Free Silver is for Secrets by Laurie Faria Stolarz

able to find anything. So I‟ve sort of become the same way.”
    “I‟m sorry,” I say. “I didn‟t know.”
    “How could you have? I mean, you‟re not psychic.” I pause at the comment, at the sheer irony of it, but choose not to respond.
    Sometimes I think my grandmother‟s secret to getting the answers was to keep her mouth shut—being comfortable with the silence, knowing how to listen to people, how to keep a firm bite on the tongue, and just let people babble the answers out for themselves.
    “I‟m real y scared, Stacey. Especial y after everything you said earlier.”
    “What did you say?” PJ turns to me.
    “She said I was in trouble,” Clara blurts. “She said something bad is going to happen to me.”
    Clara slumps into PJ‟s arms, and he mouths me an enthusiastic “thank you,” like I plotted this whole thing for the sake of his lackluster love life.
    The door whips open a second later. It‟s Amber. Her eyes lock on PJ and Clara.
    “What‟s going on?”
    “It‟s what we were talking about earlier,” I say. “About Clara.” But it seems Clara‟s welfare is the last thing on Amber‟s mind. Amber folds her arms in front, her jaw locking into stress mode.
    “Is everything okay?” I ask her.
    “Perfect,” she says, eyeing PJ and Clara, clutched together as though for dear life.
    “Hi, Amber,” Clara says, resting her head on PJ‟s shoulder.
    “Hi,” Amber says, her face completely deadpan.
    “Hey there, Miss Thing,” PJ beams. He wipes the mayodribble from the corner of Clara‟s mouth and cuddles her against his chest. “Something bothering you?” Amber shakes her head and retreats into our room, which almost surprises me.
    It‟s just that after al the time PJ has spent trying to win her back after their break up, not to mention al the boys she‟s dated in the meantime—probably more than there are pickles in the jar they‟re snacking from—I forget how territorial she can be with him.
    “Is she okay?” Clara asks.
    “Just perfect,” PJ says, a huge grin married to his face.
    “We need to focus,” I say, grabbing at the sudden ache in my head. “Where were we?”
    “Something bad‟s gonna happen to me.” Clara huffs.
    I rub my temples, trying to gain mindfulness, trying to concentrate despite the chaos going on all around me. Regardless of how bland her story might sound—a few random items misplaced in her room, especially while her mother is away visiting friends—Clara‟s life is truly in danger. I need to do my best to listen to her, to help her, and to stop the danger before it happens.
    “You said that in your nightmare I was whispering something,” Clara continues.
    I nod, thinking about it a moment, about my nightmares and what I saw in them exactly. And then it hits me. In the nightmare I just had, when I struggled my way on hands and knees from the beach to the cottage, when I crawled inside the door and looked around, I saw that everything in the cottage had been moved around, rearranged.
    Just like Clara was saying.
    “Um, Mars to Stacey,” PJ says, snapping his fingers to get my attention.
    “Wait,” I say, leaning forward to focus on Clara. “I need you to start over; tel me everything that happened again.”
    “Again?” She cocks her head.
    I nod and she obliges, reiterating every detail about her journal, her bathrobe, and her hairbrush. “Oh,” she lights up. “And my letter opener. Normal y it‟s in my desk drawer, but instead it was on my night table.” My heart jumps, remembering how I saw a letter opener in my dream, how I was using it as a knife for protection. “Is your letter opener shiny silver with a curly handle and a knifelike blade?”
    Clara‟s eyebrows furrow. “Yeah, how did you know?”
    “Lucky guess.” PJ snickers.
    “What matters is that I believe you,” I say. “I believe your stuff was moved around. And I believe that someone besides you moved it.” Clara‟s face fal s and then her hands start to