The Mammoth Book of Paranormal Romance

the USS Arizona.
    “Grandmother’s stone will go right there.” Noelani pointed to a space next to her grandfather’s memorial.
    A shaft of sunlight sliced through the clouds as if to mark the spot. Dillon caught a flash as the beam glittered off something near John Crawford’s headstone. He knelt to take a closer look. An obsidian teardrop glistened in the grass.
    “Find something?” Noelani asked from behind him, then “Oh!” she cried when she realized what had captured his attention. “Another tear.”
    One might have been a coincidence, but two? Dillon didn’t think so. He plucked the tear from the grass and stood. “Someone’s playing games with us.”
    “But why?”
    “Good question. Wish I had a good answer.” He studied the little cluster of gravestones. One caught his attention. “What year did your great-uncle die?” he asked Noelani.
    She gazed at him, obviously confused by the sudden turn in the conversation. “In the forties. The early forties.”
    “That’s not what it says on his stone. Look.”
    She stooped to examine the grave marker. “ ‘Thomas Adam Ferguson,’” she read. “ ‘Born 6 May 1926. Died 3 June 1976. God was his salvation.’” She glanced up at Dillon, looking stunned. “But there must be some mistake. I’ve seen this headstone a dozen times or more, and I know it didn’t say 1976 before or include that bit about God being his salvation. Someone’s switched stones.”
    Dillon shrugged. “Maybe. The marker isn’t new though. See the lichen growing along the edge?”
    “But—”
    He tugged her to her feet. “I don’t know what’s going on, Noelani, but I sure as hell intend to find out.”
    Noelani shot Dillon a furtive sideways glance. He hadn’t said a word since they’d left the cemetery. His expression looked grim and more than a little angry, though she was fairly certain the anger wasn’t directed towards her. Not this time.
    Tropical vegetation — giant tree ferns, palms, bamboo and an occasional cluster of bright red anthuriums - encroached upon the narrow road and blocked much of the light. The humidity was so high that moisture dripped from the foliage and condensed in tiny droplets on the windshield.
    “I don’t recognize this road. Where are we going?” she asked as they splashed through a pothole bigger than the koi pond in her grandmother’s garden.
    Dillon’s smile seemed forced. “Back to the plantation. I need time to mull things over though, which is why I opted for the scenic route.”
    Jungle route was more like it. Noelani half expected Tarzan to come swooping through the trees. What she didn’t expect was the projectile that smacked the windshield. The glass cracked in a starburst pattern but didn’t shatter.
    Dillon hit the brakes.
    “What was that?” she asked. “Did you see what hit us?”
    “Chunk of loose rock, I think.” He released his shoulder harness and climbed out of the vehicle to assess the damage.
    Noelani followed more slowly. He was probably right about it being a rock, but her first thought had been that someone was shooting at them.
    “Damn it to hell!” Dillon was swearing as she came around the front end of the vehicle.
    “What is it?”
    “Another of Pele’s tears.” He extended his hand to show her the obsidian teardrop he’d pulled from the cracked windshield.
    “How is that possible?”
    He shrugged. “I think someone’s trying to tell us something. Your Grandmother maybe.”
    “Or Pele.” Noelani shivered.
    “Excuse me?”
    Noelani, one hand pressed to her racing heart, spun around at the sound of a female voice.
    A diminutive old woman in jeans, flip-flops, and a green-and-black University of Hawaii Warriors football jersey stood in the middle of the road, clutching an oversize purple handbag.
    “Good heavens, you scared me to death,” Noelani told her. “Where did you come from?”
    The old woman set her handbag down with a sigh. “My car broke down, left me stranded back that way.” She waved an arm to indicate the road behind them.
    “That’s strange,” Dillon said. “I didn’t see any cars off the road. Did you, Noelani?”
    “Not on this highway.” The old woman smiled, revealing a set of crooked teeth. “A secondary road halfway down Mauna Kea. I’m headed for my nephew’s place in Honoka’a. I’d appreciate a lift.”
    “Of course,” Noelani said quickly before Dillon could voice an objection. She could tell by the look on his face that he