Finders Keepers (15 page)

Steve said, “Why the one year wait?”

“Because we still have to allow that someone else might come forward with a legitimate claim to the ticket.” He shrugged and smiled, his hands tied.

“All right, Mr. Tasker,” Kate said, standing. “I apologize if I was short with you. It’s been a trying couple of days.”

“No problem, Kate,” Tasker said. “I hope everything works out for you.” He stood. “Come on, I’ll show you out.”

* * *

Kate said, “That could have gone better.”

The whole scene with Tasker had got her head aching again. On the way out of the Xerox Building she’d dry-swallowed one of the Tylenol 3s, but it wasn’t helping. Her head felt like something was trying to punch its way out from behind her eyes. They were in Steve’s Cherokee now, heading back to the hospital.

Steve said, “That’s the trouble with PR men. It’s like talking to the wall. Run a background check on a guy like that, dimes to donuts he comes up an ex-realtor or a used car salesman.” He gave her a chin-up smile. “But hey, it could still work out in your favor. From what you’ve told me, your father should be able to prove the ticket’s his, no problem. The lottery people know which machine it was issued on, no way the creep who robbed you’s going to know that. The only down side is you’ll have to wait a year to collect.”

Steve’s right hand rested on the gear shift and Kate touched it, meaning only to thank him for his help. The touch must have startled him because he flinched and Kate heard a breath dart into him and stop. She opened her mouth to say the words and watched her fingertip trace the veins on the back of his hand, feeling the thrill of it in places that had been asleep for too long. There was an unexpected intensity to the sensation she hadn’t experienced since her first trembling breaths of sexuality as a girl of eleven or twelve, playing spin the bottle or holding hands on the porch-swing while the adults played euchre in the kitchen. It lasted only a moment, as far as she could tell, before she changed it to the grateful pat she’d intended and took her hand away.

“I’d like to thank you for all your help,” she said, her voice breaking, betraying her.

“It’s really no trouble,” Steve said, glancing at her as he swung right onto the Gardner Expressway. “It’s my pleasure.”

There was a charged silence then, almost anticipatory, Steve driving, Kate tapping her toes to the tune on the radio, Johnny Lang’s, “Lie To Me.” As they merged into traffic she looked out her side-window at the gray shaft of the CN Tower, not really seeing it, hiding her face in the delicious fear that Steve could read her thoughts.

“You like the blues?” he said, forcing her to look at him.

“Sure.”

“Yeah, me too. Did I tell you my mother’s from Memphis? Home of the blues?”

“Really? Have you ever been there?”

“Lots of times. We were there just last summer. My grandfather’s a big karate guy, has a dojo down there about five minutes’ walk from Graceland.”

Kate said, “Get outa town. I love Elvis.”

“I met him.”

“You’re lying.”

“God’s truth. I was five, maybe six, and he was already all bloated up and everything. My grandfather used to teach him sometimes. Elvis was a karate nut and my grandfather’s pretty well known in that circle. Elvis came into the dojo one afternoon while I was there, watching my mother and grandfather train.”

“Oh, my God. Did you get his autograph or anything?”

“I was five. I didn’t know Elvis from Castro. All I remember is he had beautiful eyes. He gave me a Cadillac, though.”

Kate said, “Now I know you’re lying,” wanting to touch him again, feeling like it was permitted, like she’d been doing it forever and had for some reason simply forgotten.

Smilimg, Steve said, “Okay, there’s no Cadillac, but I did meet him. I’d swear to it on a stack of bibles. My grandfather’s got an autographed picture of the two of them in their
gi
s right there on the dojo wall. Elvis with those big ol’ sideburns. My grandfather’s a musician too, plays a mean blues harp. I spent most of my summers with him in Memphis when I was a kid. He’d drive us over the border into Mississippi sometimes to a place called Junior Kimbrough’s—an actual juke joint, it’s still there—no sign on the place, just a shack on the side of the road. My grandfather’d get up sometimes and jam, keep me up half the night. My mother still doesn’t know about those trips. B.B. King’s got a night club right there on Beale Street. I saw Jerry Lee Lewis there last summer; the guy set the piano on fire with a can of lighter fluid.” Steve looked at her then, raising his eyebrows. “And if you’re into voodoo, you’ve got Schwab’s Dry Goods right down the street. Eye of newt. Bubble, bubble, toil and trouble.”

Kate thought,
Wow
. The codeine must be kicking in. She giggled.

Steve said, “You know, Kate, there’s a great blues club near my place. The Blue Room. I go there all the time. I was thinking, you know, if you’re going to be around a while anyways, maybe we could…”

Kate touched his hand again, to hell with it, giving him a coy smile. She said, “Constable Seger, are you putting the moves on me?”

“Why, yes, Miss Whipple, I believe I am.”

“Well,” Kate said, excited by her boldness, “you have the court’s permission to proceed.”

“So…” he said, waiting. “Would you? Like to?”

“I would. But it can’t be tonight.”

“Of course not,” Steve said, like the thought had never occurred to him. “Some other night. Once the dust settles. What are your plans, anyway? You have a job to get back to?”

“As a matter of fact, I’m planning to drive home later today to see if I can get my job back. When Dad won the lottery, I quit. Stupid move.”

“How are you getting home?”

“My aunt’s car.”

“You know what? I could drive you. I’m on holidays anyway, nothing else planned.”

“A police escort?” Kate said, smiling. The poor guy was blushing. “That’d be great.”

“Then it’s settled.”

* * *

Kate left Steve in the truck while she ran into the hospital to let her dad know about the change in plans. He and Aunt Lee were playing cards, Lee winning as usual, Keith looking tired but comfortable, propped up in bed against a mound of pillows. Kate told them what Tasker had said about power of attorney and Lee jumped right in.

“Kate, your uncle Fred—Dale’s brother—remember him?”

Kate said she did. She hadn’t seen him in years but she remembered him, his cold hand sliding too low on her back when he hugged her at a family reunion, hard liquor on his breath. She couldn’t’ve been more than twelve. The guy was a pig.

“Well, Fred’s a lawyer,” Lee said. “Not a very good one, but he could do this for you. I’ll make him. I’ll set it up for tomorrow. And if he asks for money, you tell him to take it up with me.”

Kate said, “Okay. Thanks, Aunt Lee.” What the hell, she’d keep her distance.

She told them next about Steve’s offer to drive her home and Keith said fine, I’m sure he’s a good driver, call when you get in. Kate said she would, said she expected to be back late tonight, then kissed them both goodbye.

She stopped off in the tuck shop on the way out and picked up some snacks—chips and cheezies, bottled juice and chewing gum—then joined Steve in the truck.

“All set?” he said.

“Ten-four,” Kate said.

And they were off.

* * *

The roads out of the city were wet but bare, the only evidence of Sunday night’s blizzard the huge snow banks that lined the shoulders and a procession of road signs shrouded in ice. The day was sunny and mild and the two-day forecast for the Toronto area promised more of the same. By the time they reached Barrie, Steve had already told Kate about his mom, his stint at police college and some of the mischief he’d gotten into during his time there.

“So why the police force?” Kate said. “Because of your mom?”

Steve shook his head. “The real reason?”

“Are there any others?”

“Okay, but if you laugh, it’s a long cold walk to Sudbury.
Dirty Harry.
”

“You’re a cop because of
Dirty Harry
?”

“Yeah. Man, when I was a kid I must’ve watched that movie a hundred times. The others, too, but the first one was the best.”

“Agreed.”

“And the kicker? The movie was released on the day I was born. Like Karma or something. Not only that, my folks were
at
the movie when my mom went into labor.”

Kate turned her face away, hiding a grin.

“Clint,” Steve said, his tone almost reverent. “The dude is just so
cool
. Even now.” He glanced at Kate, a blush creeping into his cheeks. “This is dumb, huh? But damn, I’d watch Dirty Harry and I’d wanna be him so bad. I used to practice that look, that squinty thing he does? I’d practice it in front of the mirror, use it on the hard cases at school.”

“Did it work?”

“Froze ’em dead in their tracks.”

“And now?”

Steve shifted his gaze back to the road. In his mind’s eye flare-light played over the dead boy’s face, making the Spiderman figures on his pajamas seem to caper.

He said, “Now…well, it’s different when the carnage is real.” After a brief silence he said, “So what about you? You like your job?”

“I like it well enough. I enjoy scooting around in the van, the people I work with. And I meet lots of interesting folk on deliveries. My real ambition, though, is to write for the silver screen. You know, ‘Screenplay by Kate Whipple’.”

Steve looked at her and smiled, impressed. “Really? You’re a writer?”

“Well, not officially. I haven’t really sold anything yet. But I intend to.”

“That’s so cool. I can barely write a grocery list. Screenplays, huh? Did you take a course or something?”

“Just a summer thing, locally, with a traveling film institute. But I’m sure I’ve seen more movies than any six normal people, and I’ve downloaded dozens of scripts off the Internet. I read them the way other people read novels. They’re fun, and not all that hard to put together once you get the hang of it. And I’ve read a bunch of how-to books.”

“Any nibbles?”

“I did a girl-buddy thing around the time
Thelma and Louise
came out that got some attention from a small indie company.”

“That’s fantastic.”

“Yeah, I thought so, too. But the company went bust and the film never got made.”

“That’s bad luck. But it’s only a setback, right? I mean, they wanted to make the film. And—” Steve was startled into silence by the sudden change in Kate’s expression.

“Look,” she said, pointing through the windscreen. “Over there.”

They were coming up on the spot where the limo plowed into the rock cut. The snow down there was all churned up, bits of gift wrap snagged in the branches of a broken sapling, a jagged scar of white paint on the ancient granite. A few hundred yards farther along, on the opposite side of the road, the snow was melted in a huge crater shape, the exposed ground charred black by the flaming tanker.

Steve switched the radio off, its tinny cheerfulness feeling like an intrusion now. He accelerated discretely, Kate turning for a last look as the scene dwindled behind them.

They were quiet for a time, then Kate said, “I was convinced I was going to die out here. I kept fading in and out, and I’d see my father lying out there in the cold, not moving, the snow covering his face…”

“It must have been terrible,” Steve said, touching her hand, ice cold under his fingertips.

“I kept wishing I’d made more of my days, you know? I’ve been on cruise for so long now, just…marking time. Emotionally.” She faced Steve, wanting to get this said. “I’m not all that religious, Steve, I admit that. But I prayed to God for another chance. I asked Him to spare me and my dad.” She took his hand, squeezing it. “And he sent you.”

“Funny,” Steve said. “I’ve been thinking it was the other way around.”

Kate gave him a half smile, wanting to savor the tenderness of this moment but feeling she had to go on. “Have you ever read the story ‘The Monkey’s Paw’?”

“The one about wishing for money and getting it the hard way?”

“Yeah,” Kate said, her face reddening. “I used to do that a lot.”

“Who hasn’t?”

“But I mean a lot. Like it was some kind of answer. I’d think, if only I had money, all my problems would be solved.”

Facing her, Steve said, “That’s not really anything to be ashamed of though, is it, Kate? I mean, the way society’s set up, money does solve a lot of problems. It’s a nice thing to have. I can flip through a
People
magazine and get jealous as hell, seeing the way some folks get to live.”

Kate said, “But what I’m getting at, I didn’t really have any problems before that ticket came along. I had a job, a future planned, a father with two strong legs. Now…” She paused, thinking for the second time since meeting him,
Why am I telling him all this
? “The excitement of it, Steve, winning…it was incredible. Your entire life changing in an instant, everything you ever dreamed of suddenly
right there
, within your reach. It was like a drug.” She looked at their linked hands, then into his eyes. “But it changed more than just my life. It changed me. In ways I’m not very proud of.”

“How do you mean?”

Kate averted her eyes. “When we were driving down in the limo the driver asked my father what he was going to do with all that money. Dad started talking about buying a condo for his mom, giving big chunks to the rest of our family, dozens of them, and I’m thinking, Shit, Dad, slow down. What about me? Don’t give it all away. Like a greedy kid. And then such a sick feeling after realizing we’d lost it, like my life was over—and we’d never even seen a dime of it. This huge emotional stir over a piece of paper, something that never even materialized.”

Steve looked at her and smiled, a gentle, empathic smile. “Aren’t you being a bit hard on yourself, Kate? These are pretty much normal feelings we’re talking about here. I’m sure I’d’ve felt the same way. Truthfully? I’ve had feelings at different times in my life I wouldn’t tell a priest. The point is, having these feelings and not liking them, isn’t that how we grow?”