Life After Theft

The glaring continued.

“What do you want me to do?” Kimberlee said, not apologetic in the least. “Are you gonna pop the top or what?”

“Not today,” I grumbled.

Kimberlee rolled her eyes. “Gimme a break. I just forgot.”

“You really expect me to believe you just forgot he was Sera’s brother?”

“Fine, I didn’t forget. But come on, it was funny! You should have seen the look on your face. Priceless.”

“You don’t understand. I like this girl, Kimberlee.” Like, a lot. Weirdly a lot.

“All the more reason for me to warn you off her. Really, Jeff, she’s totally untouchable.”

“What the hell does that mean? First you say she’s a slut, then you let me think she’s dating her brother, now she’s untouchable?”

“You may be ready to hand her your heart on a silver platter, but she won’t give it back. She’s cold.”

“Even if that did make any sense, why should I believe you? You lie as often as you tell the truth. More often, really,” I added, realizing the truth of it even as I said it.

“Well, believe me this time. She’s not the innocent angel she appears to be.”

“And you are?”

“You’re not getting involved with me, are you?” She raised her eyebrows. “Though you seem like the kind of guy who would try, if he could.”

I swear she had one more button done up last time I looked over.

“I’m at least as hot as she is. And my boobs are way bigger.” Another button was mysteriously gone.

I focused on the road and didn’t look again. “And fake, probably.”

“Hey, they don’t feel fake when you got ’em in your hands.”

I almost swerved off the road. “Are you serious?” My eyes involuntarily returned to her chest; they didn’t look fake.

Kimberlee smiled victoriously and rebuttoned her blouse.

I turned to face the road again, feeling like a total schmuck. She knew just how to play me and I fell right into it. Kimberlee, one—Jeff, zero.

Even though this was my second trip to the cave, I still felt like a trespasser. But at least I climbed the wall faster.

Sadly, the scenery hadn’t changed.

If not for the rough, rocky walls and floor, it could have been an office storage room. Lidded file-sized boxes were lined up in rows with one wide aisle down the middle and an odd code of numbers and letters I didn’t understand written in black Sharpie on each box. Off to the side was a stack of still-flat boxes in plastic wrapping, and I could imagine alive-Kimberlee buying—or, more likely, stealing—them in anticipation of more pilfered items.

It was kind of sick, really.

“I don’t get you,” I admitted as we sorted through boxes. Well, I sorted and she directed. Unfortunate drawback to working with ghosts: Only one of you can actually work. Luckily, Kimberlee was happily interpreting her weird code on the boxes, and the bags inside were neatly labeled with names and dates.

“Jeez, it’s not that hard,” Kimberlee said. “This number means—”

“Not your code,” I said, pulling another box down. “You. I’ve seen your house—you’re obviously super-rich. And I get that whole thrill-seeking thing behind shoplifting, but this?” I asked, beckoning at the mass of boxes. “This is something else. Why?”

Kimberlee shook her head, looking down at the floor of the cave. “I don’t know,” she said sheepishly. “I just . . . couldn’t help myself.”

“But you have everything you stole just hidden in here. You didn’t use any of this stuff.”

“That wasn’t the point,” Kimberlee said, her tone brittle. “Besides, that kind of stuff gets you caught. I’m not stupid.”

“I didn’t say you were.” I totally didn’t say it. “So . . . you never got caught? Even after all of this?”

“There were a couple of close calls.”

“And people just—what?—didn’t notice?”

Now a sly smile crossed her face. “Oh, they noticed, all right.”

That did not sound good. “What does that mean?”

“There was a . . . bit . . . of a theft scandal at Whitestone for, um, several months before I died,” Kimberlee said, avoiding my eyes. “Things . . . things were pretty bad, and I was taking a lot of stuff.”

Great. Just great.

“Principal Hennigan got complaints from students, teachers, parents, you name it. He was obsessed with catching the culprit. He kept trying to get the cops to come out and, like, send someone undercover—he is so lame—but obviously things eventually stopped disappearing and everyone moved on with their lives.”

“And no one realized the stuff stopped going missing when you died?” I asked skeptically.

“People never see what they don’t want to see,” Kimberlee said, looking out at the ocean. Anywhere but at me.

“But when this stuff starts coming back people are going to realize it’s the stuff that got stolen before, right?” Just when I thought things couldn’t get any worse.

“Maybe,” Kimberlee said quietly.

“Maybe? I don’t think there’s any maybe about it, unless the entire school is much less intelligent than the brochures say. Returning this stuff wasn’t supposed to draw attention—it was supposed to be subtle.” I had no idea when I agreed to this that it was so . . . big.

“It can be subtle,” Kimberlee said, clearly attempting to sound optimistic.

“I have serious doubts,” I said dryly. “Especially considering we’ve got three boxes of stuff just from the teachers.”

“I’m trying to make amends,” Kimberlee said, irritation creeping into her voice. “My entire future—whatever that consists of—is resting on this. What do you want me to do?”

And as I stood there looking over box after box of stolen stuff, I realized I had no idea how to answer that question.

“So,” Kimberlee said, sounding strangely detached. “Do you want to give stuff back to people first or take stuff back to stores?”

I closed my eyes and sighed. I must have been insane when I agreed to this. “Let’s try people first.”