Theresa Weir - Bad Karma

“I know all about you,” he announced as he eased behind the wheel. She snapped her seatbelt into place and looked up at him with those big, sleepy eyes of hers.

“But then I guess you would already know that, because you can read my mind, right?”

“It doesn’t take a mind reader to pick up on hostility. Why don’t you just say what you’ve been wanting to say for the last five minutes?”

He started the truck, gave Beau and the dog a final check, then pulled away from the curb, heading in the direction of Egypt. “I know how you took credit for finding that kidnapped child in California when it was really the police who did the work.”

She gave him a strange, self-satisfied smile, as if he’d said exactly what she’d wanted to hear.

“Guess you pretty much have me figured out. But what you’re forgetting is that people need to believe in something. They need to believe that magic stones keep them safe and that cards tell the future. That they have control. Because the alternative, that life is random and nobody is in control, is just not acceptable.”

“So are you saying you consider yourself an opportunist rather than a con artist?”

“You could say that.” She crossed her arms over her chest, scooted down in the seat, and closed her eyes.

End of conversation.

Ten minutes later, she was asleep, breathing through her mouth-or maybe she was just a damn good actress.

Something hit the windshield, drawing Daniel’s attention back to the road. Rain.

It came on fast. By the time Daniel pulled over and stopped, rain was pouring down, creating a deafening roar inside the cab of the truck.

With the rapid cognizance of someone who’d spent a lot of time watching her back, his passenger awoke. She looked around, quickly grasping the situation.

Before Daniel could jump from the truck, she threw open her door. “Come on!” she shouted. At the same time, Beau and the dog scrambled out of the back. Cleo scooted over. They jumped in, with Beau slamming the door behind them.

The dog shook, spraying water against the inside of the windshield. “Premonition. Sit. Sit.” With both arms around him, Cleo forced him into temporary submission.

Smashed against the passenger door, Beau giggled.

Daniel squeezed his arm past the dog and flipped the defrost to full blast. While waiting for the fogged-up window to clear, he tried to wipe some of the water from the inside of the glass.

“Here.”

Cleo fished in a bag that looked like a small version of a backpack and handed him a tissue. He took it, swiped at the window, then tossed the wet, mangled mess to the floor. He flicked on the wipers then reached for the gearshift, finding a knee instead. Her leg was wedged against the lever.

He jerked his hand away. “You wanna shift?” he asked.

“Sure. Ready?” She put it into first gear.

He let out the clutch, checked for traffic, then pulled back onto the two-lane road.

The truck’s engine hummed higher; he put in the clutch. It took her a moment, but she found second gear. By that time, they’d lost some momentum. The engine lugged, then gradually smoothed out as the truck gained speed.

They finally made it to third, and Daniel pressed the gas pedal until they were cruising at a good clip over the wet pavement.

Daniel noticed that her bare, wet arm was stuck to his. And her hair, her long, curly hair, was stuck to him too. It had been wild when she’d stepped off the train, but now it was corkscrewing around her face. Tendrils reached out and grabbed him.

“What are you looking at?” she asked.

“Your hair. It’s doing weird shit.”

She managed to pull some strands from his arm.

“I have all the C. S. Lewis books,” Beau announced out of nowhere.

“Oh? I love his books,” Cleo said. “Especially The Chronicles of Narnia.”

“I’m waiting for a new one,” Beau said. “I’ve been waiting for a long time. I’ll bet the next one is going to be really good too.”

Daniel elbowed her, hoping she wouldn’t tell Beau that Lewis wouldn’t be coming up with any new masterpieces. He shot her a look of warning that said, Beau doesn’t take death well.

“You might have a long wait,” was all she said.

“I can’t read very good,” Beau told her. “But Daniel can. He can read like crazy. He’s always reading stuff. Like the paper. And cereal boxes. Sometimes at breakfast I’ll ask him, ‘Daniel, what’s that word?’ And he knows it. He always knows. Even if he doesn’t know it, he can say it. That’s because of phonics. They tried to teach me phonics, but I just couldn’t get it. That’s when Daniel said that some people were made for reading and some for listening. So he’s the reader and I’m the listener.”

“And the talker,” Daniel said. “Don’t forget that.”

Beau laughed, getting the joke. “And the talker.”

All three laughed until Premonition decided to shake again. Then they all three screamed.

An hour after leaving Clear Lake, they arrived at their destination.

Egypt, Missouri, didn’t live up to its exotic name. It looked like a million other cookie-cutter towns that stretched from sea to shining sea. It was pure Middle America, with tree-lined streets and two-story bungalows built at a time when wood was thought to be an inexhaustible resource. Driving into Egypt was a little like rolling back the clock several years. It was a place where Cleo could imagine women gave Tupperware parties and sold Avon door to door.

She’d always thought of Missouri as hilly, but Egypt was flat. The town fathers had taken advantage of the lack of contour and laid out the community in a grid, with everything of importance, such as the four-story courthouse made of stone that had darkened over the years, smack dab in the center of the square.

Along with the old-fashioned feel, there was a strange, carnivalesque atmosphere-a consequence of the campaign signs, complete with publicity photos that were everywhere. Clusters of them stood in yards; nearly every storefront window boasted at least one. Most of them seemed to be promoting the same handsome, smiling man.

Re-elect Mayor Burton Campbell. Burton Campbell for mayor.

“Important guy,” Cleo commented.

“He’s running unopposed,” Daniel said. “The prick just likes having his name plastered all over town. Will you?” he asked, indicating the gearshift.

It was more of a command than a request, but she obliged just to keep the peace.

“I call him Burt the Flirt. He’s also the only dentist in town, so if you have a cavity you want filled, I’m sure he’ll oblige.”

What an ass Daniel Sinclair is. “If I need a cavity filled, I’ll wait till I get out of here.”

She peered through the streaked windshield down the empty, glistening street. “Doesn’t look like there’s a lot for a policeman to do in this town.”

“I keep busy.”

“Yeah?” she asked, not believing him.

“Getting cats out of trees. Parking meter violations. Breaking up the occasional keg party. Stuff like that.”

“Sounds exciting.”

Beside her, Beau coincidentally let out a huge yawn.

“Better than zipping up body bags,” Daniel said.

She’d have to agree.

The place where she was staying turned out to be a motel on the edge of town. From the outside, it looked like everything a traveler would dread. She’d stayed in some dives in her life, but even before seeing the room, she guessed the place would have to rank near the bottom. It was called The Palms, but it might as well have been called the Hyatt Regency for all the reflection the name bore to the actual place. The Palms was just past the outskirts of Egypt, the owners apparently expecting the town to expand and eventually catch up with the twelve-room eyesore. It had been new once, Cleo had to remind herself. And probably nice once, something even harder to believe.