Popcorn Thief

by Cutter, Leah

  “Here?” Franklin scoffed. “There’s nothing here.” Katherinesville was a historic town. It had its share of colonial buildings, and the third floor of the eye clinic had been the old opera house and still showed plays. But it wasn’t as fancy or preserved as the bigger towns, like Bardstown or Harrodsburg. The countryside was pretty enough, but so was most of Kentucky.

  “Ah, but what if he diverted Wolf River?”

  “Could they do that?” Franklin asked, astonished. What would happen to his taxes if the town became prosperous? Could he still afford to live there, or buy the property next to his? “I sure hope they don’t.”

  “Well, that’s just the gossip,” Charlene said with a grin. “Anyway, he met with some of the local bigwigs, like the Sorrels and the county governor and the mayor. Then he wanted to poke around, get some of the ‘flavor’ of the area.”

  Franklin snickered. “Flavor. I’ll say.” Why did city folks think places like Katherinesville were so quaint? When Charlene didn’t go on, he added, “So what happened to him?”

  “He disappeared. Never made it to his plane. His rental car wasn’t returned. He hasn’t checked his email, or called into his office.”

  “Couldn’t they find him on his phone or something? Triangulate?” Franklin asked.

  “You been watching too many cop shows on TV. That only works if there’s a signal. Can you get reception out in the middle of your field?”

  Franklin shook his head no. He didn’t have a fancy, smart phone—as Mama had said, those things made you dumb. But he did have a cell phone that he could use, when he remembered to charge it. But Charlene was right—it was useless out in the middle of his field.

  “So they can’t find him. Or track him. He’s just fallen off the face of the earth. People are speculating that the deal he wanted to make went bad.”

  “Or maybe not,” Franklin replied. “If he’s really that busy and important, maybe he just wanted to take some time off.”

  “Maybe,” Charlene said, nodding. “But I bet there’s been foul play.”

  “Now who’s been watching too much TV?” Franklin teased. He stood up and gathered their bowls. “I appreciate the news,” he added. “But my break’s about over.”

  As Franklin headed out, Charlene called after him, “You want me to tell you if they bring a fancy crew out just to track one man?”

  “Sure thing,” Franklin said, though he had a better tracking device than any of the equipment he saw on those shows on TV.

  He had his cousin Lexine.

  * * *

  Franklin tugged on his gloves and reached for the first head of red leaf lettuce. Stocking lettuce wasn’t as bad as cleaning out the wet rack where the lettuces was displayed, even if he didn’t like trimming leaves off the heads, particularly when they were slimy. He kept his knife sharp, so it was a bit easier.

  But he’d forgotten to turn off the sprayer, so of course, the next time he reached back to set a head of lettuce in the wet rack his glove and arm all got wet.

  “Dang it,” Franklin said under his breath so no one else would hear. He didn’t have any paper towels on his cart, either. He marched down to the end of the display and turned off the sprayer, then went back to break room to pat down his arm.

  By the time he came back, Gloria stood there, smirking, as two brothers, Mark and Louis, flung stringy, slimy lettuce cuttings at each other.

  “Mark! Louis!” Franklin bellowed.

  The boys stopped mid-throw and looked guilty. “We’re sorry Mr. Kanly, sir,” Mark said as he realized that there were bits of slimy lettuce on the floor, as well as dripping off the front of the vegetable case.

  “Don’t tell our mom,” Louis begged.

  Franklin sighed. Luckily, he’d brought the paper towels with him. “You go find her, then,” he said gruffly as he bent down to wipe up the gunk on the floor.

  The boys skedaddled. Franklin didn’t feel too badly about them—they’d clearly been under the influence of Gloria. No need to warn their mother, Mrs. Mason. She already had enough on her hands, with four boys. His mama had always said that she was lucky she’d only had the one, ’cause she swore that more than one would have sent her clear around the bend.

  Franklin finished cleaning up and had started trimming lettuce leaves again when Mr. Sorrel came up, a mere loaf of bread and a small pack of cheese sitting morosely in his wire cart. He wore a loud red-and-yellow print shirt with cartoon figures Franklin didn’t recognize, beige shorts, white socks and sandals. His white hair was perfectly styled and filled his whole head, despite his seventy-plus years. He had a bland face, the kind you’d forget in an hour, unless he found you interesting and suddenly focused his gray-blue eyes on you and you’d realize just how smart he was.

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Sorrel,” Franklin said politely.

  “You can call me Ray,” Mr. Sorrel responded, as he always did.

  And outside of the store, Franklin would. But not at work, where he needed to show more respect.

  “So how’ve you been?” Mr. Sorrel asked politely.

  “Can’t complain,” Franklin said, more or less honestly. He had a troublesome ghost, no, three, haunting him, but he still had a roof over his head and the best popping corn in the state growing in his backyard. “How about yourself?”

  “I’m glad I ran into you,” Mr. Sorrel said. “Your mama, God rest her soul, used to tell fortunes at the beauty parlor, right?”

  Franklin nodded warily. “She had a tarot deck that she’d use. Or regular house cards, sometimes. It was just to keep the girls at the parlor entertained.” Mama didn’t have a gift, not really. Not like Franklin or Lexine.

  Though sometimes, Franklin wondered. Mrs. Leslie had been a regular at the beauty parlor for years. Then she stopped going abruptly, and went the next county over for her weekly appointment.

  At Mama’s funeral, Mrs. Leslie came and cried on Franklin’s shoulder about how his mama had been right about everything she’d said, everything the cards had said, but Mrs. Leslie hadn’t had the courage to go back.

  “And you help people too, don’t you?” Mr. Sorrel said, his gray-blue eyes suddenly piercing and sharp.

  “I’m not sure what you mean,” Franklin said, not willing to go into his business—particularly not here at the store. Who knew if Charlene was watching or not?

  “People say you talk to ghosts,” Mr. Sorrel said.

  “People say a lot of things,” Franklin replied, trimming another head, unwilling to just outright lie. Mama didn’t like it when he lied.

  “We seem to be having some kind of haunting at the house,” Mr. Sorrel said. “Could you stop by tonight? After work? At least come by and say hello to Adrianna.”

  Franklin looked up from his work. Mr. Sorrel didn’t seem scared, at least.

  “I can stop by,” Franklin said slowly. “But I ain’t saying anything to any ghosts.” If Mr. Sorrel was being haunted, it was probably for something he’d done at some point.

  Ghosts didn’t just haunt people for fun.

  * * *

  Franklin rested his bike against the wooden fence of the Sorrels’ place. Nothing new had been added to the collection of art there, though the metal cabinet had lost a couple of doll heads, making it a little more creepy, with just the doll bodies framing it.

  The doorbell next to the gate had been switched out since the last time Franklin had been there: The round, lighted button now sat at the heart of green-blue brass swirls, like a pearl at the bottom of the sea. Franklin pushed it gently, hoping that maybe the Sorrels weren’t home, and he could be on his way.

  The gate buzzed and unlocked, swinging open almost immediately. Franklin debated leaving his bike just leaning against the fence, but he wanted to make sure it was still there when he left, so he pushed it through the gate and leaned it against the wall just inside.

  Cheery yellow daisies made out of clothespins lined the white stone walkway. Children’s pinwheels spun merrily beside them. A tall silver
statue of a man, made from hubcaps, stood hunched next to the door of the low, one-story house, his arms extended, holding a hubcap filled with water for the birds.

  Mr. Sorrel—Ray—came out the door. Adrianna floated beside him, wearing a dress made of white and purple scarves, like what Franklin had seen singers wear in music videos. The skirt flared out, like the cloth was lighter than air.

  “Franklin!” Adrianna called, skipping over to him and clutching hold of his arm.

  Normally, Franklin didn’t care for folks touching him. But Adrianna, she was in a class not meant for other folks. Her hazel eyes shone clear today above her freckled nose, while her brown hair hung down loose and clean, past her shoulders.

  “Good afternoon, Miss Adrianna,” Franklin said, lightly patting the hands wrapped around his bicep.

  “How you doing today?” Adrianna asked.

  “I’m doing just fine,” Franklin said. He couldn’t help but smile at her. “How have you been?”

  “All Ray’s fish died again. In the koi pond, out back,” Adrianna said. She gave a delicate shiver. “The water all ran out. Ray says there isn’t a leak.”

  “No leak,” Ray confirmed. “The plug keeps getting pulled.”

  Franklin didn’t want to point out that it was unlikely that a ghost could have done it—not unless that ghost was real mad. Most didn’t have the strength.

  But a ghost like Gloria might be able to. Or maybe even his unseen visitor, the one strong enough to open a jar of lard.

  Were either of them haunting more than just Franklin? Did Gloria have something against Ray too?

  “Why don’t you show me?” Franklin said.

  “Good!” Adrianna exclaimed. “I told Ray that you could help. I don’t have the sight, not like you. But you have it, right?”

  “Let’s just see what we can see,” Franklin said, not admitting nothing to nobody.

  Adrianna tugged Franklin along the path, leaving Ray in their wake. “What do you think of the new design?” she asked proudly.

  “New design?” Franklin asked, confused.

  “The path! Now it follows all the spirit-power lines.”

  “Ah,” Franklin said, looking down. New grass lined the edge. The path had been laboriously moved about two feet to the left. “Very nice,” he said when it was obvious Adrianna was looking for a reply.

  “See?” Adrianna beamed over Franklin’s shoulder at Ray. “I told you we should do it.”

  “Yes, dear,” Ray said in a long-suffering voice.

  “He doesn’t really mean that,” Adrianna confided in Franklin. “He feels better walking this path as well.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Franklin said. It was always best to just agree with Adrianna. Especially when he didn’t understand half of what she said.

  In addition to the tree men wired together from fallen branches stood several other statues: A half-complete mermaid that Franklin guessed was pieced together out of found glass; what looked like a goat man, up on his hind legs, made out of balls of twine; a long streaming V of dark birds dangled from dark rope that linked one tree to the next; and a collection of outboard motors all painted blue and white, sitting on top of fancy pillars.

  They curved around the yard, circling through the statues, before they reached the pond, a plain concrete ring about three feet deep, with just a touch of water still remaining in the bottom. It looked clean, was a pretty blue, and stank of dead fish.

  “Where’s the plug?” Franklin asked Ray. He didn’t see any ghosts, but that didn’t mean there hadn’t been there earlier.

  “Let me show you,” Ray said.

  Franklin gently rolled away Adrianna’s hands and followed Ray as he stepped over the concrete lip.

  The plug sat at the center of the bottom of the pond. It looked like an oversized bathtub plug, made of black rubber with a brass ring through the top of it and a chain. Franklin tugged on the chain, but it didn’t come up easily. He tugged again, putting more muscle into it.

  “You said the plug gets pulled up at night? This plug?” Franklin tugged again, finally getting the plug to release.

  “Yes, almost every night,” Ray said.

  “It’s the spirits, right?” Adrianna asked. “They don’t like us trapping living things. I told you, Ray.”

  It couldn’t have been a ghost. No ghost that Franklin had ever met had the strength to pull up that plug.

  And he really didn’t want to meet a ghost who had that kind of strength and will.

  “We shouldn’t trap live things,” Adrianna said. “The spirits don’t like it. Right, Franklin?”

  Why was Adrianna staring at him like that?

  But she was right. “Sprits don’t like you trapping living things,” Franklin admitted. It was why he didn’t have a pet, not a hound or even a turtle: The ghosts would put a hole in the screen door for them to get out, push on any cage door until it was ajar.

  “So it’s the spirits pulling the plug,” Adrianna said earnestly. “It must be the spirits. It can’t be anyone else, right, Franklin?”

  Franklin looked up at Adrianna, who kept staring at him, then back at Ray.

  “You don’t like the fish being trapped either, do you, Miss Adrianna?” Franklin asked gently.

  “No, but Ray likes ’em. So it must be the spirits that want them free,” Adrianna said again.

  While Mama may have accused Franklin of not being the brightest bulb in the pack, even he could see what was happening here.

  Adrianna was pulling the plug at night, and blaming it on ghosts.

  “Now, Ray,” Franklin said, stopping until the man looked at him. “Adrianna is right. Spirits don’t like you trapping living things. Free spirits. Of all kinds,” he said, glancing up at Adrianna, then back at Ray. “They might love you, but trapping living things make ’em kind of nuts.”

  Ray looked up at Adrianna and sighed. “Well, I’ll be—” He stopped, and paused. “All right. I hear ya. Free spirits will be free, and free everything around them, won’t they?” He stuck his hand out for Franklin to shake, then lowered his voice to a whisper. “I appreciate your discretion in this. No one needs to know just how free a spirit Adrianna is.”

  Franklin grinned at Ray. “I won’t tell anyone but Mama.”

  Chapter Three

  DESPITE IT BEING HIS DAY OFF, Franklin set his regular work alarm, which still went off too damn early. However, he let himself snooze his alarm once before he opened his eyes and stretched his arms up in his narrow bed, touching the wall with his fingertips while his toes slid off the end. His Ab-Buster workout the night before had left him a bit sore.

  Franklin jackknifed up, touched his toes, then flopped back down his bed again. Yep. He was sore. But a man had to stay in shape. Particularly when he wanted to look good in the photos for the local paper, when he won the blue ribbon prize for growing the best popping corn.

  But today—today Franklin had to go see his cousin Lexine. She lived off in the woods, out where there was no cell reception, in a cabin she’d seduced one of the local contractors to build for her.

  Some of the folks in town called her a witch, though never to her face, and never when Franklin could do something about it. She wasn’t really a witch. She was just cleverer than most. She also saw spirits.

  Franklin preferred ghosts to spirits. He always figured he could at least try reasoning with a ghost—after all, they’d once been human. Spirits were what remained of dead animals and other creatures that Franklin had no name for: Like the soul of a sad wind, or the remains of a burned-out mill. Still, Lexine did her best to calm whatever spirit came calling on her.

  Mostly Franklin never saw spirits, and Lexine never saw ghosts. Their powers shifted only when they were near each other. At first it was uncomfortable, particularly as teenagers, but they’d both gotten used to it. Now they sometimes did it on purpose. Franklin would take hold of Lexine’s hand and show her a ghost, share his vision with the only other person in the world who could see.

/>   Lexine was a cousin through marriage only: An adopted daughter of Mama’s older sister when she’d remarried. But everyone said Lexine fit right in with the rest of them.

  Mama shared the kitchen table with Gloria that morning. And most of his newly opened lard was gone, too.

  “Dang it! Mama! Who’s doing this?” Franklin said, shaking the jar at her.

  Mama wasn’t glaring though, wasn’t even looking at him. Neither was Gloria. They stared at the table instead.

  Were they ashamed? Couldn’t they stop the greedy ghost?

  Franklin sighed. “It’s okay, Mama. I just won’t bring any more up, not ’til I settle this thing.” He made a bigger helping of his special breakfast sandwich, since it was a good long bike ride up to Lexine’s cabin: Three eggs piled high on top of a piece of bread slathered with peanut butter, and some banana slices as well.

  “I’m going to Lexine’s today,” Franklin told Mama. “There’s a businessman gone missing. Don’t think she had anything to do with it, but maybe her spirits know where he’s hiding at.” Franklin felt positive that the man had just taken some time off, and would show up soon.

  Both Mama and Gloria looked up at that. “Do you have a message for me to bring to Lexine?” Franklin asked eagerly. Maybe Lexine could help him, get either Mama or Gloria to pass on and stop haunting him.

  But neither Mama nor Gloria said anything or pushed any intent at him. Gloria glared, but Mama looked sad. “You remember Lexine?” Franklin asked Mama.

  Now she glared at him. Of course she did. Then her thoughtful look returned.

  Franklin didn’t know what that was all about. He was gonna have to talk Lexine into coming back here to the farm with him. Maybe this time she’d be able to see Mama. Even if she couldn’t, he could translate, at least. Maybe Mama had something she wanted to say to Lexine. And maybe that would help her pass on.

  Or maybe Mama just intended to haunt Franklin forever.

  * * *

  Franklin gladly pedaled slower once he got off the pavement and onto the dirt road, under the towering trees. It smelled clean like pine and dark earth. Broadleaf bushes grew under the tall trunks, along with brambles full of blackberries. Birds and crickets sang him along.