I dreaming?
"Are you all right? I mean, you've been charged with manslaughter, and—"

"That's why I'm out shopping. Look, I'll explain when you get here."

Too stunned to say no, I agreed. My parents' and my grandfather's bedroom doors were closed, so I dressed quietly. I hadn't driven my car since July, so I decided to skip the Metro. I muttered under my breath when I saw my father's car directly behind it. I turned in the direction of the Metro stop and changed my mind. I walked to Luke's house instead. I stood on his porch and texted him. Knocking on people's doors so early on a Saturday seemed rude. He replied that he was up, and I told him I was on his porch.

The door opened, and he emerged, grinning.
He wore jeans, a long-sleeved, white pullover, and brown loafers. He seemed equal parts amused and confused by my presence.

"
Did I catch you at a bad time?" I said. He appeared to be getting ready for something.

"What's up?"
I told him I was meeting Sinder on U Street and wanted him to come with me. He raised an eyebrow. "You need security?"

"
You said you wanted to share information." The truth was, I sort of missed him now that he spent so much time with Gabby.

He scratched his jaw. "She's out on
bail and decided to go shopping?"

"Apparently."

He went inside and re-emerged with his car keys. I asked if he needed to put the address in his GPS.

"I know where it
is."

He
found a place to park a few buildings down from Pagan's Portal. "She really is crazy," he said, locking the car and glancing around. The neighborhood was one of those "developing" areas. One side of the street was gentrified, and other side was gutted. Pagan's Portal was on the gutted side.

I looked at Luke. "If you beli
eve she killed your best friend, accidentally or otherwise, you wouldn't be here."

He avoided catching my eye. "I wouldn't go that far. I'm just curious about what she
has to say."

We
walked into the store, and a wiry black cat jumped off a counter and weaved its way through our legs.

"Stereotype much?" Luke mumbled.

The place defied my idea of what an occult shop would look like. It was surprisingly airy and well lit. Bookcases lined the walls on either side. The cashier's station was on the right. In the room's center sat small tables with bins filled candles and other knickknacks. I squinted at the price tag on a small silver mortal and pestle displayed on a nearby table.

"Two hundred dollars?" Luke said over my shoulder. "I need to open up one of these places. "Easy money from bored housewives and suckers like Sinder."

I looked around the place, hoping Sinder hadn't heard him, and caught the eye of a pale woman with long, red hair. She'd appeared from behind a gray curtain.

"May I help you?"

"We're looking for a friend of ours," I said. Her eyes, which matched the color of the curtain, were cat-like in shape. Luke made a creepy noise behind me. "She's here shopping."

The woman raised a hand and point toward the back of the store.
We found Sinder in a cramped room overflowing with candles that ranged from short to tall, skinny to fat, black to a greenish color I didn't know existed. She spun around at our approach. Her face dropped when she saw Luke.

"What's he doing here?"

"I thought he might be interested in what—"

"I didn't kill him," she said, her eyes fixed on Luke.

"He knows that," I said.

"
I didn't put peanuts in his food as a joke or to save him or anything like that. I'd never take that risk with his life."

"Why did the
y charge you?" I said.

Her lips trembled, but she recovered quickly. "Someone replaced my almond oil with peanut oil."

My jaw dropped.

"What do you mean, someone?" Luke said. He stepped around me and got in Sinder's face.

She stood her ground. "Just what I said." She looked at me. "Now I'm sure someone murdered Desmond. They set me up."

"
And the cops don't believe you?"

"That's right," she said
. "Think about it. Would I bring peanuts anywhere near Desmond, especially for a stupid spell?"

Luke
crossed his arms but didn't respond.

I calculated the implications.
If she's telling the truth...
"Okay," I said. "Let me think. If someone set you up, this person must have gained access to your house. How else would they tamper with your stuff?"

She shook her head.

"Is that what you wanted to tell me?" I said.

She blinked several times.
"The police destroyed my altar. I needed to replenish."

"And you need
ed Jones to help you decide what color cauldron to get?"

She
pressed her lips together.

I walked up to him and
poked him in the ribs. "Will you please?"

He shook his head and
retreated to the entrance of the room.

Sinder folded her arms across her chest and
stared at the floor. She seemed more worried about what Luke thought than the charges she faced.

"
That detective wanted to know my life story. I confessed to pulling Rachel Colby's hair in fifth grade, stealing Greg Dehman's lunch in eighth grade, and buying a Private Paper."

"
A private paper?"

"
Private Paper. An online research paper service. "I told the detective about it the first time she questioned me."

Sinder must be Detective Czarnecki's source for the term paper rumor. But if Sinder
admitted buying one, it wasn't just a rumor.

"She didn'
t even ask me about cheating, and I had to open my big mouth."

"The police have ways of making a suspect
open up," I said. "The point is to get you to tell them something that might be relevant. There's no such thing as too much information."

"It wasn't only
my
cheating I admitted to," she said.

"Desmond."

She nodded. "He's the one who told me about the site. Last year, I had to do this paper for English class. I waited until the last minute and freaked. Desmond said the guy could turn papers around in twenty-four hours."

"The guy?" Luke said. "You know who it is?"

Sinder shook her head. "I just e-mailed and told him what I needed. I totally blew my savings on it, but it was worth it at the time."

"So you told the cops about the site and that Desmond bought a paper." I said this more to myself than to Sinder. Maybe Czarnecki thought I could get more information about it because I was a student.

"Why does it matter at this point if Desmond cheated?" Luke said. He leaned against the doorway, his arms folded.

"Because
somebody set me up," Sinder said. "Maybe the term paper writer did it. And there's still this: I think Embry realized Desmond was after Ione."

Luke laughed
. "I know for a fact Drake was through with Hamilton. Old news."

She shook her head. "How do you know?"

Luke gave an exaggerated clearing of his throat. "Because I was his best friend."

I narrowed my eyes at him.
"You told me that Desmond hadn't confided in you about buying a term paper. Maybe he didn't confide in you about Ione, either."

He
shook his head. "Take my word for it. He didn't want Ione."

I stared at him. "Then there was somebody else?"

"Could be."

"Luke, this is
a homicide investigation."

"
To be more precise," he said, inclining his head in Sinder's direction, "it's manslaughter, and the police arrested the killer."

"The police are wrong," I said.

"Jones, what do you know? Did you have a dream or something?"

They both stared at me. I
aimed my question at Sinder. "Was Desmond seeing someone?"

"Not that I'm aware of,"
she said.

"Luke?"

He stared at me, then averted his eyes. "Hey, who knows?" I was about to respond when he looked at his watch. "I need to head out. I've got to pick up Gabby. We're spending the day together."

My stomach t
ightened. "Why did you agree to come with me if you had other plans?"

"I was curious," he s
aid. "And you seemed so anxious for me to come with you. I didn't want to let you down." His voice had an edge of sarcasm.

"I'll be fine," I said, hoping I sounded more
nonchalant than I felt.

"Suit yourself," he said, and walked off.

Sinder pulled a piece of paper from her pocket. I followed her around the store as she dropped candles, bags of herbs, and tiny glass bottles into the carrier.

"
Are you buying supplies to perform a spell?"

I thought she'd blush and deny it. But a relieved smile spread across of face.

"You get it, don't you? I've written a protection spell."

I
kept my mouth shut.

After a few minutes, she said,
"He's trying to make you jealous."

"Who
?"

"
You think he really cares about Gabby?"

I gave a humorless laugh.
"I think he cares a lot about tall, willowy, gorgeous girls who dump their boyfriends for him."

"Luke and I n
ever meshed well," Sinder said. "But I've never known him to go for model types. His other girlfriends were average looking."

I cleared my throat and
reached over to stroke the cat, who reclined on a table. "None of my business. By the way, you told me Desmond had changed his ways, wanted to rectify his mistakes. Do you think he told anybody about his cheating?"

"Besides me?" she said. "There's only one other person I know for sure he tol
d, and that's Mr. Howard."

So my instincts were right.
"He told the counselor he cheated?"

She
nodded. "Not only that. He said he told Mr. Howard who wrote the papers."