Barclay, Linwood Novel 08 - Never saw it coming

stuff, some video games, DVDs. I just got the whole original
Star Trek
on Blu-ray.” He nodded and smiled, impressed with himself. “Things are good. But she’s still kinda tight with the cash.”
    Keisha swung open the freezer and took out the Tupperware box. “Here’s your share.”
    “Huh?” he said, looking at the frozen container. “What’s in here? Lasagna?”
    She ran the tap until it was hot, took the lid off the container, and ran hot water on the bottom. The sauce came out in one solid chunk. Keisha kept it under the hot tap until the sauce melted away, revealing the sandwich bag stuffed with cash.
    “Man, you’re like a spy or something.”
    Keisha opened the bag, took out the cash and handed it to Justin.
    “In other news, a Milford area woman who went missing Thursday night is still unaccounted for.”
    “Awesome,” Justin said, pocketing it just as Matthew walked into the kitchen.
    “Who are you?” he asked.
    “I’m Justin,” he said.
    “How many apps you have on that?” the boy asked, seeing the phone in his hand.
    “A whole bunch.” He held the phone so the kid could see the screen. “I got lots of games.”
    “Take my picture,” Matthew said. “My mom says she doesn’t have any good pictures of me.”
    “Matthew, please, the man—”
    “It’s okay,” Justin said. He opened the camera app, took a shot of Matthew. Then he asked Keisha for her email address and sent the picture to her, the phone making a barely audible “whoosh.”
    Keisha handed the boy a paper sack that held his lunch. Matthew threw on his coat, ignored his mother’s pleas to zip it up or put on his mitts and hat, and went out the front door.
    The kid gone, Justin said, “You remember what I was saying to you before? That we could try something else? You and me? I mean, we did good together, right? It was fun. I should have job-shadowed you on careers day back in high school.”
    “I told you, this is it with us,” Keisha said. “You had a good idea, it paid off, and now we’re done.”
    She didn’t want anything else to do with him. Something was wrong with the wiring in his head.
    “Yeah, well, okay.”
    On the television, a man, his arm around a young woman, was talking about his wife. How he wanted her to come home. That if anyone was watching, who knew anything at all about what had happened—
    “So, anyway, thanks. I better go. I keep Dwayne waiting any longer—”
    “Shh,” Keisha said, watching the report. The words at the bottom of the screen read:
Wendell and Melissa Garfield: “Mom, come home.”
    “Whoa,” Justin said, watching the TV. “You got a prospect?”
    “Don’t keep your stepdad waiting,” she said, and ushered him out.
    By the time she got back to the kitchen, they’d moved on to the next story.

Four
    Keisha Ceylon stared at the house and thought, maybe she did have a little bit of the gift. Because there were times when she thought she could tell, just by looking at a place, that there was hurt inside those walls. Even a house where the blinds had been lowered, and turned so no one could see inside.
    She sat in the car with the motor running, the wheezy defrosters just barely keeping the windows clear. Keisha was sure her feelings about the house were not influenced by what she already knew. She told herself that if she’d been strolling through the neighborhood, and had merely glanced at this home, she’d have picked up something.
    Despair. Anxiety, certainly. Maybe even fear.
    She thought about what this man, this Mr. Garfield, must be going through. How was he dealing with it? Did he still have hope the police would find his wife? Was he starting to lose confidence in them? Had he had any to begin with? Was he at the point where he’d be open to considering other options? Would he be desperate enough to accept, and pay, for the very special service she could provide?
    Keisha was confident her timing was right. The man had gone before the cameras the day before. He’d been all over the news this morning. That was evidence of desperation, going to the media. That surely meant the police weren’t making progress. That was always the best time to move in. You didn’t want to leave it too late. If you hesitated, the police might actually find a body, at which point no distressed relative was going to need Keisha Ceylon’s visions for directions.
    It was, as she’d told Justin, all about
hope
. You had to get to these people while they still had some.