Payback (6 page)

“It’s not a fortune, but it’s our safety net. Plus I’ve been stashing away what I could for your college tuition.”

This surprises me a little. I had no idea Mom was putting anything aside for my education. She always acts like we barely get by giving me the impression that I’ll have to figure out college for myself or get some kind of magical scholarship.

“Do you think the bank made a mistake?” I ask.

“That’s a possibility. I’ll call them on Monday.”

“And you don’t do any banking online, do you? So it can’t be some kind of Internet fraud?”

“I almost wish that I banked online now. At least I could’ve tracked this more easily. As it is, I’ll have to wait until tomorrow to figure it out.”

“What about identity theft?”

She sighs. “I wondered about that, but I hadn’t used my debit card all week. It was only last night when Steven and I were in the city that I tried to get some cash from an ATM, and it showed insufficient funds.”

“Maybe something was wrong with the machine.”

“That occurred to me too. I’m sure there’s a logical explanation. I’ll deal with it first thing in the morning.” She stacks the papers to one side, then looks up at me. “So how was your date last night?”

“It wasn’t a date, Mom.”

“Right…How was your undercover investigation?” She gives me a smirkish sort of smile. “Big drug bust?”

“No…just a bust, period.”

“No arrests then?”

“Not last night. But we’re going to try another prom next Saturday.”

“Well, lucky you. Two proms. Do you get a new dress for the next prom too?”

Just in case she thinks that the Brighton Police Department is wasting precious budget dollars to buy me expensive prom dresses, I explain about the rental place. “But I suppose I could try something different next week,” I say without mentioning that I’m actually considering a wig as well. I’ve decided I should probably go incognito now that it looks like Stewed Oysters will be there. No way do I want to explain to those guys why I’m at another school’s prom with someone who’s not even my boyfriend. This will definitely call for a real disguise.

Later that day, after church and a short hike with Conrad, I drive over to Olivia’s house to take back her pearls and her mother’s beaded bag. My plan is to invite Olivia to go with me to return the rental dress and hopefully pick out another one that I can reserve for next Saturday. But as I’m stopped at a quiet intersection, watting for a woman in black sweats to jog across the street, I suddenly see a flash of light, and my actual vision gets blurred as something else appears in front of me. Instead of the jogger, I see a different person. Also dressed in black, it seems to be a man, and he’s sort of hunched over in a sinister, cartoonish way, like he’s trying not to be seen or sneaking away, or perhaps he’s about to do something wrong.

For a moment I think I could be having a vision of a terrorist, maybe even one of the ones who plan to attack the McKinley High prom, but then he turns and looks directly at me so I can clearly see his face. To my surprise, it’s not a terrorist but my mom’s boyfriend,
Steven Lowery.
Then just like that—poof—the image is gone. I blink and shake my head and wonder if this was truly from God or just my imagination running
amuck. Why would Steven be dressed in black and acting so goofy like that? Surely he’s not the predator who plans to shoot innocent kids at a high school prom next week. That’s just too bizarre.

I jump when I hear a horn honk behind me. Then I realize I’m just sitting at the stop sign with no cross traffic coming. So I put my foot on the gas and move forward, still trying to sort out what I just saw…or imagined. Very weird.

When I get to Olivia’s, I tell her about this most recent vision, saying that it makes absolutely no sense. “I’m not that fond of Steven,” I admit, “but I hardly think he’d shoot high school kids. And yet he seemed so sinister and evil to me. Not anything he did, but just a feeling I got. Silly, huh?”

“It does seem pretty strange.”

“I wonder what it means…Was it a legitimate vision or something I just imagined?” I shake my head. “Sometimes I wish God would just rent a well-lit billboard or maybe a reader board. You know, print out whatever it is in bold letters to get His messages across. Much simpler.”

“But God wants to use people to get His messages across, Sam.”

I nod. “Yeah, I know. But sometimes it’s confusing.”

As we drive to the dress-rental place again, I tell her that I think I’ll have to disguise myself for the next prom so the guys in Stewed Oysters don’t wonder why I’m there or mention something to Conrad about me being with a different guy.

“Oh yeah, I hadn’t even considered that.”

“So I’m thinking a wig and some really wild makeup or maybe even sunglasses,” I tell her. “It’s a casino theme, so I suppose I could be a little over the top.”

“I have a blond wig you could borrow,” she says.

“Why on earth do you have a
blond
wig?” I frown at her. “In case you haven’t noticed, you’re
already
a blonde.”

“The wig happens to have short hair.” She laughs. “Remember when I was thinking about cutting my hair last spring? Well, I ordered this short wig online just to see what I’d look like.”

“You never told me that.”

“Because it looked totally stupid.” She laughs. “The wig’s style is right out of the fifties or sixties—like a big bubble head.”

“Sounds perfect. And maybe I’ll go for that flashy red dress this time.”

“I’ll have to tell the guys in the band about the casino theme,” she says. “Maybe we can dress up too. This is going to be such a hoot, Sam.”

I consider the irony as I pull up to the rental store. The fact that she’s thinking this is all about fun and games when, in reality, I’m actually trying to prevent an extremely serious crime…well, it feels slightly twisted. Still, I have to agree with Olivia, it is kind of fun too. Crazy.

Y
ou don’t think Steven has anything to do with the prom shooting, do you?” Ebony asks me after I tell her about my latest vision. “Any possible links to terrorism?”

“I can’t imagine that he does,” I admit. “But the image I saw of him seemed sinister.”

“How do you feel about Steven…I mean, personally? Do you like him?”

“To be honest, I didn’t like him at all to start with. But I guess I sort of got used to him. Do I
like
him? Probably not a lot. Still, he seems to make my mom happy. For her sake, I’m trying to be tolerant.”

“And this seemed like an authentic vision from God?”

“Yes…”

“How about if I run a background check on him? Where did you say he moved from?”

“Southern California.”

“That’s rather broad. Did he mention a specific city?”

“I think he said he has a brother in San Diego and a mom somewhere else down there…but I can’t remember him saying exactly where he’s from.”

“And you say he’s an investment broker?”

“Something like that—insurance, investments, that sort of thing.”

“Do you know where he works?” I shrug. “No.”

“Does your mom?”

“I’m sure she must.” Now I frown as I remember something.

“What is it?” she asks.

“I don’t know…I just thought of something…It’s probably not even related.” I sigh, then shake my head. “It’s weird getting these messages from God and trying to figure out how they all fit together.”

“Like a puzzle?”

“Exactly.”

“That’s what solving crime is all about, Samantha. We take lots of pieces. Some fit. Some don’t. We keep trying to put them together until we can see the big picture. You’re lucky, or I should say blessed, that God actually helps you with some of the pieces.”

“Sometimes it doesn’t feel all that helpful.”

She smiles. “Yes, I can understand that.” She picks up her pen again. “Now, anything else you can tell me about Mr. Steven Lowery? Do you know how old he is?”

“I’m not positive, but I do know Mom’s about ten years older than him.”

Her arched eyebrows lift slightly, but she doesn’t say anything.

“I’m guessing he’s in his early thirties.”

“Well, that’s a start anyway. And physical description? Hair color, eyes, height? And what kind of car does he drive? You don’t happen to know his license-plate number, do you?”

I describe him as a young and less good-looking James Brolin. “Only his hair is lighter, but I think he gets it lightened,” I tell her. “Kind of a Hollywood sort of look.” Then I describe his car. “But I don’t know his license-plate number. I could probably nab it the next time he’s over.”

“Great. I should have something on him in a couple of days.”

At this point I come very close to telling Ebony about my mom’s messed-up bank account. But I know that sounds pretty suspicious and accusatory. Besides, Mom said she’d check with the bank today. For all I know, the whole thing may be all squared away by now. Plus I’m sure Mom wouldn’t be too thrilled about her private business becoming public knowledge. So I change the subject and tell Ebony about my scouting mission yesterday to the next prom site—the one with no marble floors. “It’s not the hotel in my dream,” I say finally. “At least I don’t think so.”

“Well, that’s one we can take off the hit list.” She makes note of this, then looks curiously at me. “Any more clues about that kid being bullied?”

“No, but I’m really praying for him. And I feel more certain than ever that he was the guy I saw in the shoe store on Saturday.”

“I don’t want to worry you,” she says slowly, “especially with so much else on your mind. But I read a sad statistic just the other day…”

“About what?”

“About kids who are the victims of bullies.”

“And?”

“It seems they are at serious risk. Being bullied was listed as the number one cause of suicide among teens.”

I nod as I remember Garrett now, how depressed he’d been just a few months ago, how he’d even considered killing himself…mostly because his dad had bullied him. Yeah, I can believe that.”

“I’ll be praying for this kid too,” she assures me.

“I just don’t understand why God would’ve shown me that vision if we weren’t going to be able to help him somehow. Don’t you agree?”

She nods. “I do.”

“Well, I’ll let you get to your work,” I say.

“And I’ll let you get to yours.” She hands me another yearbook. This one is for McKinley High.

Once again the plan is for me to spend a couple of hours carefully going through it to see if I can spot the pretty blonde or the guy who will be her date. And like before, I do my best.

But by the time I drive home, I feel slightly overwhelmed again. After two hours of carefully studying that yearbook, I didn’t see one girl that I could be certain was the blonde in my dream. Eric even took the time to explain certain tricks to identifying people by their photographs. And I did manage to find a couple of girls who might be the one in the pale green dress, but I still feel rather doubtful. I also wonder if I’m going to be any good at this part of detective work.

Mom pulls up to the house just ahead of me, and I can tell by the way she’s walking that something is wrong. She looks like there’s a heavy weight on her shoulders. My first concern is for Zach. Is it possible that something’s gone wrong in rehab? Could he have run away? I park my car in the driveway and hurry through the garage and into the house behind her.

“What’s up?” I ask, making her jump. It’s like she didn’t even know I was there. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you, Mom.”

“Oh…” She sets her purse on the island.

“Is something wrong?”

She lets out a loud sigh. “It didn’t go well with the bank.”

“Why’s that?”

“They insist it’s not their mistake.”

“Oh…”

She lets out a long, weary sigh. “Not only that…but it seems the savings account has really dwindled as a result of being overdrawn.”

I frown, curious as to how much money she’s talking about but not willing to ask. She already looks upset. “What’s next?” I ask.

“Now I have to go over all my records for the past six months and see what I did wrong.”

“Are you sure you’ve done something wrong? Couldn’t it be the bank’s mistake?”

“They insist that it’s very unlikely. They say that ninety-nine point nine percent of errors are made by customers, not them.”

“But still, there’s a chance.

“A minuscule chance…and according to them, I have to prove I didn’t make a mistake before they’ll even look at their end of things.”

“Oh.”

“So that’s what I’ll be doing all night.”

“I’ll fix dinner,” I offer.

“Thanks. I’d appreciate that.”

While I’m working in the kitchen, Mom spreads all her papers and banking stuff across the dining room table once
again, and before long she’s punching numbers into a calculator and writing things down. I know she hates doing this sort of thing. She always has. And at times like this she really misses having Dad around. He was the one who always took care of finances. Consequently, I wonder if she might be a little careless in her bookkeeping. Not that I would ever mention this. Still, I feel sorry for her. And I feel sorry for myself too. The fact that the savings have shrunk—my college fund that I didn’t even know I had—is pretty discouraging.

“How’s it going?” I ask when she sits down to a dinner of green salad and lasagna (the prepackaged kind from the freezer).

She just shakes her head. “Maybe I should hand the whole thing over to someone who’s better at this.” She looks hopefully at me now. “Hey, you’re pretty good in math, aren’t you, Samantha?”

I frown. “I’m okay, but I really don’t know much about checking accounts and banking and finances and stuff.”

“Maybe I should ask Steven. He’s a financial whiz.”

I want to tell her I think that’s a very bad idea, but I’m not sure how to say it without offending her. “Where does he work anyway?”

“What?”

“Steven. Who does he work for?”

“Oh, I can’t remember the name. It’s downtown Portland… a big firm with some long names.” She sort of smiles now. “In fact, that’s exactly what I’ll do. He recently handled some pretty nice investments for me. Maybe I can hire him to sort this out as well.”