Black-Eyed Moon (A Guinan Jones Paranormal Mystery #1) (13 page)

It was all a blur
—the trip to the hospital, following my grandfather's gurney through the emergency room's double doors, sitting beside my mother outside the exam area...I hated the hospital's garish lights, its medicine smells, its white walls and shiny floors. And the needles. I heard myself giggle.

"Honey, he'll be all right
."

The soothing words came from the person rubbing my back. I removed my hands from my face, sat back, and looked to my left.
It was not the face I'd expected to see.

"Where's my mother?"

Tessa's  lips twitched. "The doctor called her to the exam room."

I started to rise, but she
put a gentle hand on my leg.

"It'll be okay, G."

Zeke sat on my right. I could tell he'd raked his hands through his hair to tame it instead of using a comb. I nodded and tried to be braver than I felt. He pulled me to him, and I leaned against his shoulder. He smelled like fabric softener. I had a balled-up tissue in my hand.

"How did you hear about it?" I said,
sitting up.

"Brend
a called us," Tessa said. "She'd learned from dispatch that an ambulance had been called to Isaac's address, and well, she's resourceful."

I furrowed my brow. Was that the answer I'd expected? I shook my head to clear it. "Where's Tim?"

"Out in the car with the twins," she said, standing up and looking at her watch. "I was supposed to relieve him about ten minutes ago. He wants to see Isaac."

Zeke and I watched his mother leave. I shivered.

He held my hand.

"I have to tell you somet
hing," I said. The voice was mine but sounded like it belonged to someone else.

"Yeah?"

I told him about the precog dream and added, "But I can't leave town with my grandfather like this."

"I don't think you have a choice," he said. "Do you want to be dead?"

"My grandmother changed the future at least once," I said quickly. I told him about Patsy Kroger. He didn't look impressed. "That means the future is not set. It's not inevitable. We can influence things."

"Why take the chance? Your life is more important than that." I tried to
pull my hand from his grip, but he wouldn't let go. "You know how I feel about you. Please, you and your mother have to leave. We'll look out for your grandfather."

The heat from his hand spread through me. "We wouldn't leave him like this in a million years. You don't really think
—"

He raised his voice. "But your life might be in danger.
"

A few
heads turned our way.

He closed his eyes.

And kissed my hand.

I can't handle this.

I jumped up and walked to the exam area, determined to see Granddad. Before I reached it, a gurney appeared from behind a curtain. I stopped in my tracks. My mother saw me and rushed over.

"They'
re taking him to a room."

I caught a glimpse of him before the attendant wheeled him into the elevator. He looked pale weak.

"Can I go up, too?"

She put her arm around my shoulders. "Yeah, come on up with me."

I hesitated and looked back at Zeke. He leaned forward with his elbows on his knees.

"What's the room number
?"

"Three ten," she said.

"I'll be up in a second, okay?"

She glanced at Zeke and nodded.

I walked past him and motioned for him to follow me. I peered around outside and found a secluded, shady spot on the side of the building. When I was sure no one could see us, I stopped and faced him. I leaned back against the bricks. He looked at me curiously. I took his hand and pulled him to me. He smiled and cupped my face, still wet with tears. His touch was almost painfully tender.

He
kissed my cheeks, my forehead, my eyelids. I wanted to melt into him, to forget the things I'd seen and heard, to block out thoughts of what might happen. His soft, cool lips brushed mine, teasing me. Then he parted his lips. Our tongues touched. An electric current pulsed through me. I felt as if I were floating, and I never wanted to come down.

His
hands tightened around my waist. My arms around his neck, I pulled him closer. I took in everything—the pressure of his lips, the warm tingle of his hands, the smell of him, the
reality
of him.

"I had to do that at least once,
" he said, slightly out of breath. He raked his fingers through my hair and looked at it as if he'd never seen it before. His eyes traveled to my face.

"Your eyes
remind me of cinnamon. Did I ever tell you that?"

I was about to answer when he abruptly pul
led away. My skin stung from the absence of his touch.

"What's wrong?"

"You're upset. I feel like I'm taking advantage of you."

"What? Don't be ridiculous. You don't think I know my own mind?"

He reached for me but held back.

My hand shot to
my widow's peak. "Poor little witchy Guinan. So confused, so crazy."

"That's not what I meant, and you know it."

I closed my eyes. "I need to see Granddad."

He
pressed against me. I tried to keep my body stiff, unyielding, but my resolve was no match for his warmth. Life, in all its vibrancy, was as natural as death.

Death. Murder. Anger. Jealousy. Deception. The future. The past.

I rested my head against his chest and listened to his heart beating.

Alive.

I lost track of time.

"I've got to go," I said.

He kissed me for a long time.

"Don't go ar
ound asking anymore questions. If you feel like you have to, come get me."

"I will."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

Satisfied, he released me. I walked away, hoping and wishing he'd try to stop me. But Zeke, being Zeke, let me go do what I needed to do.

***

"Is he awake?"

"Not yet, but he's mumbling."

I lingered at the doorway to my grandfather's room. He didn't look like himself. His face was slack and pale. Tubes jutted from his chest, arm, and nose. My mother held out her hand, and I came closer.

"What's he saying?"

She shook her head. "I told your father we won't be arriving today or tomorrow."

If I told her about the precog dream, she'd have two things to worry about.

She gave me a sideways glance. "I'm glad the Hickses came. I know Tim wants to see him, but I don't want anyone but us in here today." She paused. "Zeke seems to have gotten over his issues with you."

I bit my lip. "You and Dad have the same issues."

She flinched as if my words hit her with physical force. "It's not the same." She stared at me, her lips pressed together. "Well, at least I've never called you a witch."

I inclined my head. "There's that."

She let out a sigh of frustration. "Oh, Guinan, I've been wrong about so many things. Don't hold it against me. I'm trying to make up for it."

"It's okay. Let's focus on Granddad, get him all better."

Her lips trembled. She cleared her throat. "I'll go tell Tessa that Dad's going to be okay. Tim can come to the house to see him."

When she left, I stared at Isaac Jepson, the man who'd
raised me for six years. I didn't have to look into his eyes to sense what he was likely thinking in the haze of unconsciousness. He grunted in his sleep.

"Granddad?" He open
ed his eyes, bloodshot and glassy. I placed my hand on his forehead. Cool and damp. "You had another heart attack. You're in the hospital."

"Have to go...airport."

"Mom and I are here."

His lids fluttered, then he focused on
me. "The dream..."

I swallowed. "Don't worry about me. You need to relax."

He furrowed his brow, and I thought for a moment he was in pain. The beeping from his heart monitor increased.

"How could I not worry about you?"

"I'm going to take care of myself. And you." My voice shook.

He closed his eyes. "Where's Saundra?"

"She went to tell Tim and Tessa you're going to be okay."

"I want to talk to Tim," he said.

"Mom's sending them away. You know how she is."

"No," he said, breathless. "Go tell him I want to see him."

"But Granddad—"

"I won't let you do anything stupid."

Before I could answer, a nurse swept into the room, checked the monitor, and prodded me out of the way.

"Mr. Jepson, how are you feeling?"

"I need to see Tim Hicks."

"You need to relax, sir," the nurse said. "Your
body's suffered a trauma."

I expect
ed him to protest again, but he closed his eyes. "Granddad?"

The nurse held a finger up to her lips and motioned for me to follow her to the hall.

"He needs to rest," she said. "I came to tell Mrs. Jones...oh, there she is."

I turned to see her hurrying down the hall, eyes wide. "What happened? Is my father all right?"

"He's fine, Mrs. Jones. I was telling your daughter he needs to rest. The doctor will update you on his condition." We watched the nurse enter another patient's room.

"Did he wake up?" my mother said.

"He, uh, for a minute, yeah." The relief that spread across her face made my heart swell.

"What did he say?"

"He was concerned about us missing our flight." It was a half-truth.

She shook her head and laughed
.

"What did the Hickses say?"

"Oh, they understand. I told them he'd probably be home in a couple of days."

"
When do you think we'll leave?"

She eyed me skeptically. "Now you want to leave?"

I hesitated. "Of course, not, but I'll need to prepare myself all over again."

We
walked to the elevator, and I glanced back at Granddad's room. Tomorrow, when he woke up, when we came to see him, he was going to tell my mother about the dream. I needed to tell her before then. But there was something I needed to do first.

Some psychic power I had.

I dreamed about what likely was my death, but I couldn't see the person's face or determine how far into the future it would happen. And why couldn't I see my grandfather's heart attack coming...something useful?

I barely slept that night. Instead, I paced. I felt the way my room looked: bare and dark. My so-called powers involved sensing people's emotions. Big deal. Anybody with half a brain and an ounce of sensitivity could do that. And reading dead people's thoughts? Most of the time, the so-called thoughts were the ramblings of a fading mind.

I stubbed a toe on the leg of my desk
and let out a string of profanities in my head. I cursed the darkness. I cursed myself. I cursed the killer. I cursed everyone who'd ever called me a witch.

If I had
to deal with that label, I wanted
useful
powers.

I
sat on the floor and gingerly rubbed my toe. Had my grandmother ever been frustrated about how weak her abilities might have been? She might have seen terrible things she hadn't been able to stop or influence. I wondered if she could do more than sense emotions or see final thoughts.

I stopped
rubbing my toe and leaned against the bed. Before Grandma's parents committed her to a mental hospital, she used to say her abilities were a gift from God. I had a hard time believing mine were. Where did the ability to read people, dead or alive, come from? How is possible? I had never, not in my whole life, ever tried to find out.

But right now, the answers didn't matter that much. My grandfather had a heart attack I hadn't seen coming. According to the doctor, he'd recover. According to my dream, I would not.
If Grandma could change the future, I had to believe I could, too.

***

Visiting hours started at noon. Restless, I left the house around ten-thirty. Now here I was on Eric Rodman's front porch. The emotions that emanated from him were tangible. Contempt. A strong desire that I disappear.

"Some psychic you are," he said. He
leaned against the doorframe, his arms folded. "You don't know any more than I do."

"Maybe I do, maybe I don't," I said.
That was mature.
"But I'm getting there. Just tell me what I need to know, and I'll leave you alone. Forever."

He rolled his eyes. "That's the point, isn't it? I don't have to tell you anything."

I widened my eyes in mock shock. "You don't want to know who killed Kate? You want a murderer to go free, knowing he took something away from you?"

The blood left his face, and I thought I noticed him
tremble slightly. His emotions were so overwhelming, I erected the red-brick wall.

"Stop staring at me like that."

I blinked and glanced away. "Whatever."

"I told the cops I was with Tamzen Thursday night."

I hadn't seen that coming. My best friend had quickly moved on from Zeke. "Her parents are still out of town?"

"No," Eric said, smirking. "I snuck in
to her bedroom, invited, around eleven."

I stared at him. "
You and Tamzen are each other's alibi for the night Skeeter died?"

"W
e didn't do anything," he said. "We talked and fell asleep. I woke up around five and left. Funny how things work like that, huh?"

He could have killed Skeeter before he went to Tamzen's.

"The two of you could have done it together and use each other as an alibi," I said.

He kept a humorous expression. "I guess we could have.
Some best friend you are, accusing her of murder."

I ignored the remark.
"You tried to kill Skeeter before."

"Not true, but let's say
I did. I changed my MO, went to his trailer and beat his brains out, knowing I'd be the first one they'd suspect?"

"Just throwing some things out there. What I find odd is there have been two murders in this town, and everybody's gone about their business, like it happens all the time." I
reminded myself of my mother.

He shrugged. "Maybe everybody's thinking the sa
me thing. They deserved to die. Kate was a home-wrecking slut, and Skeeter was a drug dealer taking up oxygen."

"But we don't get to decide who lives and who dies," I said. "We don't have the right to
—"

"Are we done here?" he said, taking a few steps back inside his house. "I've got things to do."

He shut the door in my face with more force than necessary.
Jerk.

I started my car and sat with the engine idling. What the heck was I doing? What did I think I cou
ld do that the police couldn't?

I headed for
Busby's and remembered that it was crowded on Sundays. I made a detour to a coffee shop with too-expensive coffee. I ordered juice and a breakfast sandwich, chose a table farthest from the door, and processed this new information.

Eric and Tamzen were together
Thursday night. That morning, she'd come to my house and issued what could be interpreted as a threat. That same day, Zeke and I had gone to Eric's. Had he and I played a part in their getting together that night?

Get over yourself.

I ate the sandwich without really tasting it. I took a pen and a notepad from my purse. I created two columns. The suspects for Kate's murder were pretty much the same as Skeeter's, except in his case, I factored in other drug dealers and customers he'd screwed over.

I stared at the names of people I thought I knew well. I stared at Zeke's name, then drew a line through it.

Crazy bitch. Evil eyes.

Skeeter must have known who killed Kate, and the killer knew he knew. He might have called his ex-wife a crazy bitch, but
evil eyes? Did that mean she was crazy? Was Bev Watson clairvoyant? She was born and raised in Ridge Grove. She could be a distant cousin. A cousin. Like Tessa.

A woman passed by the table on her way to the bathroom, and
I practically jumped out of the chair. I covered the list as if I'd been caught doing something wrong. I hoped she hadn't noticed.

I took a bite of the sandwich and turned back to the list.
Eric and Tamzen, Tim and Tessa...I couldn't wrap my mind around the idea that anyone, let alone people I knew and cared about, could commit
murder
. I shook my head and crumpled up the paper. I stared out the window for a long time. My buzzing cell interrupted my train of thought.

"Hey, Mom."

"Where are you?"

I looked at the time. Past noon.
"Is everything okay?"

"He
's asking for you, and he's frantic."

***

I rehearsed how I was going to tell my mother that I might have foreseen my death.
Yep, still sounds crazy.

After the third version of the speech, I realized there was no elegant way to say it.
At the hospital, I stopped short of going inside Granddad's room, took a deep breath, and plunged ahead.

He
sat upright with his cell phone at his ear. When he saw me, he said something I couldn't hear and closed the phone. My mother slouched in a chair against the wall. She looked like she'd been crying.

"Hey," I said, forcing a
smile.

I wanted to be chipper and bubbly, but I lost it. He held my hand while I cried
. He whispered something to my mother, and she left the room. I wiped my eyes and looked into his face. He was still pale, but his eyes were alert.

"Doc says it was just a mild one. He's putting me on a different medication."

I sniffed. "You don't need surgery?"

He shook his head.
"I told your mother about the dream."

My heart sank
. "What did she say?"

He pressed his lips together. "She
thinks it was about Kate and not you. She called me crazy."

"Then she must think I'm crazy, too."

He shook his head. "She believes I encouraged you to think it was about you."

I frowned. "And why
would you do that?"

"
Your mother is in denial. She doesn't want to believe you saw your own death. It's a normal reaction."

Believing I'd dreamed of Kate's death
certainly was less stressful for her than believing the other scenario.

Granddad
adjusted himself against the pillows. "Tilda seldom talked about her dreams. Every now and then, she'd tell me about one. For the most part, she kept them to herself."

"She must have
confided in somebody. I mean, she told Miss Patsy the one about her. Maybe she told other people."

"Maybe, but she wasn't close to many people."

"Do you think she might have talked to Tessa about some of the dreams?"

He gazed at me as if the possibility hadn't occurred to him. "That doesn't matter right now
. I need to tell you about one in particular she did share with me."

I took a deep breath and nodded.

He squeezed his eyes shut and opened them. "Tilda used to have this recurring dream about being killed in a car accident."

The room swayed
.

"In these dreams, she was
always the driver. So she stopped driving."

My mouth gaped as the memories flooded my mind. All this time I thought she just didn't like to drive.
"Why didn't you tell me this before?" I said.

"I certainly couldn't tell you while she was alive. It would've have scared you to death." He winced at the pun. "I wanted to tell you afterward, but no time seemed like the right time."

I studied my trembling hands. I balled them into fists. "Why did Grandma end up driving that day?"

He pressed his lips together
and swallowed. I'd seen him cry only once, and that was after we'd returned home from her funeral. "That morning I wasn't feeling well. She begged me to stay home, go to the doctor. But you know me."

I recalled that day. I was in math class, and the principal
appeared at the door. He told the teacher he needed me to come to his office. When I got there, Tessa was waiting to deliver the bad news.

"I collapsed at the office," Granddad
said, rubbing his chin. "I wasn't having a heart attack. Probably exhaustion. Somebody called her, and she got in the car to come to the station." His lips trembled.

Knowing that day could be the day she'd die, my grandmother drove to her ailing husband. And her death.