Lunatic Times Two: 4 (The Lunatic Life Series) Read online

  Table of Contents

  The Novels of Sharon Sala from Bell Bridge Books

  Lunatic Times Two

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  About Sharon Sala

  Promo Page

  They want the hidden fortune, and they’ll kill Tara to get it. This time, even Flynn and her ghosts may not be able to save her.

  TARA SAW THE old black pickup as it passed her, but thought nothing of it. When her cell phone rang, and she saw it was Flynn, the pickup was quickly forgotten.

  “Hey, Flynn.”

  “Hey, honey, I meant to call before kickoff, and now it’s about to happen. I knew you’d be glued to the set so I thought I’d better talk fast.”

  She laughed. “I’m not even home. I got sick of being in the house and went for a walk.”

  Millicent’s voice was suddenly screaming in her ear. Run, Tara run!

  She heard tires screeching on the street behind her and spun around, thinking someone was about to have a wreck. Instead, she saw a man jump out of the same black truck that had just passed her a few moments earlier, and he was running toward her. Her heart dropped. It was happening!

  “Help! Flynn! It’s happening,” she screamed, and turned to run, felt a sharp pain in the back of her thigh and dropped into the snow, unable to move or talk, shaking convulsively from the Taser’s electrodes.

  Flynn heard the tires, her cry for help and the warning, then nothing. She was being abducted! Why wasn’t she running? Why was she suddenly silent? Why wasn’t he picking up on her thoughts anymore? God in heaven, what had they done to her?

  His heart was hammering so hard against his chest that he thought he’d pass out, but he knew exactly what was happening. Her nightmare was coming true, and he was too far away to help.

  The Novels of Sharon Sala from Bell Bridge Books

  The Boarding House

  The Lunatic Life Series

  My Lunatic Life

  Lunatic Detective

  Lunatic Revenge

  Lunatic Times Two

  Lunatic Times Two

  Book 4 of the LUNATIC LIFE Series

  by

  Sharon Sala

  Bell Bridge Books

  Copyright

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons (living or dead), events or locations is entirely coincidental.

  Bell Bridge Books

  PO BOX 300921

  Memphis, TN 38130

  Ebook ISBN: 978-1-61194-360-3

  Print ISBN: 978-1-61194-362-7

  Bell Bridge Books is an Imprint of BelleBooks, Inc.

  Copyright © 2013 by Sharon Sala

  Printed and bound in the United States of America.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer, who may quote brief passages in a review.

  We at BelleBooks enjoy hearing from readers.

  Visit our websites – www.BelleBooks.com and www.BellBridgeBooks.com.

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  Cover design: Debra Dixon

  Interior design: Hank Smith

  Photo/Art credits:

  Girl (manipulated) © Chaoss | Dreamstime.com

  Background (manipulated) © Andrey Kiselev | Dreamstime.com

  :Mtlt:01:

  Dedication

  The best part about really knowing someone is the uniqueness that is theirs alone. No one is born alike; not even identical twins. Having a friend is even better because they don’t care what you look like, or what you can or can’t do. They like you simply because you are you.

  The little heroine in this Lunatic Life series hasn’t always had the luxury of friends or the acceptance of just being herself until she and her uncle move to Oklahoma. It was there she found people who didn’t mind that she could see and talk to spirits. It was the first time in her life that she felt like she belonged.

  I want to dedicate not only this book, but all four of the Lunatic Life books to the people who go through life marching to the beat of a drum only they can hear. Being different is what makes you special. It is a very good thing.

  Chapter One

  TARA COULDN’T breathe, and despite how fiercely she was fighting, the hands around her throat kept squeezing tighter and tighter. Her field of vision had narrowed to the emotionless expression on the pockmarked face of the man above her. No matter how many times her punches landed, or how hard she bucked and kicked trying to throw him off her body, it had no effect. His sole purpose was to end her life at any expense, and it appeared he was willing to suffer to make that happen. Even after there was no breath left in her to make a sound, inside, she was screaming for Flynn.

  Help me! Help me!

  And then it was too late.

  The man’s face was fading before her eyes. She could actually feel her spirit leaving her body. When she realized she was floating above, a wave of sadness swept through her. She saw her lifeless body below.

  I wasn’t ready to die.

  Tara! Tara! Wake up! It’s just a dream!

  Flynn, is that you?

  “TARA! TARA! Wake up! You’re having a bad dream!”

  Tara woke up with a gasp then took a deep breath, shocked she could actually breathe. She wasn’t dead after all. Thank God, thank God!

  Her uncle, Pat Carmichael, put a hand on her forehead to test for a fever.

  “Are you sick, honey?”

  “No, I’m fine, Uncle Pat. It was just a crazy dream.”

  “Good. I have to go in to work early. They are going to need all hands on deck at the city barn today to help sand the streets.”

  “Why? You don’t work on Saturday.”

  “It’s snowing, and from the look of the roads, it’s been snowing most of the night. I’m glad there’s no school. You stay inside and stay warm. Gotta go. Call if you need me,” he said, and blew her a kiss as he hurried away.

  She threw back the covers and ran to the windows. A heavy snow was falling, and even though the reality of her dream was beginning to fade, the horror of it was still with her. She leaned her forehead against the cold windowpane and shuddered. As she turned away, she glanced toward her dresser to the picture of her boyfriend, Flynn. The fact that he had been able to mentally enter her nightmare and pull her out of it was shocking. She was still struggling with how he’d changed after his accident. He’d come out of the coma—from the brink of death—with the ability to hear thoughts—even hers.

  Moon girl?

  Tara spun around, but there was no one there.

  Flynn?

  Are you awake now?

  Yes. OMG! This is going to take some getting used to, having you hear my thoughts. Did I scare you?

  No. I could tell you were dreaming.

  Really? How?

  I don’t know. I just could. Stay inside and stay warm. Love you.

  Tara put a hand over her heart as a big smile broke over her face.

  I love you, too.

  A pink puff of smoke drifted across Tara’s line of vision.

  What about me? I loved you first.

  Tara’s smile widened as the ghost w
ho’d helped raise her injected herself into the conversation.

  “Of course I love you, Millicent. I love you and Henry to death.”

  You need not put that much effort into the relationship, Tara. We’re already dead.

  Tara rolled her eyes. “You know what I mean.”

  Henry, the other ghost who was part of her life, popped up in the middle of Tara’s bed wearing a coonskin cap and dressed in buckskins.

  “Henry?”

  He saluted, blew her a kiss, and floated toward the ceiling in a horizontal position, with the tail of the cap hanging down behind his neck like a rudder on an outboard motor.

  Tara watched him floating, trying to figure out what was going on now. With Henry, it was always a bit hard to tell.

  “What on earth is Henry doing?”

  I think he’s reliving one of his past lives. He was a fur trapper once. I haven’t been able to get him out of that ridiculous cap. If he wants to wear fur, he should go for something elegant, like mink, or ermine. I had an ermine coat once. A Russian prince gave it to me then insisted I wear it, and nothing else, to bed.

  Tara shrieked and put her hands over her ears. “OMG, Millicent! What part of ‘too much information’ do you not understand?” She grabbed a change of clothes and headed to the bathroom. After this rude awakening, there was no way she was going back to bed.

  Later, she settled down in front of the television with a cup of hot chocolate and a piece of buttered toast as breakfast, absently watching the programming as she dunked and ate. A few cars went by on the street outside the house, but none were going fast. Some were even having trouble navigating. She watched them sliding sideways. She thought of Uncle Pat having to work in this weather and began thinking of what she could make for supper that would be hot and filling; she wondered where their crock pot was. She remembered unpacking it when they moved here, but hadn’t used it since.

  Tara dug through the cabinets until she found the crock pot, then started a stew for supper. After that, it was down to the weekly chore of cleaning the house and sorting laundry.

  A couple of hours later, she was making a grocery list and listening to the radio when the phone began to ring.

  It was Nikki, her BFF.

  “Hi, Nikki. What’s going on?”

  “Rachelle and Morgan are outside trying to make a snowman, but the snow isn’t sticking, and they’re basically just freezing themselves for the heck of it.”

  Tara laughed. “Isn’t that what kids are supposed to do? And why aren’t you out there with them?”

  Nikki sighed. “I have a sore throat. Mom won’t let me.”

  Tara frowned. “Bummer, Nik. Do you have a fever, too?”

  “No, at least not right now. I sure hope I’m not getting sick with the flu. It’s going around town like crazy. Mom said there are three out of her office with it, and Dad’s got two out in his office.”

  “Ick,” Tara muttered. “At least stay warm and dry, and I’ll see you at school.”

  “Call me later. I’ll be bored.”

  Tara was still smiling as she hung up and went to get the clothes out of the dryer before they wrinkled.

  A short time later, she was hanging up the last of Uncle Pat’s work shirts in his closet when she felt a presence. The hair rose on the backs of her arms, and there was a pressure on her chest, like she was being pushing backward. She turned abruptly, quickly stifling a gasp.

  There was a woman standing in the doorway wringing her hands, and Tara could see through her to the picture hanging on the wall in the hall behind her. Except for Millicent and Henry, there hadn’t been a ghost in this house since DeeDee Broyles, who had been in residence when they moved in, and she’d long since gone into the light.

  This woman’s voice was shrill and shaking.

  You can see me, can’t you?

  Tara nodded.

  Oh, thank God. They said you could, but I wasn’t sure.

  Tara frowned. “They? Who’s they?”

  A pink puff of smoke swirled into view.

  That would be Henry and me. Sorry, but she has a problem you need to fix.

  Tara groaned. “Millicent! Are you serious? There’s a blizzard outside. I have no car. What can I possibly do?”

  Ask her yourself. Her name is Connie.

  Tara frowned. The ghost was a curvy little blonde in a long pink flannel nightgown, and her feet were bare. Not that she could feel the cold anymore, but it told Tara that the woman had probably died in bed.

  “So Connie, other than the fact that you’re dead, what’s wrong?”

  Connie wailed. My husband! My children! They won’t wake up. They’re dying, too, and I can’t find anyone to help.

  All of a sudden a wave of despair slid through Tara so fast there were tears on her face before she knew it.

  That’s how mother love feels.

  Tara thought of her own mother, wondering if she had been in this kind of despair when she died in the wreck that left Tara an orphan.

  Yes, that’s exactly how your mother felt, but this is no time to dwell on history. Do something! Now!

  Millicent’s warning made Tara focus.

  “Why are they dying, too? What’s wrong with them?”

  Carbon monoxide! The alarm upstairs is going off, but no one is moving.

  Now she understood the need for haste.

  “Connie, what’s your last name?”

  The little blonde wailed. I don’t understand why this is happening, but I can’t remember.

  Tara tried another question. “Where do you live?”

  Connie was wringing her hands. I don’t remember that either.

  Tara knew death was often confusing. Lots of times spirits didn’t even know they were dead, and in the confusion lost memories that had to do with the world of the living.

  “We’ll come at this from another angle,” Tara said. “What do you remember?”

  My name is Connie.

  Tara groaned.

  Millicent interrupted. She doesn’t remember the rest, Tara. The only thing I know that might help is that she works at city hall, because that’s where I found her. She was trying to make someone hear her and causing quite a stir. Papers were flying, and the coffee pot exploded. She doesn’t know how to control the energy her panic is causing.

  Tara ran for her cell phone and called the police. The fact that she had their number on speed dial was not unusual—for a teenage girl who kept getting herself mixed up in dangerous situations and had psychic talents she couldn’t explain.

  “Stillwater Police.”

  “I need to talk to Detective Rutherford or Detective Allen ASAP. Tell them it’s Tara Luna calling.”

  “One moment, please.”

  Tara glanced at the ghost and the spiral of pink vapor around her head and knew Millicent was trying to calm the little spirit. She was moving into panic mode herself when she heard Detective Rutherford’s voice.

  “Hey, Tara, this is Detective Rutherford. What’s going on?”

  “I need you to find out the home address of a woman named Connie who works at city hall, and then dispatch rescue to the house. Her family is dying.”

  She heard a gasp, then a groan, and sighed. Rutherford was obviously not happy with her.

  “How the hel . . . excuse my French . . . do you know this?”

  She glanced at the ghost again.

  “Well, Connie’s spirit is standing in my living room begging me to help her family before they all die, too.”

  “You’re talking to a ghost as we speak?”

  Tara rolled her eyes. “No. I’m talking to you, but I’m looking at her. She said it’s carbon monoxide poisoning, and they won’t wake up.”

  “Why doesn’t she tell you her last name and address?” Rutherford muttered.

  “Because she doesn’t remember that anymore. Please! She has kids and a husband you might be able to save. Hurry!”

  “Well, hell . . . excuse me again . . . hang on. I’ll make a call
and see what happens.”

  She could hear him yelling at his partner, Detective Allen, and then someone else saying they knew a woman named Connie in the court clerk’s office.

  “Connie! Did you work in the court clerk’s office?”

  I don’t know. I have to go! My babies will be looking for me!

  All of a sudden she was gone.

  “Now what? How can she find her kids when she doesn’t know her address?” Tara muttered.

  The maternal cord of a mother is forever tied to her children, regardless of where a spirit might be.

  Tara felt an instant pang of loss.

  “Then why have I never seen my mother and father?” she whispered.

  What makes you think you haven’t?

  Before Tara could pursue that comment, Detective Rutherford was back on the line.

  “Okay, we have a name and address and have dispatched a patrol car and ambulances. For once, I hope you’re wrong about this.”

  “Keep me posted, okay?”

  Rutherford sighed. “I will. Stay inside. It’s cold.”

  He disconnected.

  Tara caught a glimpse of Henry through the window. He was marching back and forth out on the porch with a long rifle cradled in his arms.

  “Now what?”

  Millicent’s voice was in her ear. He’s standing guard.

  Tara stifled a spurt of panic. “Why? Am I in danger again?”

  He’s on the lookout for other spirits. He thinks you don’t need to be bothered anymore. Just ignore him.

  Tara shook her head and turned away. No one would believe her life, even if she tried to explain.

  She glanced at the clock. It was already past noon, and whatever appetite she might have had was gone. This day was going to be very sad if that whole family died.

  She headed for the kitchen to check on the stew. Her day might be in turmoil, but Uncle Pat was still going to be hungry when he came home tonight.