Popcorn Thief (4 page)

Everything that Franklin touched grew, and grew well.

But all of Karl’s crops grew with abundance.

It just wasn’t fair. Franklin had good land, and he tended
his fields with love. Why was every growing thing on Karl’s land so much bigger
and better?

It was like he was back in high school, when nothing he did
was good enough no matter how hard he’d studied, he just could never get the
gist of algebra or geometry, was always failing while everything came easy to
Karl: He got the grades, the praise, and the girls.

Franklin got back on his bike and rode through town. As had
been his luck that entire day, Karl had already closed the stand and gone home
by the time Franklin reached it.

With a dejected sigh, Franklin rode the rest of the way back
to his house. He was never gonna catch up to his competition, never gonna catch
a break, was always gonna be stacking other people’s produce. That was just his
life.

* * *

Franklin spent the rest of the night fixing the fence out
front, replacing the light bulb that had burned out on the front porch, and cleaning
out the yellowjackets who’d thought they’d found a home under the back eves. Anything
to keep himself busy and not thinking about Lexine.

Mama didn’t seem to have an opinion one way or the other
about Karl, Gloria, or Lexine. She sat staring at the table—maybe sad?
Maybe scared? She didn’t seem as angry as she had been, though.

Franklin woke when it was still dark, a blaring noise
startling him. It took him a moment to realize it was his phone ringing. According
to his alarm, it was 4:17 AM.

He didn’t recognize the name on the caller ID. Maybe some
drunk, or maybe his cousin Darryl, in trouble again. “Hello?” Franklin said.

“You gotta get over here,” Ray said urgently. “There’s
something attacking Adrianna. It’s spinning around, throwing things and I can’t
even see it! It’s like some kind of invisible whirlwind!”

“Shit,” Franklin said, levering himself out of bed. It had
to be the same thing that had attacked Lexine. Whatever had killed her had left
behind those spiral patterns of torn paper and glass. “That thing’s deadly,
Ray.”

“How do I stop it?” Ray demanded. “It’s twirling, snatching
things up, throwing them. And—”

“I’m coming over as fast as I can get there,” Franklin said
as he shoved one leg, then the other, into his jeans, wincing as the cloth
scratched over his cuts from that afternoon.

How could Ray defend himself and Adrianna against that
thing? What did it want? Why was it attacking her? Why had it gone after Lexine
and the businessman?

“Get Adrianna outside,” Franklin added. He didn’t know if
it’d be safer there, but Adrianna, like Lexine, was only inside a place because
they had to be: The rest of the time, they lived outdoors. Adrianna was a free
spirit, and lived better in the open air.

“Good,” Ray said. “Now get here.” Then he hung up.

Franklin rushed out of the house, not bothering to turn on
any lights. Mama had her own kind of special glow from her seat at the kitchen
table. She didn’t even raise her head as Franklin passed.

Something was bothering Mama. Franklin didn’t have a clue
what. But he couldn’t be bothered with that now.

Cool night air blew against Franklin’s face as he raced down
the lane, then the street, and to the highway. This was one time he wished he
had a car. But wishes weren’t fishes. The far off horizon was starting to pink
up. Franklin pushed himself to pedal faster, staying in the street instead of
switching to the sidewalk when the four-lane narrowed down. None of the homes
Franklin passed had on any lights. It was like one of those towns in a horror
movie, with him as the sole survivor.

Franklin put that thought out of his head. He needed to
think about what would help Adrianna. The thing liked lard and bacon grease.
Shit. He should have brought another jar of Sweet Bess’ lard with him, to try
to draw it off. Maybe Adrianna had something like that in the kitchen. Or maybe
just salt would do it—most ghosts liked things that were salty.

At the Sorrels’, Franklin threw his bike against the fence
and pounded on the gate. Ray opened it in short order, dressed in a white
undershirt, brightly checked shorts and flip flops, his hair all messed. He
nodded grimly to Franklin and held the gate open for him.

Franklin raced inside. The friendly mess of the statues and
found art had been replaced by the chaos of decimation. All the daisies and
pinwheels had been flattened. The hubcap man lay on the ground, broken in two.
Just wisps of the colorful streamers remained, their long tails shredded.

“What would do such a thing?” Ray asked as they hurried down
the path to where Adrianna sat, underneath her men wired together out of fallen
tree branches. She wore a nightgown, like what a child might wear, white with
pink flowers on it, a high collar, and long sleeves.

Franklin pulled up right quick when he realized the tree men
hadn’t been damaged. In fact, if anything, they seemed taller, bigger. They bent
over, protectively, above Adrianna. She, in return, held one of their branches,
like lovers holding hands, looking up at it, her face shining.

The trees weren’t full of ghosts, that much Franklin could
say. They weren’t spirits, either, as far as he could tell. They were something
different, maybe unique to Adrianna, and how she’d made ’em come alive.

“Miss Adrianna?” Franklin asked quietly.

When Adrianna looked at him, he saw two long gouges running
down her left cheek, still bleeding. “Thank you, Franklin,” she said, letting
go of the tree man’s hand and standing up.

Was it just the bad light, or did the hand fall in slow
motion, as if unwilling to let go?

“I didn’t do nothing,” Franklin said. “I just got here.
Looks like you did…something, to drive it away.”

“Wasn’t me,” Adrianna said, beaming and reaching back to pet
one of the tree men. “They took care of us. Wouldn’t let that thing come near
me.”

“But you still told us to get outside,” Ray said. He patted
Franklin’s back. “Thank you. Now, tell me,
what
the hell was that thing
?”

Franklin took a step back from Ray’s anger. “I don’t rightly
know,” he said, shrugging. It was the truth. He really didn’t know what this
thing was.

All he knew was that it had to be stopped.

When Franklin turned to Adrianna, she shrugged as well,
before she said, “It’s a spirit. Jealous.”

“And greedy,” Franklin added. “It’s been after my special
lard.” At least, he thought it was the same thing. Only something mighty strong
could take off the lid of the jar of lard, as well as do the destruction he saw
here.

“Why did it attack Adrianna?” Ray asked. He held out his
hand to her.

Franklin was relieved to see how easy she took it and went
into his arms. He’d been worried that since Ray hadn’t saved her, she might no
longer treasure him like she should.

“I don’t know why it attacked Miss Adrianna,” Franklin said.
He turned to her. “You said it was jealous? Of what?”

“It wanted my eyes,” Adrianna said. She shivered and turned
her face into Ray’s shoulder. “It wanted to see like I do.”

“How do you see, Miss Adrianna?” Franklin asked quietly.
“What do you see?” She’d never really talked about seeing before. Any more than
he’d talked about his ghosts.

“The lines of power, of course,” Adrianna said. She gestured
to the ground, to the path she’d made Ray move, then to the tree men, then to
the pond. “Can’t you see them?”

A ghostly image of long white streams wavered above the
places Adrianna pointed to. The image wavered and collapsed, but not before
Franklin realized that each stream connected to the other, and the places where
they joined were stronger, not weaker, as the streams flowed together.

“No, ma’am, I can’t,” Franklin said. “Not clear, like you. Ray?
Can you see what Adrianna’s talking about?”

“No,” Ray replied, then he bent his head down and kissed
Adrianna’s curls. “You were always special,” he said fondly.

Was that why the spirit attacked Adrianna? Because she had
some kind of power? Franklin hadn’t known she was like him.

Who else in town was like that? Was there anyone else? Or
was the spirit going to attack Franklin next? And if it did, where would he be
safe? In his corn field, maybe? What would protect him?

“Will it come back?” Ray asked.

Adrianna gave a merry laugh. “No, I don’t think so. We drove
it off, didn’t we boys?” she said, addressing the tree men.

“Did you…hurt it?” Franklin asked, skeptical. He’d never
seen anything that could actually hurt a spirit.

“Skewered it good, at least once,” Adrianna said proudly.

Would an injured spirit return? Or seek an easier target?

The spirits around Lexine were usually hurt, and always
returning to her for comfort.

“It might come back,” Franklin warned. “I’d camp out here,
for a day or so, at least.”

“Camping!” Adrianna said, clapping her hands together. “We
haven’t been camping for ages.”

“Then we should camp right here, under the trees,” Ray said,
encasing her hands in his and drawing them up to kiss them, quickly. “I’ll get
the tent. You stay here.” He glanced at Franklin, who nodded: Yes, he’d stay,
while Ray cleaned up, got everything ready.

Not that Franklin felt he could do any good against this
angry spirit.

FRANKLIN THOUGHT ABOUT CALLING
CHARLENE and asking to take the day off, but it was Saturday, one of the busiest
days at the Kroger. So he promised the Sorrels he’d stop by again after work,
then rode his bike home as fast as he could. Maybe he wouldn’t be too late to
work after he got into his uniform.

Besides, he didn’t want to change anything in his routine, in
case the cops finally came to see him about his cousin.

Franklin had been expecting a call from Aunt Jasmine about
Lexine, but he hadn’t heard anything yet. She must know by now, right? Though
Franklin and Lexine hadn’t been close, they’d still been cousins. And he was
close enough with the rest of his family, seeing them every Sunday at church,
then going over to Aunt Jasmine’s place for Sunday dinner.

Franklin slowed as he approached the farm. A brown sheriff’s
Crown Vic sat in the driveway. Sheriff Thompson leaned against the door.

Shit.

Franklin didn’t even know what he could tell the sheriff
about the Sorrels. He couldn’t tell him that they’d been attacked by an angry
spirit—not without being hauled off for being crazy.

But the sheriff already knew something was going on. Nothing
to it but for Franklin to tell as much of the truth as he could.

“Morning, Sheriff,” Franklin said as he rode his bike into
the driveway. “What can I do you for?” He casually got off his bike and walked
up, telling himself again and again,
Nothing’s
wrong. Everything here’s cool.

“Where you been?” the sheriff asked as he pushed himself off
the car and tipped his hat up a bit, showing his white face, tiny suspicious
eyes, big nose, and disapproving grimace. The only thing soft about him was the
big brown mustache he grew. He combed it frequently, lining all the hairs up
neatly.

“Over at the Sorrels,” Franklin admitted. “They was having a
problem with their koi pond.” While that might not be the first thing Ray would
say when the sheriff asked about it, he would back Franklin up. Franklin had
been there about the fish pond, if not that night.

“Didn’t know you were also a speaker to the fish, not just a
speaker to the dead.” Sheriff Thompson grinned as if he’d made some kind of
joke, though Franklin didn’t get it.

Franklin just shrugged. He knew the reputation he—and
the rest of his family—had in town. He wasn’t surprised that the sheriff
had heard the rumors.

“Anyway.” The sheriff paused and looked down. “I’m here
about your cousin Lexine.”

“She in trouble?” Franklin asked. He’d prepared himself for
that, as well as he could.

Those sharp eyes were back on his face again. Luckily,
Franklin was already sweaty from his ride.

“You could say that. She’s dead.”

“What?” Franklin exclaimed. “No—what happened?” He
kept easy eye contact, certain that those shows on TV weren’t lying about everything.
Eye contact meant he was telling the truth, that he was surprised.

“Murdered,” Sheriff Thompson said. “I was sitting here,
waiting for backup, in case you turned out to be the same.”

“Murdered?” Franklin asked, unbelieving. “What? How? Who?”

“We’ll find the bastards. Them and their wild animals.
Really tore the place apart. You wouldn’t happen to know of anyone who had a
problem with Lexine?”

Franklin shook his head, as if bewildered. “I don’t—I
mean, there was that contractor. Who built her the house. And his wife. But
they wouldn’t do something like that.” Franklin looked up. “I gotta go see Aunt
Jasmine,” he said. “I need to go see how she’s doing.”

The sheriff nodded and said, “I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you,” Franklin said. He turned and walked his bike to
the front porch. Guess he was calling Charlene, telling her he needed to take
the day off.

“Say, you wouldn’t happen to be missing any of your crop
there, would you?” Sheriff Thompson asked casually.

“No sir, not that I know of,” Franklin said, looking back
over his shoulder, his heart pounding in his chest. “Why?”

“A few corn cobs were found around the bodies. Like some kind
of ritual.”

“Bodies?” Franklin asked, leaning his bike against the front
porch and walking back toward the sheriff. “Did you say bodies? Who else was
killed?” Franklin demanded.

“A businessman,” the sheriff admitted. “Earl Jackson. Developer,
come here to see about turning some of the nearby land into a resort. Did you
know anything about that?”

“No, sir,” Franklin said. “I can ask Aunt Jasmine about it,
though.”

“I’ve talked with her,” the sheriff said with a sigh. “She
didn’t know anything either.” He gave Franklin a softer look. “Give my regards
to your aunt. And the rest of your family.”

“I will. Thank you for letting me know, Sheriff,” Franklin
said. He paused, then asked, “You check with Karl Metzger? About his corn?”

“No. Why should I?” Sheriff Thompson asked.

Shit.
Franklin
shouldn’t have said that. “Just a thought,” he said as easily as he could. “You
know. Since we’re rivals and all. His family and mine. Coulda been his corn.”

“You thinking he did this?” Sheriff Thompson said.

“No, no, not Karl,” Franklin said, horrified. Had he just
fallen into some kind of trap set by Gloria? Getting Karl in trouble because of
the corn at the crime scene?

“I’ll go talk with him. You take it easy,” the sheriff said
as he walked around his car and slid in.

Damn it. Franklin hadn’t meant for the sheriff to start
thinking Karl was a suspect. He also hadn’t known that Gloria had carried more
than one ear of corn to the cabin. She must have moved fast, as the sirens had
been close.

But there was nothing for Franklin to do but call work,
shower, then gather with his family to mourn.

* * *

Franklin sat out on the back stoop with his older cousins:
Darryl, Jason, and May. A slatted, yellow-painted wooden fence boxed in the
yard, closing it off from the alley and its neighbors. A passel of younger kids
ran around the browning grass. They didn’t really understand what was going on,
and they’d barely known Lexine. Since the adults had been so serious all day,
they were now racing around like crazy things. Franklin couldn’t really follow
the rules of whatever game they were playing: It seemed like tag, only they
were all bomber planes.

Darryl and May were drinking beer, of course, although
Franklin suspected they might have spiked their cans with something more potent.
Not because they was gonna miss Lexine that much—Franklin had been the
closest to her—just any excuse to drink.

Jason sat quiet, alone with the three of them. He’d had to
go with Aunt Jasmine to help identify the body, and he couldn’t seem to shake what
he’d seen.

Franklin couldn’t either. How had a spirit broken her neck
like that? And made those gouges? It was awfully strong, stronger than any
spirit Franklin had ever heard about.

“You reckon you’ll start seeing Lexine?” Darryl asked with a
smirk as he took another drink. His blue work shirt had seen better days, and
he used the sleeve to swipe at the sweat on his tall, shaved head. While
Franklin’s brown uniform shirt wasn’t the best looking, at least he took care
of it. Darryl’s eyes was perpetually bloodshot, like he’d been in a smoky room,
though his main indulgence was liquor. He had the same sharp nose as Aunt
Jasmine, making his face look long and serious, though he was forever cracking
jokes and laughing, usually at Franklin’s expense.

“No,” Franklin said. He’d be real surprised if she showed up
to haunt him. She had power all on her own. She wouldn’t need him to settle
anything for her.

Except to find her killer.

“I still say it was a lover’s spat,” May said with a smile
that wasn’t appropriate and gave Franklin the willies. Mama would have
tsked
at how low cut her sundress was,
though it was a pretty red. She’d straightened her hair again, and dyed part of
it a lighter brown. She looked more like Mama and Franklin, with a rounder
face, softer lips, and kinder brown eyes.

“No,” Jason said firmly. “It weren’t him. It weren’t
something human.” He looked up finally and caught Franklin’s eye. “Do you know
what it was?” Jason looked so tired. Was he coming down with something? Though
he was the youngest, white still tinged the temples of his close-cropped brown
’fro. He was a meld of the two families, with a long nose, round face, and thin
lips.

“Something evil,” Franklin said.

May snorted. “Evil? Now you’re sounding like Preacher
Sinclair.”

“None of your mouth, now,” Jason said sternly. “Taking
another life like that
is
evil.
Nobody deserved that.”

Franklin nodded. “It hasn’t gone away, though,” he warned.

“What, you think this thing’s got a hard-on for our family?”
Darryl asked. “If so, it can just say hello to my friends, misters Smith and
Wesson.”

Jason glared at Darryl. “That’s the stupidest—”

“Rock salt,” Franklin said.

Everyone looked at Franklin like he was nuts, a regard he
was used to. “Shotgun, not filled with buckshot, but rock salt. That might
help.” The thing kept going after his lard, like a regular ghost would. And
ghosts liked salty stuff. Maybe filling it with salt would distract it, or fill
it so it would leave.

“I can do that,” Darryl said, nodding slowly. “You need to
borrow a gun?”

“Naw, got one,” Franklin lied. He wouldn’t ever borrow
anything from Darryl: Never knew when Darryl might just show up on his doorstep,
drunk, wanting to reclaim it.

“Why do you think it went after Lexine?” Jason asked, still
trying to understand.

“’Cause she was special,” Franklin said. He ignored May’s
snort. “That businessman, too. Earl Jackson. He must have had something.
Otherwise it would have left him alone.” He’d been trying to get away, and the
thing had kept attacking him, while it had left Ray alone, and only gone after
Adrianna.

“What kind of power did that fat old man have?” Darryl
asked.

“I bet it wasn’t his dick—Men are the only ones who
think they’re magic,” May said, laughing.

How much had May already had to drink? Franklin just shook
his head.

“He was here to develop property, right? Maybe he could see
the wealth flowing in,” Jason said. “I’d love a power like that.”

“Naw, maybe he found oil or gold or something, and wanted to
dig it up,” Darryl said, playing along for once.

Lexine had seen spirits. Franklin saw ghosts. Adrianna saw
lines of power, which Franklin had always thought was some kind of mystic crap.
Maybe the businessman could see money or future fame, though that didn’t seem
right—that was manmade, artificial, not natural from the earth.

“Someone at work said something about them making a resort
here, right?” Franklin said, thinking out loud. “And maybe diverting the Wolf River.”

“So maybe he was a dowser,” Jason said.

“A what?” May asked.

Jason said, “Someone who can find water. They used to be
real respected, could find the place where you should dig your well. Used a
dowsing rod.” At the collective blank looks, Jason added, “I read about it
once.”

“You were always the brainy one,” Darryl said. “The brain,
the weirdo, the slut, and the hick. Here’s to the four of us,” he added,
raising his can in salute.

“Who you calling a slut? Asshole,” May said,
thwapping
him on the arm.

“Sounds like the start of a bad joke,” Franklin said. “What,
do we all go into a bar or something?”

Darryl laughed. “Say, did you hear the one about—”

A wail rose from one of the kids—Jason’s
daughter—she’d run headlong into Darryl’s son, and now had a bloody nose.
While Jason and May went to go deal with them, Franklin sat in silence with
Darryl, wondering.

Jason had always been attracted to water, had loved swimming
more than any of them. He could find a path to a crick more easily than a water
roach in a drought.

Had Jason been talking about himself? Did he have a power
too?

What if that thing went after his cousin Jason next?

* * *

Franklin tried to find a time to talk with Jason on his own,
but then there was dinner, with people bringing over food, then getting the
kids ready for bed, so Franklin didn’t have a chance.

The coroner finally said she’d release the body by
Wednesday, so they wouldn’t be able to schedule the funeral until Thursday. It
would be closed casket, something that made Aunt Jasmine howl and Jason and the
others hurry her to her bed.

Franklin went home after that, glad to see Mama was back to
her glaring self. Gloria was there as well, sitting side-by-side at the kitchen
table like an old married couple. But Gloria was tapping her nails again,
click click click
.

Franklin didn’t know what Gloria was waiting for, but it was
something. Her impatience filled the kitchen, making his skin itch like ants
was crawling all over it.

“What is it that thing wants?” Franklin asked as he settled
in with a tall glass of sweet tea. The only light in the kitchen was from the stove,
behind him. It didn’t make the ghosts more human: In the gloom, they glowed
with their own weird light.

“Why did it kill Lexine? Why did you bring those cobs of
Karl’s corn to the cabin? Were you trying to get him arrested?”

Neither of the ghosts replied. Franklin wished for one of
Darryl’s beers, or even a straight shot of bourbon. The night felt loose and
dangerous. Was that creature going to come after him next? Or Jason? How could Franklin
defend himself? Or his family? Or the other special people in town?

Franklin had more questions than answers. And the
uncomfortable feeling that this was just the beginning.

* * *

Franklin arranged to work only half a day the next day, then
only half a day on Thursday, the day of the funeral.