Free Now You See Me ... by Jane B. Mason

voice first. “You knew him?” she asked, looking up at the tall, salt-and-pepper-haired man they’d seen the day before.
    â€œI did indeed. In fact, I’d say I knew
both
of them.”
    â€œBoth?” There were
two?
    â€œDon’t look so startled,” Mr. Barloga said to Lena with a gentle smile. “I can explain. You see, as the owner of this gallery, I always judge the contest myself. I do it blind, which means that I never look at the names of the photographers while choosing the winner, for fear it might influence my decision. I certainly never intended to pick the same photographer two years in a row. When Robbie came into the gallery after winning the second year, I was shocked — for two reasons. The first was that I had chosen the same boy twice. The second was that he didn’t even
seem
like the same boy. In one year he’d changed dramatically.”
    â€œHe’s dramatic, all right,” Lena said darkly.
    â€œChanged, like how?” Abby wanted to know.
    â€œHere, I’ll show you.” Mr. Barloga pulled out analbum filled with newspaper clippings and photographs, all seeming to have to do with the yearly photo contest. In the 1996 clipping, Robbie was standing with his parents next to his prize-winning photo, the one with the three pairs of feet dangling off a dock. His smile was so wide, Lena had to look at his eyes to make sure he was the same boy. The picture from the 1997 clipping was starkly different. Robbie stood with only his mother beside the prize photo — the one of the coffee-stained napkin. A deep scowl marked his face. Lena knew that scowl well, and looking at it now made her feel as though she were standing in a walk-in refrigerator — chilled to the bone.
    â€œSee what I mean? He looks like a different person. I had no idea I was awarding the prize to the same boy. Never would have guessed. Still wouldn’t, I don’t think.”
    â€œI don’t think I would have either,” Abby agreed.
    â€œHe was a talented kid. Absolutely loved to take pictures, from what I understand. Though I’ve also heard that wasn’t all he liked to take.”
    Lena’s head snapped up. “What do you mean?”
    â€œWell …” Mr. Barloga paused, seeming to choose his words carefully. “There were rumors in town.Things tended to go missing when Robbie was around. Small things, mostly. Trinkets. He got chased out of a few shops in Narrowsburg, and didn’t seem to have a lot of friends….” He trailed off, and a worried look came across his face. “But …”
    But what? Lena stared at the picture in the scrapbook trying to see … something. When she finally did, it was as obvious as the nose on her face (or the camera around her neck). Robbie was wearing the Impulse!
Her
Impulse. Or rather, she gulped looking down at the gray box,
she
was wearing
his.
    Abby saw it, too. She shot Lena a sideways glance.
    â€œAnyway, it doesn’t matter now. The kid had a great eye. No doubting that,” Mr. Barloga went on. “It was such a shame, his dying so young.”
    Lena stared at the Robbie in the second picture. Except for his menacing expression, he looked pretty much like a typical preteen in jeans and a T-shirt. He wore a crooked baseball cap on his head and carried a yellow duffel over his shoulder.
    Lena blinked. The duffel! The yellow duffel! She’d seen it before, and she knew where it was.
    All she had to do was go and get it.

CHAPTER ELEVEN
    The N16 bus to Phelps was not exactly crowded. Besides the driver, a woman holding a paper sack of groceries, and a guy texting with such ferocity you’d think he was sending Morse code, Lena and Abby were it. They had been unbelievably lucky with the timing, too. It turned out the N16 traveled from Narrowsburg to Phelps three times a day, and they had been able to catch the second bus just outside the gallery with only a ten-minute