The Third Eye by Lois Duncan Read Free Book Online Page B

unexpectedly on people’s lawns, dotted the landscape with splashes of purple and yellow, and the telephone wires running opposite the highway were strung with robins.
    “I don’t think I can do this,” Karen said.
    “No problem,” Officer Wilson responded easily. “If you can, great, but if not, no harm done.”
    “Do you really believe that there are people who can do it on request like this? Even when they don’t know the children they’re looking for? That it’s not just on TV, but real?”
    “If I didn’t think that, I wouldn’t have asked you to try it. One of those TV shows was based on a real person.”
    “Have you ever actually known someone who could do it?” Karen asked him.
    “Yes, actually. A good friend of mine. And I’ve heard about others.”
    “The person you know, is he from Albuquerque?”
    “It’s a woman,” Officer Wilson said. “And yes, she’s from here. Her name’s Anne Summers. She’s had a lot of success in locating people, especially kids. I don’t know why, but it seems like female psychics are more tuned in to finding children than men are.”
    “Psychics.”
Karen repeated the word nervously. “I’m not a psychic. I’m a person who occasionally has lucky hunches. I still don’t know why you think I’ll have one now.”
    “Maybe you won’t.”
    “If this Anne Summers is so talented,” Karen continued, “why haven’t the police asked
her
to find Carla Sanchez?”
    “She’s not available,” Officer Wilson said. “She’s working on a case in Texas.”
    “A kidnapping?”
    “A multiple kidnapping. Eight kids were taken from a day care center.”
    “I think I read about that online,” Karen said. “Wasn’t it in one of the bigger cities, like Houston or somewhere?”
    “In Dallas. Anne’s been down there a couple of weeks now.”
    They drove on for another mile or so, and then Officer Wilson turned the car off the highway onto a dirt road bordered on both sides by pastures. Cows, some with newborn calves beside them, raised their heads from their grazing to follow the car’s progress along the rutted lane. The lushness of springtime closed in on them from all sides with walls of high grasses, green and thick and smelling of honeyed sunshine.
    They crossed a bridge over an arroyo and made a second turn onto an even narrower road, which wound through a grove of scrubby trees. When they drew to a stop at last, it was in front of a run-down adobe house with a rusted Chevrolet van parked in the yard.
    “We’re here,” said Officer Wilson, shutting off the engine.
    For a few moments they sat unmoving. The absolute quiet of the countryside was hypnotic. The root of its stillness was in the absence of traffic noise; yet, once she had become adjusted to that, Karen found herself becoming aware of a number of gentler sounds: the clucking and scratching of chickens on the east side of the house. Birds, calling from the treetops. A tinkle of wind chimes, suspended somewhere out of sight in the branches above them.
    Then, abruptly, the crash of a screen door and a volley ofwild barking shattered the atmosphere. A small black-and-white terrier burst out of the house and came hurtling across the yard to throw itself full force against the side of the car. Close behind it followed a thin, dark-haired woman, obviously of Hispanic descent, who, in her way, seemed equally excited.
    “Have you found her?” she called as she hurried toward them. “Do you have my Carla? Is she okay?”
    “Call off the dog, please, will you?” There was an edge to Officer Wilson’s voice. “I told you the last time I was out here that you should keep it on a leash.”
    “Do you have Carla?” the woman persisted as though she had not heard him.
    “No, not yet. I mean it, Mrs. Sanchez. Please get that dog out of here. Shut it away someplace so we can get out and talk with you.”
    “It’s only a puppy,” Karen said. “It doesn’t look dangerous.”
    “I don’t like