Linwood Barclay - Never Saw It Coming

“This is ridiculous,” Marcia Taggart said. “You’re telling me this woman here, just by holding something of Justin’s, she’s going to be able to figure out where he is? Are you kidding me? She’s going to forge some kind of some psychic link with him by fondling one of his childhood action figures or wrapping her arms around his pillow? What kind of fool do you take me for?”

“Marcia, for the love of God,” said her husband, Dwayne. “If you’re not going to call the police, you need to do something. For all you know, your boy’s in a ditch somewhere. We have to find him.”

“You know as well as I do that’s probably exactly what’s happened,” Marcia snapped at him. “He’s gotten drunk, or high, or he’s shacked up with some slut somewhere, or most likely all of the above. If I go running to the police every time he does something like that, we’ll need a bigger driveway for all the patrol cars that’ll be sitting here all the time.”

Keisha Ceylon sat and listened, and watched. Let them have their argument. She could wait.

Dwayne said, “It’s been three days. The boy’s never been gone this long before.”

“That’s the problem,” Marcia said, pointing an accusing finger at her husband. “You think of him as a boy. He’s not a boy any more. He’s twenty-two and it’s time he learned to stand on his own two feet, not waiting around for handouts from his mother. Why do you think I’ve cut him off? So he’ll learn to be responsible, that’s why.”

Quietly, Dwayne said to her, “I’m not saying you’re wrong about any of this. I know what he’s put you through. I know it’s been hard, raising him on your own after Oscar passed away. I know Justin needs to get his act together. He’s a scheming little pain in the ass.”

Marcia shot him a look that said, I can call him that, but you’re not his father, so watch it.

“Sorry,” he said, receiving her unspoken message loud and clear. “But I’m not saying anything you haven’t said yourself. He can be a handful. But Marcia, just because he’s irresponsible doesn’t mean he couldn’t be in some real trouble.” He pointed to the window. A light snow was falling. “It’s freezing out there. Suppose you’re right. Suppose he did get drunk, or high, and ended up passing out in a snow bank. He could have frozen to death out there. Is that what you want for your own-”

“Of course not!” she shouted. Her lower lip quivered, her eyes glistened.

Here we go, Keisha thought.

“Oh my God,” Marcia Taggart said, putting her hands over her face, walking over to the couch and sitting down. She kept her face covered, not wanting her husband, or Keisha, to see her lose control. She plucked a tissue from the box sitting on the coffee table and quickly dabbed her eyes, blew her nose, then sat up very straight. Composed now. Positively regal.

“Well,” she said. “So.”

Dwayne walked around behind the couch, standing at his wife’s back, and rested his hands uneasily on her shoulders. Like he was trying to be comforting, but they were too cold to the touch.

“Even if I accept what you’re saying,” she said, turning and talking to the hand on her left shoulder to indicate she meant these words for her husband and not their visitor, “why on earth would we turn to this woman for help?”

Still talking like she wasn’t there. Keisha knew the type. Before she got into this line of work, when she was cleaning houses for a living-something she still did when money ran short-she’d had clients who treated her like she was a piece of furniture. They’d leave her notes about what they wanted done-“dust TOPS of ceiling fans, wipe stainless-steel sinks dry”-even though she was standing there and they could have told her to her face.

“You won’t let me call the police,” Dwayne reminded Marcia.

“We’ve been through this,” she snapped. “I just-you know what he’s like, what the boy is capable of.” She sighed. “Suppose he’s fine, but the reason we haven’t heard from him is, I don’t know, maybe he stole someone’s car. Or shoplifted again. Sending the police out to look for him means they’ll probably end up charging him with something once they find him. Is that what you want?”

It was Dwayne’s turn to sigh. He nodded with false sympathy. “We’ve called all his friends, we’ve been to all the places we thought he might be. We’re running out of options.”

“But her?” Marcia tipped her head toward Keisha. “Wouldn’t we at least be better off with a private detective?”

Dwayne came around the couch and sat down next to her. “We’ve been through that, too, Marcia. When I suggested hiring a private eye, you just about bit my head off, because they ask lots of questions like the police would. That’s how they work. They have to find the facts, they have to dig them up, they have to talk to lots of people, and that’s how everyone gets to know your business, Marcia, and I know how you want to protect Justin, to be discreet about his… errors in judgment. But Ms. Ceylon here, she doesn’t work that way. She senses things. She might be able to find out where Justin is without having to stir things up, without having to talk to anyone.” He looked at Keisha. “Isn’t that right?”

She nodded. “That is the way I work.” It was the first time she’d spoken in twenty minutes.

Marcia Taggart shook her head. “But honestly, Dwayne, the woman-really, every New Age psychobabble thing that comes along, you buy into it. This woman-”

“My name,” Keisha said, interrupting for the first time, “is Keisha. Keisha Ceylon. I usually answer to Keisha, but if you’d like to keep referring to me as ‘this woman’, then I suppose that’s your prerogative.”

Marcia turned her eyes on her. “I don’t believe you can do what you claim to do.”

“You would be in the majority,” Keisha agreed.

“It’s utter nonsense,” Marcia said.

“Well, then,” Keisha said, standing, “I suppose I should be on my way.” She offered up her most sincere smile. “I wish you every success in finding your son.”

As she started for the door, Dwayne stood in her path. “Now wait, hang on just a second. Marcia, the woman-Ms. Ceylon-went to all the trouble of coming here. I think the least we could do is hear her out.”

Marcia snorted. “At what cost?”

Keisha turned to look at the woman, didn’t hesitate. “My fee is five thousand dollars.” She managed to say it without flinching. It was more than her usual rate, but from what she’d been told, the Taggarts could afford it.

Marcia threw her hands into the air. “Well, there you go, Dwayne. I think we know exactly where this woman’s coming from.”

“But only if I find your son,” Keisha added. “If I’m unable to lead you to him, then you pay me absolutely nothing.”

That made the room go quiet for several seconds.

“Well, that seems more than fair to me,” Dwayne said. “Doesn’t that seem fair to you, honey? I mean, come on. Even if you thought this woman was some kind of fraud, how can you lose here?”

Marcia Taggart was thinking and, Keisha guessed, swallowing her pride. Enough to say, “Sit down… Ms. Ceylon.”

Keisha sat back down.

“Just how do you go about this? We turn off the lights, get out a ouija board and start speaking in tongues?”

“No,” Keisha said. “Just bring me some of Justin’s things. Small, personal items. Things that mattered to him. A sample of his handwriting would be useful, too.”

“I can do that,” Dwayne said, and left the room hurriedly.

There was an awkward silence between the women. Marcia broke it with, “My husband believes his late mother communicates with him.” She accompanied the comment with a roll of the eyes. Telling Keisha she was entertaining this nonsense only to satisfy her husband.