Finders Keepers

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

KEN WAS DEPRESSED.

So the whole seance thing had been a scam. Cassandra was Serena Hancock, still trying to get her hands on a winning lottery ticket. That woman Margaret — she must have been her accomplice. Ken assumed the whole dead-mother thing was a made-up story so the medium could seem authentic.

Was Dahlia in on it too? Maybe, maybe not. In the confusion with the police, she’d taken off. The person he was really concerned about was Stevie. He had disappeared too, before Ken could talk to him. The poor kid. He must have been totally freaked out when he realized it was a scam.

‘Or maybe little Stevie was part of the scam,’ Jenna said.

‘Stop reading my mind,’ Ken barked. They had stopped at the bowling alley, where there was a cafe. Jenna, Tracey and Emily were celebrating their successful mission with ice cream. Ken had a glass of water.

‘Sorry,’ Jenna said.

He looked at her stonily. ‘You should be. Why didn’t you tell me what you were planning to do at the seance?’

‘I wanted to tell you,’ Emily reported, ‘but Jenna said we couldn’t trust you not to warn the others.’

Ken hadn’t taken his eyes off Jenna. ‘Maybe if you’d just told me the medium was really Serena Hancock. ’

‘I didn’t know for sure,’ Jenna said. ‘Her mind was really hard to penetrate. Not like yours, Ken. You’re totally transparent.’

‘Jenna!’ Tracey exclaimed in disapproval. She turned to Ken. ‘Jenna said this was the only way. She said you were so into the seance thing, we had to shock you into seeing the truth.’

Ken grimaced. ‘Oh, really? And since when is it Jenna’s business to shock me into seeing things?’

‘Oh, for crying out loud,’ Jenna said airily. ‘You should be thanking me, Ken. You could have been totally suckered into their little con game. You were really falling for it! You know, I saved your—’

He wouldn’t let her finish. ‘Just shut up, Jenna! And for your information, Stevie was not part of it. He’s eleven years old!’

‘So what?’ Jenna countered. ‘I once saw a documentary on TV about criminals under the age of twelve.’

‘Well, Stevie isn’t one of them. He was an innocent victim.’

‘How can you be so sure of that?’ Jenna shot back. ‘Did you read his mind?’

Ken knew he wasn’t a violent person, and he’d definitely never hit a girl. But right now, he was feeling very close to a complete change of character, so he did the only thing he could think of doing. He turned away from the girls and headed to the exit.

‘Ken! Ken, wait up!’

He turned to find Lucy coming towards him. Could the evening get any worse?

‘Do you like bowling?’ she asked. ‘I love to bowl! Maybe we could bowl together sometime soon. Like, what are you doing this weekend?’

‘Lucy, could you bug off? Can’t you take a hint? I don’t want to go out with you!’ And he stormed out the door.

Once outside, he started walking, fast. He knew he’d been horribly rude and unkind to Lucy, but he felt propelled by an anger that was out of his control. He wasn’t sure if he was more angry at himself or at Jenna — himself for being so gullible, Jenna for sticking her nose in his affairs. And for suggesting poor Stevie was part of the whole nasty business.

He slowed down. What she had said to him. ‘Ken, did you read Stevie’s mind?’ Was she saying that she had read his mind?

But how could Stevie be in cahoots with Serena? He was looking for his father’s lottery ticket, and he only went to Serena because he thought she was a real medium who could contact his father.

Unless. unless. the kid in the seance wasn’t really Stevie Fisher. Maybe he’d just heard about the situation, and he was pretending to be the boy whose father had died. Or maybe he was some kind of juvenile actor who Serena had hired to play Stevie. And they were both waiting for Ken to make contact with Mr Fisher so they could steal the lottery ticket before the real Stevie found it.

There was only one way Ken could know for sure. He had to find the kid who called himself Stevie Fisher.

He looked at his watch. It was almost nine o’clock and this was a school night, which meant he was expected home at ten and he had no idea where Stevie Fisher lived.

But he had his mobile phone. And his mobile phone had Internet access.

He took it out of his pocket, hit the web button, and got a search engine. But now what? He doubted that Stevie had a phone number listed under his own name, and he didn’t know the name of Stevie’s mother or his late father. Fisher was a common name — there could be hundreds of them.

And then he had a better idea. He accessed the town newspaper, which had its own search capability. He typed in the name Fisher and added the word which just might give him the Fisher he was seeking: obituary.

Bingo! There it was — an obituary from two months ago. Melvin Fisher, age forty-two, of seventy-two Apple Creek Road. Killed in an automobile accident.

What did people do before mobile phones? Ken wondered. Within seconds he had a map on the little screen and directions to Apple Creek Road.

When he arrived, he found a dead-end street lined with small cottage-style homes. He approached the door of number seventy-two, but he didn’t get close enough to knock.

A window opened and a voice called out, ‘What are you doing here?’

Ken sighed with relief. The boy he knew as Stevie Fisher was looking through the window.

‘I just wanted to see if you were OK,’ he said. ‘You disappeared when the police arrived.’

‘No kidding,’ the boy said. ‘I didn’t want them thinking I was one of you people.’

‘What do you mean?’ Ken asked, walking towards the window.

‘Don’t come any closer or I’ll call the police myself!’ Stevie yelled. ‘How come you’re not locked up?’

‘Because — because —’ Ken sputtered, ‘I wasn’t in on it! I thought it was a real seance too!’

‘Yeah, right. Just get out of here.’ Stevie slammed down the window.

Ken couldn’t believe it. Stevie thought he was in league with the fake medium. Now he was even more depressed.

He was late getting home, but fortunately his parents were caught up in watching a soccer game on TV and hadn’t noticed the time.

‘Join us,’ his father called from the den. ‘It’s a terrific game.’

‘No thanks,’ Ken said. ‘I’m kind of beat. I’m going to bed.’

He knew his parents were probably looking at each other in bewilderment, and his mother was wondering if he was sick.They didn’t think anything was more important to Ken than soccer, even if he didn’t play himself any more. He loved his parents, but there was so much they didn’t know about him.

In his room, he flopped down on the bed and stared at the ceiling. He certainly hadn’t lied to his parents about being tired. He was thoroughly, utterly exhausted by the bizarre chain of events that had made up the last few hours. He hoped he would be able to fall asleep easily. He didn’t want to think about this crummy day.

Ken?

Not now, Jack. I’m beat. And I’ve had a really bad day.

I just wanted to tell you. I’m sorry.

About what?

About what I asked you to do for me. About going out with Lucy.

The experiences of the past couple of hours had practically erased Jack’s request from his memory. And he flushed as he recalled how awful he’d been to Lucy at the bowling alley.

Jack. I really don’t want to do that.

It’s OK. I shouldn’t have asked you.

He sounded. different. Not sad, not happy, just sort of. calm.

I’ve been thinking a lot, Jack went on. And I’ve been getting some help.

From who?

I can’t really say. You wouldn’t understand.

Ken had a sudden image of Jack surrounded by a bevy of kind and wise angels. Jack was right — wherever he was right now, Ken could never understand.

So, it’s OK if I don’t go after her?

Yeah. You see, I’ve got to let go.

Of Lucy?

Of everything. I have to let go of my life. And I have to stop asking you to live a life for me. I gotta get into where I am now.

So — you’re not going to talk to me any more? With a pang, Ken realized that he would miss hearing from Jack.

Oh, we can still talk. I’m just not going to be asking you to do me any more favours.

Oh. OK.

You said you had a really bad day. What happened?

Long story. Can I tell you tomorrow? I need to get some sleep.

Sure. And if Lucy keeps coming on to you, feel free to blow her off.

I already did, Ken thought dismally. He wondered if he could drum up the energy to sit down at his computer right now and compose an apologetic email to her.

Hello, can you hear me?

He thought Jack had gone.

Yeah, I hear you.

Excuse me, I ’m sorry to disturb you.

Well, it definitely wasn’t Jack. He’d never be so polite.

I need your help. It’s important.

Look, I’m sorry, but this isn’t a good time, OK? Would you mind going away?

Please, young man, you could save my family!

Right. They were always dramatic, these spirits or ghosts or whatever they were.

Another time, OK?

It won’t take long. I just want to tell you where I left a lottery ticket.