The Law of Finders Keepers

by Sheila Turnage

  “He means serendipity,” I added. “Where life flows together like two rivers.”

  Miss Lana put her hand on my shoulder. “My friends, we leave this morning at ten, to go door-to-door. Priscilla says school will be out until a new heater part comes in, so you young people are welcome. We’ll caravan. It’s a lot of doors and we’d appreciate your help. But if you can’t help, we’ll understand.”

  “I won’t,” the Colonel said. Like me, he holds grudges.

  “Count us in,” Miss Rose said, and Bill nodded.

  “Me too,” Lavender said, strolling in. “Whatever it is.”

  “Us too!” the Azalea Women called.

  “Joe and I can help until the school’s heat comes on,” Miss Retzyl said.

  The I’ll help’s and me too’s whirled around the room—to Attila’s table. Even Attila’s going to say yes, I thought, watching her face. But when mean, beige Mrs. Simpson shook her head, Attila went the other way.

  “I might wash my hair today,” Attila mumbled.

  If I do have past lives, which so far one feels like more than I can handle, I’ve despised Anna Celeste Simpson in every last one of them.

  We looked at Gabriel. “I’m sure Kat’s busy, but I wouldn’t miss this little search for the world,” he said, and Mrs. Simpson’s mouth fell open.

  “I’ll go if I can ride with Gabriel,” Attila said. She looked into her mother’s scowl. “I look good in a Jaguar.” She flounced her hair.

  Excellent, I thought. We can keep an eye on both of you.

  “Thank you,” I said as the Colonel snapped the coffeemaker closed. “Breakfast is on the house except for Mrs. Simpson,” I added, and the café cheered.

  * * *

  At ten o’clock the Underbird led the way, our cars and trucks strung along the winding country roads like pearls. At the search zone, we fanned out, each vehicle with its own map, its houses marked.

  “Knock three times,” Harm shouted. “Give them time to answer.”

  “Stage fright, sugar?” Miss Lana asked. “Just take a deep breath and walk out there. It gets easier each time.”

  She fluffed her Marilyn Monroe wig, but to me her smile looked fragile as old glass.

  As car and truck doors flew open up and down the road, she and the Colonel headed for a small brick house, and I trotted across a toy-strewn lawn. I straightened my pendant and knocked. A cigarette-smoking woman opened the door. “Hey,” I said. “I’m Mo LoBeau of Tupelo Landing, and I’m looking for my long-lost mother. Are you she—or, is she you, as you prefer?”

  She exhaled a cloud of smoke. “Nope.”

  “Secondhand smoke kills,” I said, whipping out Always Man. “Do you recognize this man? He lived around here maybe twelve years ago. Or this sweater? My mother wore it. Her name started with a J. Maybe you met her?”

  “Nope.”

  I handed her my card. “Call me at the café if anything comes to mind.”

  “Right,” she said, closing the door.

  A total strike-out. I squared my shoulders like the Colonel, and marched on.

  Miss Lana was right. It got easier. I knocked, I smiled, I chatted.

  The doors closed one after another: No. No. No.

  We surged up and down roads, across lawns, up steps. Once I saw Grandmother Miss Lacy jump a ditch. By noon, the Azalea Women’s hair had wilted. By suppertime, most folks had gone home. “Tomorrow, sugar,” Miss Lana said as we walked to the Underbird.

  “Courage, Soldier,” the Colonel said.

  * * *

  The next day only my core people showed: Miss Rose, Bill Glasgow, and Dale; Harm, Mr. Red, and Grandmother Miss Lacy, whose feet were swelling; Lavender; Miss Lana, the Colonel, and me. We wound our way to tiny Taylor, NC, and a day full of no’s.

  As the sun set, a thin, sharp-smelling old man answered my knock and squinted at the photo of Always Man. “Looks familiar,” he said.

  My heart jumped.

  “The service station was on South Main,” I said. “Well, the photo cut it off at ‘South Ma.’ Thanks to my legendary powers of deduction, we know it’s South Main.”

  “No Main Street in this town,” he said. “We got county names. Mecklenburg Street, Lenoir, Martin . . .”

  “South Martin, then,” I said.

  “Martin? Now that you mention it, there was a station on South Martin. Don’t remember much about it.”

  I used Miss Lana’s trick for awakening memories: “What did it smell like? I know one mechanic that smells like Ivory soap.”

  “Ivory soap?” He laughed. “Well, it was down from the bakery. Smelled like fresh-baked bread and gas fumes.” His belly rumbled. “You know, I do remember this fellow. Replaced a fan belt for me, got a nasty cut on his finger. Still cleaned a right good windshield.”

  He looked out at Miss Lana as she traipsed back to the Underbird. “Is she with you? Does she know her hair doesn’t look real?”

  “Yes sir, she knows. Is this man still here? Does he have people? A name?”

  He tilted his head. His toupee slipped. “What’s that sign say? ‘Ann’s Clothes’? I used to buy shoes there. Closed after the flood. Government bought most folks out on this side of the river. Ann left. This fellow probably did too. Sorry.”

  He pushed the door to. I jammed my foot in its way. “I have to find my mother. Her name started with a J and she knew how to knit and she liked to wear this sweater,” I said, opening my jacket. “The man in the photo knew her. He’s even flirting.”

  “Sorry, young lady.”

  “Mo,” I said. “Mo LoBeau. A possible orphan.”

  “Orphan or not, I can’t tell you what I don’t know, and I don’t know his name,” he snapped, but he eased the door off my foot. “Maybe it had to do with earth. Because I used to roll down my window and say, ‘How on earth are you?’ and he’d laugh. What was his name? Clay? Sandy? No . . . Sanders, maybe. That’s it. Sanders. He’s not around here or I’d know him. Try the other side of the river,” he said, stronger. “If he stayed, that’s where he is.”

  I made an Executive Decision. I hurled myself against the door, ricocheted into him, and hugged him so hard, his toupee went crooked. I pounded to the Underbird. “His name is Sanders from the Probably Side of the River.”

  “Sanders,” Miss Lana said, rubbing her feet. “What a handsome name.”

  The Colonel smiled in the rearview mirror. “We’ll start again tomorrow. But Soldier—never let your hopes rise higher than you can stand for them to fall.”

  “Yes sir,” I said as the first star of the evening blinked against a friendly sky.

  * * *

  The next day started slim. Harm, Dale, and Lavender in the truck. Me, Miss Lana, and the Colonel in the Underbird. To my surprise, Attila and Gabriel cruised up in Gabriel’s Jaguar. “Miss Thornton asked us to take her place,” Attila said. “Her feet hurt, and we’re glad to help.”

  Dale looked at her, his eyes steady. “How much did she pay you?”

  Attila flipped her hair. “We might have come anyway.”

  Mercenaries. Still. Eight seekers.

  Skeeter’s internet search for Sanders had come up empty, but we hadn’t let that slow us down. Harm had drawn new search maps of the Probably Side of the River. He passed them out. “We’re closing in on Always Man,” he said. “Knock three times and give people plenty of time to answer. Don’t mark the house no unless an actual human tells you no. At the end of the day we’ll double back to houses where nobody answers.”

  “Got it,” Lavender said, and we fanned out. We knocked. We smiled. We knocked again. The more we knocked, the lower my hopes fell. By sundown, we’d doubled back on the houses where no one had answered and knocked again.

  No, no, no. No more clues, no more houses, no more hope.

  And that was that.

 
“I’m sorry, Soldier,” the Colonel said. He looked at me, his brown eyes soft. “Mustering the courage to try is always a win. I’m proud of you.”

  Miss Lana slipped in the backseat, beside me. “We’ll find new clues one day, sugar.”

  I went to bed without eating a bite, or saying a word.

  I had hoped too high, and fallen too low. I picked up my pen and Volume 7.

  Dear Upstream Mother,

  To almost find you is harder than thinking I will never find you at all. My heart feels like a red balloon, drifting away.

  Mo

  Chapter Thirty-one

  The Unthinkable Happens

  “I’m sorry,” Dale said the next morning, sitting down at my table.

  “You’re the umpteenth person to say that today,” I said as Harm joined us.

  “Mo,” Harm said, “this case isn’t over unless you say it is.”

  I drummed up a smile. “We’ll find another clue one day. The good news is you’ll be here to help us search.”

  “And we’re almost treasure barons,” Dale added, handing Queen Elizabeth my toast. “Gabriel called last night and offered to raise the treasure for us—for free.”

  “A professional courtesy? From Gabriel? Why?”

  “No idea,” Harm said. “But we could use his help.”

  I looked at Dale. “When can he start?” I asked.

  “In about fifteen minutes ago,” he said, glancing at the 7 Up clock. “I made an Executive Decision. You want to watch? It might make you feel better. Grandmother Miss Lacy’s over there. And Joe Starr,” he added, nibbling my bacon. “And Lavender.”

  “Lavender might need me,” I admitted as the phone rang.

  “Soldier, it’s for you,” the Colonel called. “Anna Celeste.”

  Harm scowled. “What does she want? Overtime?”

  “Tell her I’m not here,” I shouted.

  The Colonel put the phone back to his ear. “Did you hear that? Ten-four,” he said, and hung up. “She’ll catch up with you later.”

  “Not if I see her coming,” I muttered, and my energy surged.

  Grandmother Miss Lacy was right: There’s nothing like an enemy to make you feel more like yourself again. “Miss Lana, I’m going out,” I said as she waltzed up with two extra breakfast plates. “I already ate and . . .”

  She put the plates down. “You’ve pushed your eggs around and given your toast and bacon to Dale,” she said, sliding Dale’s toast and bacon to me. “Breakfast is the most important meal of the day, sugar. Eat. Then you can go.”

  * * *

  “Hey, Desperados,” Lavender said as we coasted up. “I was hoping you’d come by. I could use some help at the garage later today, if you have time. Sometimes the best thing for a broken heart . . .”

  “. . . is to keep moving,” I said. “Count me in.”

  I waved to Grandmother Miss Lacy, who sat swinging her legs on Lavender’s tailgate. Tinks’s tractor sat by the pit, the heavy chain hooked on its claw. The claw nosed the dark water, sending the chain deep. Bubbles broke the water’s surface.

  “Gabriel’s attaching the chain,” Starr said, sauntering over. “We’ll raise whatever’s there, load it in Lavender’s truck, and take it to an undisclosed location.”

  “My house,” Dale whispered.

  “Gabriel’s being surprisingly helpful,” Starr added. “I’d keep an eye on him, if I were you.” He smoothed his eyebrow. “Listen, I meant to thank you kids for sending those valentines to Priscilla and me. They were sweet.”

  Please. The old say-thanks-and-see-who-says-you’re-welcome trick. Does he think we’re rookies?

  Harm and me went bland as vanilla pudding.

  Dale jammed his hands in his pockets and smiled. “You’re welcome. How did you know it was us?”

  “You just told me,” Starr said, and Dale’s smile wilted. “But why did you send us marriage proposals, Dale?”

  “Pull her up!” Gabriel shouted, hoisting himself out of the water, and we ran toward him, leaving Starr looking baffled.

  Lavender sprang to the tractor. He eased the claw higher, higher. A copper-wrapped cube broke the surface. He lifted it and swung it to the ground.

  The treasure, I thought. At last.

  Dale looked at me, his face flushed. “We could open it now.”

  “Smart boy,” Gabriel said, kicking off his dive fins. “I’ll help you.”

  “We’ll open it Saturday,” I said, very firm. “That’s what we promised the town.”

  And by then, I thought, maybe I’ll find my heart.

  * * *

  An hour later, at Lavender’s garage, the Unthinkable: Attila careened up on her show bike, handlebar streamers limp. “She never rides that bike,” I muttered, watching her try to find the kickstand. “What’s she up to?”

  “Who cares?” Dale said, lining up a trash-can free throw from the foul line he’d drawn with his sneaker. Dale will go varsity if we ever get a team.

  Attila knocked. “It’s a store,” I shouted. “You don’t knock.”

  She pushed in and stood studying the glistening white shelves lined with car parts and pyramids of oil cans, at the handsome old tin advertisements on the walls, the gleaming floor. “This is surprisingly nice,” she said. “I’ve been looking for you, Mo.”

  She took a deep breath. “It’s . . . Well, Gabriel and I helped search.”

  “I know,” I said, very quick. “Thanks.”

  “Don’t thank me. Not yet,” she said as an Azalea Woman tooled up and leaned on her horn. “When we gave our search map back yesterday, we . . . That is, Gabriel wasn’t truthful. He lied.” She took a deep breath. “And I let him. Which is as good as telling a lie myself.”

  “Lied about what?” Harm asked.

  “Gabriel told you we went back until we got a no at every house on our map, but we didn’t. One house looked trashy—not our kind of people.” She shrugged. “We didn’t go back. At another house, dogs nipped our tires. Gabriel’s not good with dogs and I don’t like them either. They’re so . . . excitable.”

  “Dogs have opinions,” Dale said, smoothing Liz’s ears. “But they’re honest.”

  “Anyway, I’m sorry,” she said as Lavender bustled in. “I should have told you then.”

  I stared at her, my soul reeling. “There’s another house?”

  Attila frowned. “Don’t you people ever pay attention? Two houses, about a mile apart.”

  Two possible Upstream Mother houses?

  “Lavender,” I said as he slapped open his old cash register and stuffed a handful of cash in the drawer. “We have to go back. There’s two more houses.”

  “Sorry, Mo. I can’t right now. I got a repair in forty-five minutes. That’s only enough time to get there and back.”

  “I’ll put our bikes in the back of the truck,” Harm said. “You can drop us off.”

  “Put mine in too,” Attila said. I stared at her. She curled her lip. “I’m the only one who knows where the houses are, Mo-Ron.”

  “Right,” Harm said as Dale grabbed two bags of Doritos.

  “I’ll be right there,” I shouted, snagging the phone. “I got to call Miss Lana.”

  * * *

  Lavender dropped us at the first house. “Be careful,” he said, helping us unload our bikes. “I’ll pick you up at five, right here. Stay together. I mean it. If anything happens to you all, Lana will kill me.”

  My heart pounded as we walked our bikes up the first house’s dirt drive. Ten minutes later, we walked back down the same drive, another no echoing in my heart.

  “That was just our warm-up shot,” Dale said. “We still got one house to go.”

  “This way,” Attila said, setting her jaw. She leaned down to hand-push her pedal into the Mount Position, stepped on it, and wobbled into plac
e. “Follow me,” she shouted, and hunched over her handlebars.

  Harm, Dale, and me pedaled behind, down a winding two-lane, through pines and sleeping fields. “I hope nobody thinks Attila’s our leader,” I said. “She’s pitiful.”

  Dale studied her. “She needs shorter legs.”

  “Or a higher seat,” Harm said, taking his hands off his handlebars. “Listen, Anna’s not good with dogs or a bike, but she’s trying. Mo, Dale and I will handle the dogs. You take Attila with you.”

  My stomach clenched, but I nodded.

  Attila rolled to a shaky halt at the head of a path and toppled sideways onto her feet. We coasted up beside her smooth as sunrise. “This is it,” she said, her face flushed. “The last one.”

  The dogs met us halfway up the rutted path: a long-legged hound with a booming voice, and a terrifying ball of red fur with scissor-fast teeth clicking. “Don’t act scared,” I told Attila.

  “Here, doggies,” Dale called, hopping off of his bike. “Dale and Harm are here. Sit for treats. Doritos, your favorites,” he sang. “Be sweet,” he added as Harm hopped off beside him.

  The terrier sat, quivering, as the hound grumbled up, tail wagging.

  Harm gave me his crooked smile. “Good luck, Mo. We’ll find you.”

  I pedaled up the path at Attila speed, leading the way around ruts and deep sand, zigzagging to a neat little yard back in the woods. I ignored Attila’s awkward dismount and moist panting as I studied the black-roofed house with its bright red door.

  Pecan trees stood to one side, their bare limbs clicking in the breeze. A rusty car sat by a shed. Beyond, a row of cedar trees stood tall-to-short along the back edge of the yard. Old Christmas trees, taken root.

  “I’ll wait here,” Attila said, heading for a metal yard swing.

  I dropped my bike, my heart pounding half out of my chest. This was it.

  My last-chance house.

  I headed up the wooden steps and across the narrow porch. I peeled off my jacket, straightened my sweater, and pointed my locket J-side out. Just three knocks, I told myself. Like at every other house on our map.