Barclay, Linwood Novel 08 - Never saw it coming

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.
    Keisha said nothing.
    “He says she gets in touch with him in his dreams, that she calls him from the beyond.” The woman made another one of her snorting sounds. “Knowing what a penny-pinching bitch she was, they’re probably
collect
calls.”
    Keisha didn’t laugh. She said, “I know you feel a lot of anger toward your son, but I also sense that you love him very much.”
    “Oh, you sense that, do you?”
    “Yes, I do. And I know you’re actually very worried about him.”
    “Because of these psychic powers you have?” Marcia asked sarcastically.
    “No,” Keisha said. “Because I’m a mother. I have a son, too.”
    Marcia’s face softened ever so slightly.
    “Matthew. He’s ten. And believe me, there are days . . . But no matter what he does, no matter what kind of trouble he gets into at school, I love him. There’s nothing he could do that would ever change that. There might be times when I want to wring his neck, but I’d still love him as I was doing it.” Keisha smiled. “I’m