Read Online Mourning Moon (A Guinan Jones Paranormal Mystery #2) by Callista Foley - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Callista Foley
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I'd only met them a few months ago. Did they really consider me a friend?
***
Tuesday morning, I walked to Luke's house. The first thing I did when he opened the door was stare him down. No time for subtlety.
"Did you put that envelope in my locker?"
"What envelope?"
I narrowed my eyes. I opened myself up and grabbed onto his emotions. Surprise. Confusion. And, troubling, more fascination. But no deception.
"Someone put an envelope in your locker?"
"Luke!"
He held up his hands. "Hey, I don't know what you're talking about ." I told him about the marigold petals and the note. "Sounds like a prank to me."
I gaped. "My would-be murderer's favorite flower ? 'When you die, no one will hear your thoughts'"?
Luke scratched his cheek. "Well, when you put it like that...maybe you're reading more into it than—"
"Yeah," I said, throwing up my hands. "Maybe I'm taking a possible death threat too seriously. And I sense what I can only describe as fascination coming from you. I don't understand why."
He raised his eyebrows. "You don't understand why I'm enthralled by you?"
I blinked and bit the inside of my jaw. I headed toward the street where his car was parked. Luke closed the door to his house, caught up with me before I reached the car, and opened the passenger-side door. I got in and sat stiffly, staring out of the window.
"That really freaked you out," he said.
I looked at him. "I'm more angry than afraid."
He sighed. "You suspect me, don't you? You t hink I killed my best friend, and that I'm taunting you?"
I gaped. " I don't think you killed Desmond."
He raised his eyebrows. "And the note?"
I couldn't imagine that, either. My non-answer must have satisfied him, because he moved on.
" Let's look at this from the killer's point of view," he said. "The person wanted to kill Desmond. Tried to make it look like an accident. You're psychic but apparently don't know who did it. So why put the note and flower in your locker to give you something to work with?"
"I don't k now."
" I think someone besides the killer left the note and flower to mess with you."
Luke's assessment brought up old feeli ngs of uselessness. I wanted the sort of psychic ability that gave me definitive answers. I wanted to know who put peanuts in Desmond's food. I wanted to know when something bad was going to happen and receive clear instructions on how to prevent it. Instead, I flailed, and I guessed, along with everyone else.
"Jones?"
I looked at Luke. In the seconds we held eye contact, his uncertainty hung in the air like a vapor, then dissipated.
"You don't believe it's just a prank, do you?" I said.
He sighed. "I know this. I'll try my best to protect you."
We arrived at the church fifteen minutes before the service started, and the sanctuary was filled to the brim.
"Are Desmond's parents really important or something?"
"No," Luke said. "I think the news story drew some of these people."
We found a place to sit in the middle of a pew in the middle of the church. I excused myself several times as I carefully stepped over people's feet. When we settled down, I exhaled loudly and glanced at Luke. He looked good in his tailored, dark-blue suit. His cell chirped. He answered it, and the color drained from his face. He raised his head and looked toward the front of the church.
"That 's all right. Yes, I see. Tell his mom I'm fine back here. I have a friend with me. Right. See you later." He blew out a breath and turned off the phone. "That was Matt, one of Drake's cousins. Mrs. Drake said I could sit up front with the family if I wanted."
"I don't mind if you go."
He shook his head and stared straight ahead. "I can't."
The service lasted an hour. Afterward, people formed a line facing the front of the church. Body-viewing time. I wanted to leave the building, as I had at Kate Mansfield's funeral, but Luke held on to my hand.
The family remained standing at their pew, and people approached them as they passed the casket.
***
Tuesday morning, I walked to Luke's house. The first thing I did when he opened the door was stare him down. No time for subtlety.
"Did you put that envelope in my locker?"
"What envelope?"
I narrowed my eyes. I opened myself up and grabbed onto his emotions. Surprise. Confusion. And, troubling, more fascination. But no deception.
"Someone put an envelope in your locker?"
"Luke!"
He held up his hands. "Hey, I don't know what you're talking about ." I told him about the marigold petals and the note. "Sounds like a prank to me."
I gaped. "My would-be murderer's favorite flower ? 'When you die, no one will hear your thoughts'"?
Luke scratched his cheek. "Well, when you put it like that...maybe you're reading more into it than—"
"Yeah," I said, throwing up my hands. "Maybe I'm taking a possible death threat too seriously. And I sense what I can only describe as fascination coming from you. I don't understand why."
He raised his eyebrows. "You don't understand why I'm enthralled by you?"
I blinked and bit the inside of my jaw. I headed toward the street where his car was parked. Luke closed the door to his house, caught up with me before I reached the car, and opened the passenger-side door. I got in and sat stiffly, staring out of the window.
"That really freaked you out," he said.
I looked at him. "I'm more angry than afraid."
He sighed. "You suspect me, don't you? You t hink I killed my best friend, and that I'm taunting you?"
I gaped. " I don't think you killed Desmond."
He raised his eyebrows. "And the note?"
I couldn't imagine that, either. My non-answer must have satisfied him, because he moved on.
" Let's look at this from the killer's point of view," he said. "The person wanted to kill Desmond. Tried to make it look like an accident. You're psychic but apparently don't know who did it. So why put the note and flower in your locker to give you something to work with?"
"I don't k now."
" I think someone besides the killer left the note and flower to mess with you."
Luke's assessment brought up old feeli ngs of uselessness. I wanted the sort of psychic ability that gave me definitive answers. I wanted to know who put peanuts in Desmond's food. I wanted to know when something bad was going to happen and receive clear instructions on how to prevent it. Instead, I flailed, and I guessed, along with everyone else.
"Jones?"
I looked at Luke. In the seconds we held eye contact, his uncertainty hung in the air like a vapor, then dissipated.
"You don't believe it's just a prank, do you?" I said.
He sighed. "I know this. I'll try my best to protect you."
We arrived at the church fifteen minutes before the service started, and the sanctuary was filled to the brim.
"Are Desmond's parents really important or something?"
"No," Luke said. "I think the news story drew some of these people."
We found a place to sit in the middle of a pew in the middle of the church. I excused myself several times as I carefully stepped over people's feet. When we settled down, I exhaled loudly and glanced at Luke. He looked good in his tailored, dark-blue suit. His cell chirped. He answered it, and the color drained from his face. He raised his head and looked toward the front of the church.
"That 's all right. Yes, I see. Tell his mom I'm fine back here. I have a friend with me. Right. See you later." He blew out a breath and turned off the phone. "That was Matt, one of Drake's cousins. Mrs. Drake said I could sit up front with the family if I wanted."
"I don't mind if you go."
He shook his head and stared straight ahead. "I can't."
The service lasted an hour. Afterward, people formed a line facing the front of the church. Body-viewing time. I wanted to leave the building, as I had at Kate Mansfield's funeral, but Luke held on to my hand.
The family remained standing at their pew, and people approached them as they passed the casket.
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