Twin Disasters

By Rita Toma

Rita Toma's new Young Adult mystery, the latest in a series featuring a trio of young crime solvers, takes hero Megan's ability to see and talk with ghosts a step farther: the ghosts of the victims assist in the investigation.

Laced with humor, the story is fast-paced, and the characters are eminently relatable. Beyond the basic mystery is another layer that is perhaps equally important: the plight of teens who fall prey to grown-ups and peers alike. The lessons learned are worth the price alone, but the twists and turns will keep you turning the pages, wondering where the clues will lead.

- Gale Leach
Author of the award-winning "Bruce and Friends"

• Language: English
• Publisher: Rita Toma
• Release date: Jun 21, 2016
• ISBN: 9781370851690

Rita Toma

Rita Toma was born in Ontario, Canada where she spent most of her life. Today she resides in Arizona, enjoying both countries’ cultures and stimulations.Her travels through many other countries have taught her life lessons from extraordinary experiences.She enjoys the company and devours the knowledge of fellow Inkslingers. They keep her focused on her writing. The author is published in three of their Anthologies. Rita is a member of the Northwest Valley Critique Group and the Historical Society.Although she enjoys reading and swimming, travelling tops her bucket list.Rita’s Young Adult trilogy, David’s Ghost, Twin Disasters, and Devil Be Gone can be found on Amazon.com (.ca), and ordered in book stores, both in print and Kindle. All other e-books can be found on Smashwords.com.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Isn’t there a rule against pushing to get ahead in the cafeteria line?

Damn! Don’t acknowledge them. Maybe they’ll go away—big mistake.

My first day at a new school and I'm not even allowed time to adjust to my surroundings.

Every day since our death we’ve been looking for someone like you. We need your help, said one of the blonde-haired girls, identical twin to the other by her side.

I ignored her. Responding would require moving my mouth, and that always brought me ridicule in my freshman year in Boston. I was the freak who talked to herself.

Jorge, my perfect boyfriend, headed toward me with a smile that would warm any heart. I returned his smile with the same intention.

After paying for lunch, I walked away from the girls, toward Jorge, looking for an escape. We’ve been going out, officially, for about two weeks, but worked together with his sister, Izzy, on our first murder case. It was both scary and exciting. I'm glad I don’t have a sibling, and grateful Jorge is Izzy’s brother. Since solving the case we claimed bragging rights, calling ourselves The Dynamic Trio.

Our mission is simple—help those in need. So far, our only client was a ghost. Since my freshman year proved to be a catastrophe for my social life, Izzy and Jorge had to promise never, ever, reveal my secret. I see ghosts and would prefer to ignore them, but unfortunately, they have a way of disregarding my wishes—like today.

Tray in hand, heart thumping, I glided toward Jorge. Apparently, I should have acknowledged the ghosts. One of the twins tripped me, forcing me to barrel forward. I let go of my tray with one hand, trying to stop my fall with the other. It didn’t work. The tray tilted upward and forward. I went down, letting go with both hands to protect my fall. Jorge, covered in chocolate pudding, with a side order of macaroni and cheese, gave new meaning to the expression in your face.

So, how’s the macaroni here? I asked, head down, hiding the embarrassing blush that started on my neck and moved upward, adding a glow to my already bright red hair.

For once I was grateful for my out-of-control hair as I leaned forward allowing it to cover my face. All but my green eyes peered out, with ears alert in anticipation of my new classmates' reactions.

Not bad, but I was hoping for pizza today. The pudding and macaroni joined forces to form soft mounds on Jorge’s face, only to find their way down the front of his shirt.

Standing directly behind me, Izzy laughed so hard she almost dropped her tray—on me. What a way to start a new school. I’ll see you at the table, that is if you can make it there without another disaster.

Of course, she would think this funny. It happened to Jorge, and they are always at each other. This was not the first time I embarrassed myself in front of Jorge, nor, I'm sure, the last.

Give me your hand, Jorge said.

I think I'll just crawl over to the door and leave without another fuss, I replied.

Whistling, boisterous laughter, and table pounding filled the cafeteria.

How nice of them to welcome me with such enthusiasm on my first day.

Before Jorge or I could compose ourselves, a custodian rushed in with his mop and motioned us away. Jorge grabbed some extra napkins from the lunch counter to wipe his face and shirt and headed for the restroom. He appeared oblivious to his surroundings, a trait I'll have to learn because I don't think these embarrassing episodes are going to stop anytime soon.

One of the cooks brought me another bowl of macaroni and pudding, free of charge. I thanked her, and the custodian, then made my way to Izzy’s table.

Except for one, the crowd decided the show was over and left to join their friends.

Hey red, you can spill your lunch on me, yelled a guy I passed. He looked to be the age of a senior, and from his bulk size, a football player. I’ll even let you rub it in.

Please don't make me throw this tray at him. I'm hungry.

It was the second week of August and our morning was spent in assembly, a mass of green and white, representing our school colors. Principal Latham introduced the teachers, welcomed the new students, then outlined the school history and its regulations.

Arizona became a State in 1917, and our Catholic school was built in Phoenix not too long afterward. As a private Catholic school, individual tuition was expensive, a good reason I couldn’t let my extra-curricular activities, including our ghost investigations, interfere with my grades.

In June, I moved from Boston to Phoenix, vowing I would never help another ghost. My freshman year only brought heartache, ridicule, and a year of unwanted therapy. That promise lasted about three days after arriving in my new place, only long enough to unpack and meet my new neighbors, Izzy, and Jorge.

David was an annoying sixteen-year-old ghost who wouldn’t stop until we investigated his murder. He died racing his car.

Freak wasn’t my only label. I also inherited klutz, as ghosts used desperate means to get my attention. That’s why Jorge was wiping pudding and macaroni off his face.

You sure know how to make an entrance in a new school. Rose, one of Izzy’s friends, and now mine, pulled out a chair at our table next to Izzy.

Camila and Shannon joined us, Shannon sitting next to me, and Camila next to Rose. I met all three during our summer break.

That’s not how you get a guy. Camila was the one friend I couldn't figure out, finding it hard to warm up to her.

Jorge returned to the cafeteria. On his way to where his friends were sitting he took a slight detour around our table, dipping down to whisper in my ear, I’ll call you tonight. Do you think we can finish the day without another incident? These wet clothes are uncomfortable.

My heart leaped. Get used to it. We have another case unless I can avoid it, but it doesn't look like they'll let me.

***

Everyone rushed to their homerooms after lunch to pick up their locks and schedules. Izzy grabbed my arm and dragged me outside to an empty picnic table, out of ears reach from other students. That was a ghost wasn’t it.

I slid onto the seat at the picnic table, facing the school door, waiting for Izzy to stop pacing on the other side of the table. She was her usual antsy self, impatient to know what happened.

Yeah but I tried to ignore them. Apparently, they didn’t like it. They knew right away I could see them. Don’t know how. I didn’t think I gave it away.

After walking from the high, air-conditioned lunchroom, the desert temperature heat outside didn’t affect me the way I expected. Instead of feeling the hundred-degree weather like I should, the sun soaked into my body, relaxing my muscles and warming me to the bone.

Wait, did you say them? Were there two? Were they girls? Izzy moved to sit next to me, invading my space. I was 5’6" and Izzy was about three inches shorter.

Despite the difference in our height, I leaned back. Move over. I don’t like confined spaces. I'm sure you can see my nose hairs.

Well? Izzy asked, with more than a little irritation in her voice. She doesn’t like to be put off even for a few seconds.

Yeah, to all your questions. I inhaled deeply to relieve the discomfort of close encounters. Now move.

Was one about two inches taller than the other?

Yup.

Did they have long blond hair? Izzy’s dark brown eyes sparkled the way they did when her mind worked overtime. She stayed glued to the seat until I answered her questions.

Yes. Why? Were they students here and something happened to them? Murdered? Right? I didn’t wait for Izzy to respond. This will be our second murder investigation in less than a month after solving the first.

We had our fair share of mean students, but most of it stopped when the Ronson twins, freshman, died last year. The accident happened about a block from where they lived. They were on their way home from a school football game. As Izzy told the story, her voice was shaky, as if it still hurt from their death.

Some kids, wearing Halloween masks, followed the twins throwing rotten fruits and vegetables at them. Chrissy, the shorter of the two, slipped on the thrown food and fell in the middle of the road. Sandy ran back to help her sister just as a speeding car turned a corner and headed straight for them—unable to stop.

Izzy finally moved to the other side of the picnic table across from me, motioning me to join her head to head. No one was around so why she felt the need to appear so secretive escaped me.

So much for my space.

The car hit them, but they didn’t die right away. Their death was an accident, and the driver was devastated. They were unconscious for about a week, and the school had us pray every morning for a full recovery. Our prayers were unanswered. Where do people get off being so cruel? Izzy's shoulders dropped into a slump as if she just shared the knowledge of a conspiracy and the burden of knowing it.

Are they back for revenge? I asked.

Hands on hips, Izzy became indignant, Why would you say that? The twins would never harm anyone, nor did they report the bullies to the office. The rotten vegetables were just the icing on the cake. They hurt them in so many ways. Because they wouldn't let us tell, the principal and teachers had no idea. They got away.

I stood to leave, motioning Izzy to do the same. She got up but didn’t move. Sorry, but I formed a different opinion of them when I saw their faces. Their jaws set, eyes focused, so much I found it hard to look away. You know, that determined look someone gives when they can’t let something go. You should be familiar with it.

I wouldn’t blame them if they did come back for revenge. Since they wouldn’t let us tell anyone, I didn't think revenge would be the reason. They had so much going for them—cute, smart, athletic, and fun, which of course made some girls jealous.

Izzy lowered her voice, and her butt onto the seat. The papers made bullying a big deal. The school took a lot of heat, so they set up a hotline for anonymous callers, encouraging them to speak out. Teachers and staff developed a rotation schedule making sure someone manned the phones for as long as the school stayed open. Even students volunteered to help during their spare times. But nothing developed before or during summer vacation.

I could tell her pain was still fresh. I sat down. You miss them, don’t you?

Yes—a useless waste of human lives.

Izzy continued with more detail of the twins’ death. "When we told them to tell the principal, Sandy said it would give the bullies notoriety and encourage them to do more. Chrissy said if people ignored them, they’d get bored, and eventually give up.

So, their names are Sandy and Chrissy. How do you tell them apart, any distinguishing features besides their height? I asked.

They didn’t have distinguishing features, but Chrissy was more outgoing, Sandy, the quiet one.

The bullies got away with so much because they were careful. I challenged people I felt sure had a hand in the twins' deaths, including Camila. They became angry and wouldn’t respond.

Now the girls can move around more freely, find those involved, and stop them from hurting others. Of course, with our help, I said.

I get that they might want revenge. I know I would. Let’s go at this with all we’ve got. Izzy was back to her old self.

Those involved deserve punishment, but we need to be careful. These creeps did some pretty mean things.

Did you forget our last investigation where we were gagged and held at gunpoint?

Now we're dealing with teens, not adults. Izzy stared into space, going to the place she goes when she’s planning something.

After our last case you agreed, under penalty by death, should you let it escape that I see ghosts. Our secret. Same rules. Right?

Right. I know your freshman year in Boston hurt you. I won’t tell a soul, Izzy said.

Yeah, I finally have friends, and I'd like my life to stay that way. Everyone thought I faked seeing ghosts for attention, except the family and friends of those I helped. But they would never reveal my involvement for fear of being on the receiving end of bullying. I didn’t blame them.

Izzy spoke as if to herself, again staring into space, We have another case. I hope they want revenge. This just made our sophomore year look a lot more exciting.

If we're getting involved I’m going to earn an extra credit again. Solving mysteries are hard and time-consuming. I mentally made my list for the PRO side, reasoning why we should help—in direct contradiction to my vow that I would never become involved with ghosts.

"If? We are working this case." Izzy stood to imply our conversation was over.

I see those wheels turning in her head. She’s now convinced the twins want to settle the score. Here we go again.

Chapter 2

The moment we entered the school to pick up our locks and schedules, we met Jorge. By this time, the real effect of Phoenix’s summer temperatures took its toll, and I welcomed the cool air inside. But it didn't last.

Jorge grabbed my left elbow, motioning me to head back outside toward the picnic tables. Izzy followed. After sitting next to each other, he gently touched my shoulders and turned me toward him.

Okay, what's going on? You didn't trip on your own. I’ve seen you play sports, and you don’t lack coordination, nor do you need a stunt like that to get my attention.

Before I had a chance to respond Izzy jumped up, leaned forward on the table with both hands, to draw in Jorge’s attention. With the commitment of a person about to outline a plan for conspiracy, and the need to let the story be hers, she first scanned the area to ensure we were alone.

We have another case. You’ll like this one.

I rolled my eyes, Wait. We don't know what they want. It could be nothing. We let it rest until we hear from them. They did look angry, at least, that was my take.

Of course, Izzy needed the excitement of a new case. Two weeks off was long enough for her to relax. "Maybe they came back to tell us who was involved and how we can bring the guilty parties to justice.

If they didn't want help, they wouldn't have tripped you, and made Jorge look silly. I will always have that scene to fall back on when I need a good laugh. Izzy turned her attention back to me with the intimidating glare she uses when she wants her way.

Jorge changed focus from me to Izzy, then back to me. "Slow down. Who are they, and why would they be angry? Megan, you said they had angry expressions, so I take it you chose to ignore them? How’d that work for you?"

I choose to ignore you too, I said.

"Izzy, do you know who they are?"

Unable to contain herself, Izzy sat down but bounced on her butt like a little kid who has to go to the bathroom. She spoke as if her life depended on how fast she talked. It took me a few weeks of knowing her before I became used to her hyper ways. I learned to wait until she settled.

"They, are the Ronson girls, at least by Megan's description." Izzy remained seated despite her hyper behavior.

Even in the heat, we huddled closer together and spoke in soft tones. Jorge and I sat with our backs to the school doors, facing the parking lot. Izzy had eyes on the entrance. I was so focused on our conversation I didn’t see or hear Sam, my two-date summer boyfriend, approach.

He startled me when he spoke, not because I was interested, but because I wondered if he heard any of our conversation.

I didn't think I'd ever see this, Jorge sitting with his sister. Sam walked around the picnic table to sit next to Izzy. His eyes never left my face.

Sam was Jorge's friend and my first date in Arizona—actually my only date, ever. Everyone told me to stay away from him, but Sam was cute and interested—something that never happened to me. Besides, my dad, Lieutenant O'Reilly, taught me how to handle a boy if I found myself in a compromising situation.

He was the perfect gentleman until I saw Camila cuddled up to him, in his car, at a red light. He asked me to the drive-in that night, but I told him I promised Izzy I would do something with her. We planned a ‘break and enter’ to find information on our last case.

They were kissing, leaving little space between breathing and groping. At least, I was his first choice. My pride was hurt more than my heart.

Izzy read my face and gave me a slight shake of her head indicating that Sam hadn’t heard anything. When we shared dangerous situations in the summer