No Time for Goodbye - Linwood Barclay [66]
That’s why it seemed odd to me that a news story, unrelated to fly-fishing but tucked into the bottom right leg of the story, remained.
It was only a couple of inches long, this story. It said:
Police still have no leads in the hit-and-run death of Connie Gormley, 27, of Sharon, whose body was found dumped into the ditch alongside U.S. 7 Saturday morning. Investigators believe Gormley, a single woman who worked at a Dunkin’ Donuts in Torrington, was walking alongside the highway near the Cornwall Bridge when she was struck by a southbound car late Friday night. Police say it appears that Gormley’s body was moved into the ditch after it had been struck by the car.
Police theorize that the driver of the car may have moved the body off the road and into the ditch, presumably so that she would not be noticed until sometime later.
Why, I wondered, had everything else around that article been so neatly trimmed away, but this story left intact?
The date on the top of the newspaper page was October 15, 1982.
I was pondering that when I heard a knock at the door. I set the clipping to one side, got up from my chair, and went to answer it.
Keisha Ceylon. The psychic. That woman the TV show had set us up with, who had inexplicably lost her ability to pick up supernatural vibrations once she realized the producers weren’t cutting her a fat check.
“Mr. Archer?” she said. She was still dressed against type, in a professional-looking business suit, no kerchief, no huge hoop earrings.
I nodded, wary.
“I’m Keisha Ceylon? We met at the TV station?”
“I remember,” I said.
“First of all, I’d like to apologize for what transpired there. They had promised to pay me for my trouble, and that did lead to a disagreement, but it should never have happened in front of your wife, in front of Mrs. Archer.”
I said nothing.
“Anyway,” she said, filling the gap, evidently not expecting to have to carry both sides of the conversation, “the fact remains that I did have some things that I wanted to share with you and your wife that might be helpful with regard to her missing family.”
I still wasn’t saying anything.
“May I come in?” she asked.
I wanted to close the door in her face, but then I thought about what Cynthia had said before we’d gone to see her the first time, how you have to be willing to look like a fool if there’s a chance, even a one-in-a-million chance, that somebody might have something useful to tell you.
Of course, we’d already been burned by Keisha Ceylon, but the fact that she was willing to face us a second time made me wonder whether I should hear her out.
So, after hesitating a moment, I opened the door wide to admit her. I steered her toward the living room couch where Abagnall had sat hours earlier. I plunked down across from her and crossed my legs.
“I can certainly understand that you might be skeptical,” she said. “But there are a great many mysterious forces around us all the time, and only a few of us are able to harness them.”
“Uh-huh,” I said.
“When I come into possession of information that would be important to a person going through troublesome times, I feel an obligation to share that knowledge. It’s the only responsible thing to do when you are blessed with such a gift.”
“Of course.”
“The financial reward is secondary.”
“I can well imagine.” Even though I was almost well intentioned when I allowed Keisha Ceylon into the house, I was already beginning to think I’d made a mistake.
“I can tell you are mocking me, but I do see things.”
Shouldn’t she have said, “I see dead people”? Wasn’t that the line?
“And I am prepared to share these things with you and your wife if you like,” she said. “I would ask, however, that you consider some sort of compensation for me. Seeing as how the television network was unwilling to make that sort of commitment on your behalf.”
“Ahhh,” I said.