Mourning Moon (A Guinan Jones Paranormal Mystery #2) Read online

  About Mourning Moon

  Sixteen-year-old Guinan Jones can hear the final thoughts of the dead and sense the deeper emotions of the living. She thought she left murder, madness, and the media glare behind when she moved away from her grandfather's home in South Carolina for a new start with her parents in the nation's capital.

  But she can't run from death, and she certainly can't hide.

  When darkness strikes again, Guinan wonders if she's truly cursed.

  Mourning Moon

  A Guinan Jones Paranormal Mystery, #2

  By Callista Foley

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Copyright

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  Small Town, Big Death

  Greetings, readers! As I wrote last week, it seems the jurors just couldn't bring themselves to send an attractive mother of three to the needle. Convicted of first-degree murder in the death of 17-year-old Kate Mansfield, the auburn-haired Tessa Hicks was sentenced to life in prison without the possibility of parole. Next month she goes back to court to face murder charges in Theodore "Skeeter" Watson's death and the attempted murder of our own Guinan Jones '15. What a shame that it took Big Death to put small-town Ridge Grove, South Carolina, on the map. Why would a woman snap to the point of killing two and trying to kill a third? Debate it all day if you like. When you come up with an answer, e-mail me.

  Miss Jones, our own set piece in the drama, is a celebrity of sorts, even in the nation's capital. But give her some room, Grierdons. There'll be plenty of time to ask for dates later. Besides, I have it on good authority she's got her eye on a particular guy. And remember: she knows what you're thinking. Next week, I'll tell you what old Loony Una really bakes in those "world-famous" pies of her.

  I stared at the photo inserted into the blog post. Someone at the Thomas Grier School had snapped a candid shot of me while I wasn't looking—arms folded and gazing pensively out of a window. On the outside, I looked like every other girl: uniform of dark-blue blazer, short-sleeved white blouse, slate-gray knee-length skirt, dark-blue socks and loafers. Since I arrived at this school in September, I tried to blend in, to be like every other girl. But I wasn't.

  I was the girl whose "boyfriend's" mother tried to kill her.

  After word got out about Tessa Hicks's attempt on my life, I'd barricaded myself inside my grandfather's house. The phone rang constantly. Reporters wanted to interview me. People claiming to have psychic powers wanted to meet me. Details about the events—from Tessa's marigolds planted in the woods to how I threw up in Skeeter Watson's trailer—ended up on social media and news sites. To escape it all would have required total isolation and digital blackout. But I couldn't shut off my brain.

  I glanced around the lunch room, shoved my tablet into my book bag, and fought down a swell of nausea. Just a few more hours, and I'll be at home waiting for my grandfather to arrive and smelling turkey. Today was the Wednesday before Thanksgiving, and Granddad would be staying with us through Christmas.

  I stared at the half-devoured cheesecake brownie in front of me, and my stomach rumbled. I skipped the sandwich I'd made for lunch this morning and went straight for the sugar. Now I'd lost my appetite for even the sweet stuff. Whoever ran the anonymous blog, Morning Malcontent, apparently found me fascinating enough to feature at least once a week.

  Zeke Hicks probably read it, too.

  He certainly had more important things to worry about. I hadn't spoken to Tessa's son and my long-time crush since that night at Jepson's Point, when he held me and told me I was safe from his mother. After Tessa killed Kate Mansfield for sleeping with her husband, she went after Skeeter Watson because he knew. Then she turned her sights on me because I was close to figuring it out.

  Zeke's face was fixed in my mind like a portrait on a wall. He'd called me while I was sitting in the airport with my parents back in July but hung up before I answered. I didn't call back. I should have, because now the thought of calling him paralyzed me.

  A voice, barely perceptible, whispered in my ear. I stiffened and turned to my left.

  "Were you reading that blog again?"

  I whipped around to the right and looked up at the tall figure. Eyes the color of sapphire and black hair that fell lazily across his forehead, Embry Sullivan peered down at me. As usual, his dark-blue tie was loose, and his white shirt was untucked.

  "Did you just whisper something?" I said.

  He shook his head, sauntered to the other side of the table, and eased into the chair directly across from me. "I asked about the blog. Are you okay? You should ignore that thing."

  "Do you know who writes it?"

  Embry shook his head again. "Believe me, when I find out, the whole school will know." He turned his lunch bag upside down. An apple fell out, and he caught it before it rolled over the edge of the table. His mother and mine had been friends in college. If it weren't for Embry welcoming me into his group of friends, I'd probably be a loner.

  "Is that all you brought for lunch?" I said.

  "I inhaled my sandwich in Sander's class. I skipped breakfast this morning." He looked at my brownie. "Is that all you're having?"

  "I'm dessert-first these days," I said, pulling my sandwich out of the bag. Before I could offer him half, his girlfriend, Ione Hamilton, walked up behind him and wrapped her arms around his neck, her long, brown hair falling over his shoulder.

  "Hi, handsome." She kissed him on the cheek and plopped down in the chair to his right. "Guinan," she said, still gazing at Embry with eyes that matched the color of her hair. She smiled so hard whenever she was in his presence, I suspected her dimpled cheeks were sore.

  "Hey," I said, averting my eyes and waiting out their public display of affection. Girls usually went out with older guys, but not Ione Hamilton. She was a senior, and Embry was a junior. "How'd you do on Perry's exam?" I asked her.

  She broke away from him and wrinkled her freckled nose. "Pretty well, I guess, considering I didn't study. What a sadist, giving an exam the day before Thanksgiving break."

  A handful of teachers at Thomas Grier believed holiday-eve exams built character. Thankfully, my teachers weren't among them.

  "I can top that," Embry said, his mouth full of apple. "Gardner set one for Monday."

  "The day we get back from break?" I said. "He expects you to study over the holiday?"

  Embry shook his head. "He says we should know the material enough by now to do well without studying."

  "And do you?" Ione said, handing him half her sandwich.

  "What do you think, love?" He ate the food in two bites and expounded on the basic principles of differential calculus. It was complicated enough to put the blog right out of my mind.

  "Have you seen the blog today?"
Ione said.

  I grimaced and nodded.

  "Who've you got your eye on?"

  "Nobody," I said, shifting in the chair. "Stupid blog."

  "Anonymity is for cowards," Ione said. "When I was in France last year, I used to read this horrible, anonymous blog about 'ugly' Americans in the city. Filled with the worst stereotypes you could imagine. I commented every now and then to defend our honor."

  Embry watched me. "Don't get any ideas, Guinan."

  He knew I'd looked into studying abroad. "It does have a certain appeal," I said. "I'd love to go live in Britain for a year or two, pick up a cool English accent."

  He furrowed his brow. "You've left Ridge Grove. Isn't that enough?"

  When I didn't answer, Ione pressed her lips together and gave me a sympathetic expression. If it was supposed to make me feel better, it wasn't working. I ate the rest of my brownie without really tasting it and started on my sandwich.

  "Will you have to testify?" Ione said.

  "I hope not," I said. I pray not. The thought of taking the witness stand and repeating the story of the night I almost died filled me with dread.

  Ione glanced at Embry and cleared her throat. "What are you doing Friday night?" Without waiting for an answer, she continued. "We're going to see the Furr Bees at the Blue Lane. I was wondering if you'd like to come?"

  "That's really nice of you," I said. "But—"

  "My cousin Rob's meeting us there, and he's dateless."

  "It wasn't my idea," Embry blurted out.

  Ugh. Not another set-up attempt. This time, truth was my excuse. "My grandfather arrives tonight, and I want to spend as much time with him as I can. Thanks for thinking of me, though."

  "How rude."

  The disembodied voice floated above me. I looked up to see Desmond Drake's teasing gaze sweep the table.

  He took the chair to my left and grinned. His honey-colored eyes sparkled under the light. "You people couldn't wait until I arrived before pigging out?" He raked a hand through his dark-red hair. "Were you talking about me?"

  "As a matter of fact, we were," Embry said. He nodded at the girl at Desmond's heels, who took the chair to my right. "I was remarking on how you two look more alike every day."

  Everyone except the girl, Sinder Gillespie, laughed. Two heads shorter than Desmond and slightly pudgy, she had long dirty-blonde hair and blue eyes.

  "Tired jokes from an unenlightened mind," she said.

  Desmond raised his eyebrows. "Embry's the smartest kid in this place."

  Sinder rolled her eyes. "Being book smart doesn't make one enlightened." She looked at Desmond. "I'm going to get a brownie. Want one?"

  He gave her a thumbs-up and unscrewed a bottle of protein water.

  Sinder followed Desmond around like the proverbial lost puppy. I figured he enjoyed the adulation. Since he got it from plenty of other girls, I wondered why he really tolerated it.

  I asked the table in general about tomorrow's dinner plans.

  "We're doing what we do every Thanksgiving," Embry said. "Reservations at Hartman's."

  "My mother's baking three pies and two cakes this year," Ione said. "Trying to please everybody, I guess. Not that I'm complaining."

  We all looked at Desmond, waiting for him to chime in. He shrugged. "Nothing special. Just the three Drakes."

  There was a lull in the conversation as everybody ate their lunch. I glanced around the room and made eye contact with random students. Their emotions ranged from excitement to dread. Holidays.

  Sinder returned with the brownies and handed one to Desmond. I felt her eyes linger on me when she sat down. I turned to face her, smiling. She had the smoky-eye, pale-lips, unbrushed-hair thing going today.

  "What do you sense?" she said.

  "What? Nothing."

  She leaned closer. "Have any interesting dreams lately?"

  I hadn't said a word to anyone at Thomas Grier that I could read emotions, hear dead people's last thoughts, and sometimes dream about death, but the media certainly had. According to them, I could also read minds, cast spells, and conjure demons.

  "Sorry to disappoint you, Sinder, but I haven't dreamed of death in months. I'll let you know if I do."

  Embry snickered. "Unless you dream of her death. I doubt she'd want to know about that."

  "Why wouldn't I?" Sinder said, sitting up straighter.

  Death was the last thing I wanted to talk about today. Or any other day. I gave a half-shrug and sipped from my water bottle.

  Ione scoffed and stroked Embry's cheek with the back of her hand.

  Sinder glared at her. "You still don't believe in the paranormal, even after everything that's happened to Guinan?"

  "I'm not like you," Ione said. "I think it's all superstitious nonsense." She looked at me with raised eyebrows. "No offense."

  "None taken. In fact, I don't think I—"

  "But some of us have the power to perceive things beyond our five senses," Sinder said.

  Embry slouched in his chair and looked at the ceiling. "Here we go."

  Ione leaned back and folded her arms. "Well, I don't believe there's a sixth sense."

  "Guinan has a gift. And she needs the kind of friends who appreciate it, not think it's BS."

  Desmond threw an arm around me. "Well, I appreciate her." He leaned forward. "And you, too, Sinderoni." He changed the subject and complained about one of his teachers.

  Lunch period was almost over, and students were starting to file out of the room. I half-listened to the group's conversation until Ione said her cousin Rob had a cleft in his chin.

  "And brown hair?" I said.

  She nodded. "And brown eyes."

  I sank low in the chair, thinking about Zeke. I was about to leave the table when Sinder touched my arm.

  "Can we talk?" she said in a low voice. "Before next period?"

  I sighed. "If this is about what you mentioned yesterday, I've already told you I'm not—"

  "I know that's what you think," she said. "But the winter solstice..." She trailed off and bit her lip. "Guinan, I really think we should start a coven."

  Chapter Two

  I cleared my throat for effect, not with the intention of saying anything. I looked into Sinder's pleading eyes and sensed a quiet desperation that ran bone-deep. I'd lost count of the number of times she'd asked me to start a coven with her.

  "Do I really have to go over this again?"

  "I'll do it for you," Embry said, glaring at Sinder. "Guinan is not a witch. You're not a witch. There's no such thing as magic or spells or whatever. I think you need to start seeing the school shrink again."

  The color drained from Sinder's face. I averted my eyes and considered leaving the table to buy another brownie.

  "Mr. Howard isn't a shrink," Desmond said. "He's a psychologist. I see him sometimes, myself."

  Sinder gazed at him, gratitude shining on her face, then rolled her eyes at Embry.

  "Why don't you ask your other friends?" I said. "I can't believe I'm your only hope."

  I caught a meaningful look between Embry and Ione.

  "I can't believe we have to be subjected to another year of Sinder's paranormal obsession," Ione said.

  Sinder tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. "I'm not deterred by any of you. My so-called friends."

  Embry sighed. "You can't expect us to go along with this witchcraft stuff just because we're friends. If we don't call you on it, who will?"

  Something brushed against my back, and I jumped. The arrival of Luke Chapman broke the witchcraft-conversation tension and added a different kind.

  "Well I'm not your friend, Gillespie," he said, "so I can tell you it's childish." He pulled out the chair beside Embry with a loud scrape and sat down. He made eye contact with me and nodded. "Jones."

  "Hello."

  He flipped a lock of light-brown hair from his forehead. His hazel eyes looked green today. "Sully, you still going to the Blue Lane on Friday?"

  "We plan to," Embry
said. "Why?"

  "I'm bringing Gabby Meyerson," he said with wink.

  Embry gaped at him. Gabby Meyerson was a model-tall junior with a senior Abercrombie and Fitch-looking boyfriend.

  Ione raised her eyebrows. "But what about—"

  "She and Tucker broke up," Luke said. He looked at me and held my gaze. Though it didn't show on his face, I sensed overwhelming smugness and satisfaction. I started to ask if he had something to do with their breakup but decided I didn't want to know. He leaned forward and stage-whispered. "I would have asked you, but I knew you'd say no."

  "You can read the future, huh?"

  His expression shifted. "You mean you'll go with me?"

  I shook my head. Sinder snickered.

  Luke shrugged and twisted the top off a bottle of protein water. He removed a plastic container and a silver fork from his bag. I watched him walk to the microwave to heat it up. I wasn't the only one watching. Luke was tall, with a swimmer's body. I dropped my gaze and began gathering up my trash. He returned to the table with delicious-smelling food that put my chicken salad sandwich to shame. He licked a finger, draped a cloth napkin across his lap, and ate without speaking.

  "Luke, I didn't mean to make it sound like—"

  He held up a hand. "No worries."

  "So, anyway," Embry said to him, "do you want to ride with us?"

  "I'll pick you guys up in the Beemer," Luke said. "I put a new engine in it last week. Purrs like a kitten."

  "Doesn't fit the stereotype, does it?" Desmond said to me. He rested his chin on his hand. "A trustafarian changing car engines."

  "Sure doesn't," I said. A lot of things about Luke didn't fit the stereotype.

  "Speaking of defying expectations," Ione said, "last year, this kid, Casey Markham, high IQ, bound for Harvard, was kicked out for buying a term paper online. Everybody was shocked he'd risk his future like that."

  Sinder let out a shuddering breath. "I wonder what happened to him."

  Luke smirked. "I heard his father pulled strings, got him into some second-tier school. But back to important matters." He resumed his conversation with Embry about Friday night.