Finders Keepers

CHAPTER EIGHT

AMANDA WAS RELIEVED WHEN the medium turned her attention to Dahlia. It wasn’t easy, pretending to talk to Margaret’s dead mother. Especially when she knew Margaret’s mother wasn’t dead at all.

What was Margaret up to anyway? She’d been in Margaret’s body for almost three days now, and she was no closer to an answer. But she wasn’t letting the question drive her crazy. She was having too much fun for that.

Bored with the conversation between Dahlia and Cleopatra, she closed her eyes and let her mind drift back, to remember and relive the very interesting weekend she’d just enjoyed …

Once she recovered from the shock of learning that Margaret wasn’t a drab, depressed woman with a dead mother, she explored the apartment to learn who she really was. Unfortunately, Margaret didn’t keep a diary — at least, Amanda couldn’t find one. There were photos — more of Margaret on the tropical beach, plus pictures of her at what looked like a party. She didn’t see any pictures of her alone with a guy, so she assumed Margaret didn’t have a current boyfriend. She was glad — it might be hard to fool a boyfriend into believing she was really Margaret. In fact, she decided it would be best to spend the next few days on her own, and try not to encounter any of Margaret’s close friends. After seeing the credit cards in the wallet, she knew she could have a very nice time all by herself.

After a good night’s sleep in Margaret’s comfy bed, Amanda woke feeling refreshed and ready to begin her new life as a twenty-five-year-old adult. Having watched a great many television series about young single women, she had some good ideas as to how she could spend the weekend.

From Margaret’s closet, she selected leggings, a tunic top and a pair of stilettos. It was the very first time she’d worn heels this high, and she felt positively glamorous. Once outside, she walked to the closest bus stop. She would have preferred to take a taxi, but she’d already made a dent in Margaret’s cash resources. There was a cash card in the wallet, but she didn’t know Margaret’s PIN code, so she would have to be careful with the money. It was a good thing she had the two credit cards.

A very good thing. Because her first stop was the Mall.

There were many shops she liked, but Unique Boutique was her favourite. It had the trendiest clothes in town, and a notice in the window assured her that Margaret’s credit cards would be accepted. She spent a few minutes just looking at the window displays, revelling in the knowledge she could have anything she wanted.

Did Margaret ever go to this store? she wondered. She doubted it — she hadn’t seen anything in her closet with the labels carried here. Unique Boutique was probably too expensive for Margaret. But that was what credit cards were for — to buy things you couldn’t afford, right?

It was funny — people thought Amanda’s family was rich and that she could have anything she wanted. This wasn’t exactly true. Maybe her parents were rich, but they didn’t spend all their money on her. And contrary to popular opinion, she wasn’t spoiled — at least, she didn’t consider herself spoiled. Her parents didn’t give her everything she wanted, like her own credit cards. She had to ask for stuff, and sometimes they said no. And she didn’t have many items from Unique Boutique.

But there was no one to say no to her today. She didn’t have to get anyone’s permission to buy anything. She could have it all.

Like that unbelievably cute slinky red party dress with the wide black belt … She could just hear her mother saying, ‘Amanda, you do not need another party dress.’ Amanda smiled happily and went into the store. She found the dress in her size, didn’t even look at the price tag, and headed to the dressing room.

There, she encountered an unusual problem. The dress didn’t fit. She couldn’t even do the zip up. What was going on here? She didn’t think she’d gained any weight …

Then it hit her and she groaned. Of course the dress wouldn’t fit her. She’d chosen the size that Amanda Beeson wore. Margaret was taller, wider in the hips and much bigger on top.

Well, it wasn’t such a terrible problem.All she had to do was change back into her clothes, return to the rack and pick out some larger sizes to take back to the dressing room to try on. But then something else occurred to her. Amanda Beeson wouldn’t be emerging from this spending spree with a new wardrobe, Margaret Robinson would.

It wasn’t like Amanda was going to be Margaret forever. She didn’t know how long she’d be in this body — she’d been in Tracey for two whole weeks, after all — but now, after three big bodysnatching experiences, she was pretty sure she’d be able to get back into herself when she wanted to get out of Margaret. All it seemed to take was a little physical shake-up. Just last month, a slip on a freshly waxed floor had got her out of Sarah. She planned to stay in Margaret until the other-Amanda got out of the hospital and recovered, and Margaret’s life stopped being interesting.

But the realization that Margaret would be keeping the fabulous clothes she bought had taken much of the joy out of her plans for the day. Maybe she could buy the clothes in her own size and figure out a way to take them with her when she returned to her own body. But that would be sort of like stealing …

In the end, she half-heartedly bought the slinky dress and a cashmere sweater. After another hour of wandering around the Mall, her feet hurt and she was forced to buy a pair of sneakers in Margaret’s size. Stilettos were not meant for shopping, she decided.

The day improved considerably when she decided to indulge in expensive treats that she could enjoy while she was in Margaret’s body. She went to an expensive salon and got a few more blonde streaks added to brighten Margaret’s hair. She treated herself to lunch at a chic café, and then went to her mother’s favourite day spa for a facial, a massage and a manicure. From there she went to the cosmetic counter at a major department store and had a complete makeover.

Then it was happy hour — at least according to those single-girl TV shows she watched. Changing into the slinky dress, she put the stilettos back on and went to a bar she’d read about in a magazine. The article said it was the hippest place in town.

She liked the look of the bar — all black and silver and glass. It was elegant and stylish. The customers looked nice too, well-dressed and good-looking. There were little pedestal tables with high stools alongside them, and behind the bar, a very handsome man was mixing drinks.

Amanda went to the bar and sat on a stool. The bartender smiled at her and asked, ‘What can I get you?’

She hadn’t even considered what she’d drink. She’d look like an idiot if she ordered a Coke or orange juice or something like that in this kind of place. They might not even have drinks like that here.

Back home, her parents sometimes had a glass of wine with dinner, and her father had let her taste his wine a couple of times. She’d never really liked the taste — sort of like grape juice, but sour. Maybe now that she was in an adult’s body she might like it.

‘I’d like a glass of wine, please,’ she said.

‘Sure, what kind? A white wine? We’ve got a fruity Chardonnay, and a nice crisp Chablis. Or a Pinot Grigio, if you like that. It’s very dry.’

Amanda just stared at him blankly.

‘Would you prefer a red?’ he asked. ‘We have an excellent Merlot, and a hearty Burgundy.’

This was way too complicated. Amanda thought frantically. What did her father order in restaurants, before the meal?

‘Um, I changed my mind. I’d like a Martini, please. Very dry.’

‘Coming up,’ the bartender said.

Amanda looked around. A man sitting alone at one of the high tables caught her eye. To her surprise, he grinned and winked at her. It made her distinctly uncomfortable. He was old — at least thirty. What was he doing, winking at a fourteen-year-old?

He doesn’t know you’re fourteen years old, she reminded herself. Quickly, she looked away. The bartender set a frosted glass with a long stem in front of her.

‘One very dry Martini,’ he announced. ‘I threw in two olives. No extra charge.’ Then he winked at her. All this winking was giving her the creeps. And she hated olives. When the bartender wasn’t looking, she fished them out with her fingers. Then she held the drink to her lips and took a tentative sip.

It was disgusting. How did adults drink these things? It was all she could do not to gag.

Suddenly, she realized that the man who had winked at her earlier had come to the bar. There were several empty places, but he took the stool right next to her.

‘Hi,’ he said. ‘Good to see you again.’

Oh no! It was somebody who knew Margaret. She should never have gone to a bar so near Margaret’s apartment.

‘Um, nice to see you too,’ she murmured.

His eyebrows went up and he seemed pleased. ‘Yeah? The way you blew me off last time, I didn’t think you’d be so happy to see me.’

He whistled to the bartender and indicated Amanda’s Martini. ‘I’ll have one of these,’ he said. ‘And put them both on my tab.’

Amanda’s brow furrowed. ‘You don’t have to pay for my drink. I’ve got my own money.’

‘My treat,’ the man said. ‘Now, let’s get to know each other.’

Amanda fumbled in Margaret’s bag, and took out what she hoped would be a large enough banknote.

‘No, thank you,’ she said quickly, putting it on the bar. ‘I have to go.’

‘You just got here!’The man’s protests rang in her ears as she fled the bar. OK, maybe she wasn’t ready for this kind of adult life.

But she still had the credit cards, and she’d found another card in Margaret’s wallet — a video-club membership. She could still be an adult, in a different way. She used the credit card to buy food she normally never ate — fried chicken wings, French fries and sugar-packed soft drinks. Microwave popcorn with butter. And real ice cream, not that reduced-fat stuff they always had at home. For once in her life she didn’t have to worry about gaining weight — these calories weren’t going into her body!

At the video club she picked up movies that she wouldn’t have been allowed to see in a cinema. Not dirty stuff — just sophisticated films that were ‘restricted to over-eighteens’. She brought her goodies back to Margaret’s apartment and had a very enjoyable evening all by herself.

She told herself that on Sunday she’d do more ‘adult’ things, like go to a really fancy restaurant. Get a pedicure, or maybe have her legs waxed. Find a club where she could dance.

In the end, she spent all of Sunday doing what she did on Saturday night — eating junk food and watching movies. And totally enjoying herself. This was the kind of adult life she could handle.

On Monday morning she learned what Margaret did for a living. The phone woke her at seven a.m.

‘Miss Robinson, this is Eastside Elementary School. We have a teacher who just called in sick. Could you substitute today?’

Amanda wasn’t even tempted.‘Oh, I’m very sorry, but I’m sick myself. I’m about to have my tonsils out.’

She didn’t even have to lie! Because right now, at the hospital across town, someone who looked like Amanda Beeson — who was Amanda Beeson, physically at least — was being put to sleep before her operation.

Yes, it was a very pleasant weekend. But now she had to return to the present, and she looked at Ken across the table. His eyes were shut tightly, and he was gripping the hand of the young boy, Stevie.

‘I can’t seem to reach your father, Stevie,’ the medium said, ‘but I can feel him getting closer. We’ll try again tomorrow.’

Ken opened his eyes. He glanced at Margaret, but his eyes didn’t linger. He doesn’t have a clue, Amanda marvelled. Wait till he hears this is me!

Once again, she didn’t get the opportunity to tell him. When they rose from the table, Cassandra spoke to her.

‘I must have a word with you, Margaret,’ she said. ‘Could you stay back for a minute?’

‘OK,’ Amanda said. ‘I just need to—’ but by then, Ken was already out of the apartment. Stevie was gone too.

Cassandra waited until Dahlia had left and then she turned to Amanda. Her tone changed dramatically.

‘What do you think you’re doing?’ she asked shrilly. ‘What’s the matter with you?’

Amanda was startled. ‘Huh?’

‘Look at you! Nobody’s going to believe you’re a grieving daughter! And you didn’t behave today the way we practised. Do you want to blow this whole thing?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I brought you in on this to make it look like a real seance. You’re supposed to be looking for your dead mother and I’m pretending to talk to her for you. You were fine last week — why are you screwing up tonight?’

As she spoke, Cassandra tugged at the scarves that veiled her face.

‘I–I don’t know …’ Amanda sputtered, but she didn’t finish the sentence. She was suddenly speechless.

Because the last scarf had come off, releasing long, thick blonde hair, and Amanda recognized the face that had been hidden. The last time she’d seen that face, its owner had been hypnotizing Emily in an effort to learn the next week’s winning lottery numbers.

Cassandra the medium was Serena Hancock, the student teacher.