Jack_ Secret Vengeance - F. Paul Wilson [35]
Jack forced a polite laugh.
Mr. Rosen shook his head. “Sorry. Couldn’t resist. So why does a boy your age want marbles?”
Jack searched for an answer … and found one.
“They’re a gift.”
“For that Connell girl you pal around with?”
“No. This person barely knows I exist, and won’t know who they’re from.”
His eyebrows rose and his dark eyes twinkled. “Like from a secret admirer, maybe?”
He’s got it way wrong, Jack thought, but wasn’t going to straighten him out.
“Sort of.”
At least the “secret” part was right.
“How many you want?”
“I was wondering what’s your best price for all of them.”
He smiled. “‘Best price,’ eh? You’ve been listening to me haggle?”
Jack returned the smile. “Learning from the master.”
“How many you think are there?”
“I’d guess a hundred or so.”
“Well, here’s the list price.” He tapped the 10 ¢ EACH sign taped to the glass. “So let’s see … with volume discount plus employee discount … five dollars will make us even.”
“Deal.”
Jack pulled out a five-dollar bill and handed it to Mr. Rosen.
“Be sure to write it in the book.”
Jack nodded, staring at the bowl.
Yes, sir. These marbles were going to make a fine gift for a certain someone.
6
Mr. Rosen had said to close early at five, and Jack was getting ready to do just that when Mrs. Clevenger walked in with her dog.
“Hi, Mrs. C. Long time no see.”
She smiled. “I trust you will take Mister Foster’s warning to heart.”
Rather than answer that he had no intention of doing anything of the sort, he said, “Can I help you find anything?”
He didn’t want her browsing around. He wanted to close up and go home.
“Actually, I came to see you.”
“Oh?”
“Yes. One of your schoolmates sought me out with a rather odd question.”
One name leaped immediately to mind. “Weezy?”
“No. The Toliver boy.”
“Carson?”
“I don’t believe there is another.”
“Oh, right.” Yeah, Carson was an only child. “What did he want with you?”
“He seems to suffer from the prevailing notion that I’m a witch.”
Jack glanced at her three-legged dog and remembered that raccoon running off with a pair of broken legs.
“Did he … want you to cast a spell or something?”
Like one that would protect his locker?
She shook her head. “Nothing like that. No, it was the oddest thing: He wanted to know if I could tell whether or not a person was being haunted.”
“Haunted? I’ve heard of houses being haunted, but people?”
She only shrugged.
Jack pressed. “Did he say who was haunting him?”
“You’re putting words in my mouth. I didn’t say he told me he was being haunted. He simply asked if I could tell.”
“Well, can you?”
She sighed and shook her head. “I’ll tell you what I told him: I am not a witch. I do not cast spells, I do not tell fortunes, I simply live my life and mind my business.”
Not exactly a solid no, he thought.
Did she know what Jack was up to? Was it Mrs. C he sensed watching as he’d sneaked into the school these past two mornings? She had a habit of showing up without warning in the oddest places.
He noticed her watching him now with an appraising stare. It made him uncomfortable.
“What?”
She said, “Do you have any idea why he would ask me that?”
Now he was really uncomfortable.
“Well, someone’s been messing with his locker. Maybe he thinks it’s haunted.”
Come to think of it, Toliver’s expression had been kind of haunted this morning when he’d found that dirty sneaker.
“He didn’t mention a locker. He asked about someone being haunted.”
Jack shrugged. “Sorry. Can’t help you on that.”
“Very well,” she said, nodding. “I just thought I’d ask.”
On her way out, a stranger stepped through the door and held it for her. As it closed behind her, he approached Jack.
Swell, he thought. He was never going to get out of here.
“You’re the proprietor?” he said with a New York accent. He was heavyset, maybe mid-thirties, with a double chin and a receding hairline. “So young to own such an interesting store.”
“I just work here.”
“Ah. A wage slave. I used to be one, but no more. Nu? Where is your slave driver?”
Jack debated answering that. It wasn’t anybody’s business, especially