3
A PREMONITION
“My hair started doing this when I bought the camera,” Herculeah told her mother. She fluffed out her hair. “And it won’t quit.”
Herculeah was sitting at the kitchen table. A slice of pizza lay untouched on her plate.
Herculeah’s mother glanced at her. “You’re probably just having a bad hair day.”
“No, when my hair frizzles, it’s because of danger. I know you don’t believe it.”
“I never said I didn’t believe it,” her mother answered carefully. “In fact, I sometimes find myself thinking, ‘If I were Herculeah, my hair would be reaching for the sky right now.’”
“Well, Meat knows it’s true. He’s seen proof. He’s seen it work.”
She hesitated.
Her mother watched her, knowing there was more.
“Remember when the Moloch nailed me up in the basement of Dead Oaks? My hair frizzled. Remember when Madame Rosa’s murderer was after me? My hair frizzled. And remember—”
Her mother cut her off. “You’ve made your point.”
Herculeah slumped in her chair.
“Maybe it’s your imagination this time,” her mother suggested.
“How?”
“Well, maybe you expect the things you get at Hidden Treasures to cause you trouble—like Amanda Cole’s coat.”
Herculeah’s expression was serious. “Yes! Mom, you’re right! I was drawn to the ‘As Is’ table in the exact same way I was drawn to that coat. And I just stood there because something about the things on that table bothered me.”
“What?”
“I’d seem them before.”
“Where?”
“That’s what bothered me. I don’t know. Anyway, I picked up the camera, and it had been marked down to one dollar—the exact amount I had. I was meant to buy this camera. For some reason that I don’t know, I was meant to buy this camera!”
Herculeah turned it over in her hands.
“I wonder,” she said thoughtfully, “if it has anything to do with the pictures on the film.”
“What pictures?”
“Somebody took nineteen pictures of something—or somebody—and they’re still in the camera. Maybe when I see those nineteen pictures, I’ll know why I was drawn to the camera. I just wish my hair would stop frizzling.”
“Look,” her mother said in her sensible voice, “you are sitting in your own kitchen, eating a pizza you made yourself. Where’s the danger?”
“I don’t know.”
Herculeah looked down at the camera beside her plate. “Do you suppose it could be someone else who’s in danger ?”
“Such as?”
“Oh, I don’t know.” She smiled. “Well, at least I know it’s not Meat.”
“Where is Meat?”
“He’s at Funny Bonz.”
“What’s that? A new barbecued ribs place?”
“Oh, Mom. It’s a comedy club. Meat’s learning to be funny. He’s going to take stand-up comic lessons, and I get to go to the graduation.”
Her mother smiled. “I hope I can come. I could use a good laugh.”
“Me too.”
Herculeah tried to smile, but she didn’t succeed.
“I know there’s more,” her mother said. “What else is on your mind?”
“Remember when Meat and I went over to Death’s Door to reshelve the books? Remember, after that sniper tipped over the shelves trying to get to me?”
“I remember.”
“Well, when we were shelving the books, I picked one up, and you know what the name of it was?”
“I can’t imagine.”
“Funny Bones—like the comedy club—and I got one of my premonitions.”
“And I’ve got one of my premonitions. Your pizza’s getting cold.”
Herculeah picked up the slice of pizza. “Oh, I wonder what they’re doing right now. I wish I could see Meat.”
“I thought you weren’t worried about Meat.”
“I’m not. I just wish I could see him.”
“Meat’s conservative. He doesn’t take chances—not like you do. Meat’s always safe.”
“Nobody—” Herculeah looked at her mother. Her gray eyes were dark with concern. “Nobody is always safe.”