Read Online Now You See Me ... by Jane B. Mason - Free Book Online Page A

project to complete, and were here yesterday but didn’t get enough time with the microfilm. Is there any way we could come inside for just a little while? We don’t need to check anything out.”
    â€œWe’re closed,” the man repeated flatly. His graying whiskers stuck out at all angles.
    Lena adjusted the duffel on her shoulder and, feeling disheartened, stared at the stain on the man’s shirt. She’d seen similar splotches on her dad’s jamming aprons — a fruit stain, probably strawberry.
    Hmm.
    Before she could think twice, Lena reached into Abby’s bag and pulled out a jar of peach jam that Mr. Giff had given her. “Could you open for us, for just a little while, in exchange for a jar of homemadepeach jam?” she asked, holding it out and smiling widely.
    Abby looked offended.
That’s my jam!
her eyes shouted.
    I’ll get you another one,
Lena tried to tell her telepathically.
    The man eyed the jar, his expression changing. “Peach, eh? My mother used to make peach.” He took the jar and held it up to the sunlight. The yellowy-orange preserves practically shimmered in the daylight. “Only question is, what kind of peach?” He raised an eyebrow like it was a trick question.
    â€œFay Elberta,” Lena replied without missing a beat. “Picked on Friday, and jammed on Sunday.”
    The man closed his hand around the jar and smiled. His sky-blue eyes twinkled. “I figure this jar of jam is worth about an hour of Labor Day microfilm time. After that I’m going home to have toast and jam for lunch.” He winked and held the door open wide.
    Abby gave Lena a “you’re a miracle worker” look as she slid inside the building.
    â€œThank you!” Lena said gratefully as they made a beeline to the little room and the microfilm file cabinet.
    â€œNice job,” Abby said as she pulled the first half of 1998 out of the drawer and carried it to the machine. “But you
definitely
owe me a jar of jam.”
    â€œDon’t worry, I know where there’s a fresh supply,” Lena replied with a laugh.
    â€œHow’d you know that would get him, anyway?”
    â€œThe strawberry stain on his shirt,” Lena boasted. “My dad has a zillion of those.” The sweet success made her a little giddy and she checked herself, remembering why they were there in the first place.
    Abby slid the film into one of the machines and switched it on. “What’s that date again?”
    â€œMarch thirteenth,” Lena said quickly.
    The film zoomed forward at a dizzying rate. Abby released the lever a bit so she could check the headers. February 21. She sped it forward. March 2. Forward again. Lena could feel her heart pounding. March 18. Back. March 14. Back again. March 13.
    GARBAGE STRIKE AVERTED read the headline. Lena scanned the front page. There was an article about a business merger, and another about city plans for a new bike path in Narrowsburg. Nothing about a young boy.
    Lena exhaled her disappointment. She’d been so sure….
    â€œHey, wait,” Abby said. “If the thirteenth is the date that something important happened, it wouldn’t be reported until …”
    â€œThe next day.” Lena’s pulse quickened as Abby slowly moved the film forward.
    And there it was, in huge, bold letters. Just looking at it made shivers run up Lena’s spine. ACCIDENTAL DEATH A TRUE TRAGEDY . The face in the photo next to the headline was unmistakably the boy who had been showing up in their pictures — the only difference was that he was smiling.
    â€œRobert Henson,” Abby read the name of the ghost who was haunting them.
    Robert Henson,
Lena repeated the name in her mind. It felt good to put a name to a face.
    According to the paper, Robert Henson fell to his death on the evening of March 13, 1998, from the Phelps water tower. “Police cite unusually slippery conditions on the