Whispers From the Grave (15 page)

I darted to the window, my heart skipping. I craned my neck, turning my head to the south. Ruby’s home was gone! A square white house squatted in its place. A young mother sat on the porch. Dressed in old-fashioned denim shorts and halter top, she bounced a plump baby on her knee. As I watched, she gently placed the baby in a playpen, picked up a paintbrush, and began painting the house’s shutters a sunshiny yellow. It was like watching an old movie of a time gone by. For a moment, I forgot to breathe as my eyes followed the careful strokes of the paintbrush. Eventually, I came out of my daze and took in the whole picture—the old-fashioned stop sign, the unfamiliar patch of scraggly vegetable garden, and the car resembling a museum relic parked in the driveway.

I’d done it!
I’d actually traveled back in time!

Had I traveled to the right time? I pressed my forehead to the glass, scanning the yard. The maple tree barely reached the attic window. Only moments before, its gnarly branches had stretched past the rooftop.

Suddenly shouts and laughter sliced the silence as several teenage boys raced across the grassy backyard, headed toward the beach path. With cold dread, I recognized the one with shaggy black hair and stocky frame.
Ben!

Were they headed to one of those beer parties on the beach? “Keggers,” Rita had called them.

Was this the night Ben would hurt my sister?

As I stared out the window, every muscle taut with terror, something horrible occurred to me. In my rush to escape, I’d forgotten something so incredibly important I wanted to cry.

I’d neglected to check the date of Rita’s murder. If I remembered correctly, she’d died in March but I could not recall the day.

Without such vital information, how could I save my sister?

16

For a fleeting instant, I considered returning
to 2070 where I could get organized and come back to 1970 fully prepared. But there was no guarantee the visor held enough fuel for a hundred-year round-trip. In fact, I might not be able to return to 2070. I could end up halfway home, in some obscure place like the year 2020 where I couldn’t relate to anybody. Stuck there forever!

Even if I had enough fuel, it didn’t mean I’d be
capable
of traveling through time again. This trip might have been a fluke. I wasn’t even sure how I’d accomplished it.

This could very well be my only chance to help Rita.

How could I stop Ben from hurting her? As my eyes wandered over the collection of wigs, an idea came to me. What if I broke them up?

According to my sister’s diary, a blonde had enticed Ben away from her once before. Why not again? Obviously, he liked blondes. I could wear the blond wig and lure him away from Rita. If I could keep them apart for that night, it would give me time to think of a long-term plan.

I chose a wig with straight, lemony locks that fell to my shoulders. It fit tightly, smelled musty, and made my neck itch. After adding a pair of round, orange-tinted sunglasses, I was somewhat disguised.

I surveyed myself in the tall mirror that was propped in the attic corner. From the neck up, I looked okay. But my puff-suit would not do!

A search of the attic for more appropriate clothes turned up only a yellowing wedding gown and a box of baby clothes.

The sun had slipped low in the sky, its rays filtering weakly through the dusty window. Banbury Bay’s waves glittered and winked in the soft, gold light. Soon it would be dusk. Night would follow, slithering in to coat the beach in darkness and hide a killer’s crimes.

“Hang on, Rita!” I whispered, frantic to get to her.

One place in that house was certain to have the right clothes.
Rita’s room!

I hid my visor behind the old trunk in the corner, slowly opened the attic door, and peeked into the hallway below. The house was still, as if holding its breath, waiting for the family to return. The cat leapt from the box, startling me as he brushed between my ankles. He looked back at me once, green eyes blinking drowsily, and bounded down the stairs.

I half expected to find Rita stretched out on her bed, listening to music and scribbling in her diary. But the room was empty. My antique maple dresser sat between the windows, and Rita’s unmade bed was parked against the wall in the same exact place as mine. That’s where the decorating resemblance ended.

Rita’s walls were blue and covered with posters of long-haired young men clutching guitars, waifs with gigantic dark eyes, and a cartoon man with a big nose and huge brown shoes with a balloon coming from his mouth that said, “Keep on Truckin’.”

A square of shaggy green carpet covered the floor, and a boxy record player sat in the corner. Ignoring the clothes heaped on Rita’s bed, I headed for her closet. Wire hangers jingled tunelessly as I reached into the depths of the closet, searching for something Rita rarely wore and might not recognize. I found it at the back of the closet—a pale yellow button-up sweater she'd apparently outgrown. It fit me snugly but would have to do. A pair of Rita’s jeans and sneakers completed my outfit.

Three breathless minutes later, I was racing down the dirt path. Nearly a hundred teenagers swarmed the beach, but I spotted Benjamin Grand instantly. He stood by a big silver keg that was perched on a log. I slipped up behind him, watching as he opened the tap and filled his cup. The beer flowed too fast and his cup foamed over. He tipped it, drinking greedily, ignoring the fact he’d left the tap open.

“Hey, Grand!” a frizzy-haired guy shouted. “Watch what you’re doing! You’re wasting beer!”

Someone turned off the tap, as an oblivious Ben swayed unsteadily and stared toward the water through glassy red eyes.

“Grand’s wasted,” someone said and chortled.

He
was
out of it. Really drunk. Drunk enough to kill?

I wasn’t taking any chances with my sister's life. I had to get Ben as far away from Rita’s house as possible.

“Hi, Ben,” I gushed, touching his elbow and smiling flirtatiously. I’d never taken acting classes and hadn’t had much practice lying, but I managed to slather it on pretty thick. “You probably don’t remember me, but we met at a party last summer,” I said.

“What’s your name?” he slurred and tried to fix his watery blue eyes on me.

“I’m Kathy.” I forced a lighthearted giggle. “A friend of mine wants to ask you something. She’s waiting down the beach.”

“Tell her to come join the party.”

“She broke her leg and is in a cast.” I looped my arm in his. “She can’t walk very well, Ben. She really needs to talk to you.”

Obediently, he fell into step beside me and we headed south along the shore. I hadn’t allowed myself to contemplate the consequences of enticing a killer down a deserted stretch of beach. Perhaps if I’d considered my own safety, I would have found another strategy. But my mind was still whirling from that impossible trip through time.

The sun slid toward the faraway islands as we trudged along the shore. The last rays of the day burned the sky in a brilliant orange light that seemed to set the clouds on fire.

I paused, marveling at the incredible fact I could stand there and enjoy the beauty of a sunset that had graced the sky nearly a century before I was born.

“So where’s your friend?” Ben asked. He tossed the empty cup in the waves and pulled a fresh can of beer from the pocket of his jean jacket.

“It’s not far now,” I said quickly.

We’d rounded the bend and the party sounds had faded.
I
was alone with a killer.
Would anyone hear me if I screamed?

“What did you say your name was?” Ben asked.

“Karen,” I said, realizing too late I’d told him Kathy before. He didn’t notice.

“You do look familiar.”

If he hadn’t been so loaded, he surely would have known why, I looked just like his girlfriend—except for my blond wig.

Ben’s long stride lacked coordination as he lurched along beside me, occasionally stepping into the water. The alcohol had made him clumsy, but he was still strong. His huge hand closed menacingly around the empty beer can, crumpling it into a tight little ball.

I shuddered and skipped a few steps ahead. We’d traveled about a quarter of a mile down the beach and

I wasn’t sure what to do next. My only plan had been to lead Ben away from Rita’s territory. What would he do if he discovered my lie?

I suspected he’d be angry. I knew Benjamin Grand got violent when he was angry. The shrill breathlessness of my own voice surprised me as I said, “My friend is around here someplace!”

Ben pulled another can from his pocket. He took a long swallow and pointed at me, sputtering angrily, “You, you—”

He sat down hard on the wet sand, unable to finish his thought. “Lemme sleep,” he said and lay down, closing his eyes. He didn’t even flinch as cold waves splashed against his face, soaking his hair and leaving a trail of foam across his chin. The tide was rushing in. Within minutes it would rise to cover his face and drown him.
He won’t be able to hurt my sister!

Problem solved.

So simple.

Yet I could not walk away. If I let him die, I would be a murderer. And as much as I hated Ben, I was
not
a murderer. There had to be another way to save my sister.

I strained my back dragging him to safety. I left him facedown, behind a log on dry sand where the water would not reach him.

I stood and stretched and recognized the land where Suki’s house sat in the year 2070. The hollowed-out space in the bank—where the Grady house would one day fit so snugly—was covered with sweet peas, the same purple wildflowers I had picked for the vase on our kitchen table.

It was a shock seeing Suki’s house gone. I could not get used to the idea I’d actually traveled back in time. Yet I
had.
And I hastily reminded myself of the reason.

The sun had set, and the cliffs above cast cold, black shadows as I tucked my sunglasses into my back pocket and hurried back toward the party. I would find Rita and warn her! Of course, it wouldn’t be that easy. I slowed down to ponder what I would say to her. I couldn’t very well march up and announce, “I’m your sister who was born a hundred years in the future. I’ve traveled back in time to warn you your boyfriend is going to kill you.”

She’d think I had brain-drag. There had to be another way to break them up.

Lost in thought, I rounded the corner. My mouth fell open as a figure came charging at me, her long brown hair flying wildly around her face.

Rita!

“Hey, chick! Where’s Ben?” she demanded, her breath reeking of beer.

The moment was so familiar, I felt I’d lived it before. Suddenly I knew why. I’d read about it in her diary.

Was
I
the blonde she’d written about?

No! It’s impossible!
My mind whirled. /
couldn’t have been here before.

“Where’s Ben?” Rita shouted.

“What’s it to you?” I said. It was as if I were speaking the lines in a script. The words spilled from me, exactly as she had described in her diary.

I ducked my head, hiding my face, not ready for her to recognize me. She grabbed my arm. Her fingers dug painfully into my flesh.

No! She doesn’t understand. She thinks I’m trying to hurt her. But it is Ben who will hurt her.

How could I make her understand? “Ben doesn’t care about you!” I cried.

The word floated between us.

A warning.

From sister to sister.

Rita did not interpret it that way. Her hand came up, full force against my cheek. It was a cracking blow. I reeled, my head spinning, too shocked to speak.

A circle of teenagers closed in on us. The guys jeered, urging Rita to smack me again. The girls squealed and whispered to each other. I turned and bolted toward the bushes, scrambling for a place to hide from the curious stares. Then it hit me.

This was not the past. This was the
future.
My future! It might be 1970, but the plot unfolding was new to
me.
In Rita’s diary the blonde ran for the bushes and was never seen again.

But that blonde wasn’t just any blonde. It was me in my wig. I had just unwittingly reenacted a scene from Rita’s diary so perfectly there could be no mistake. I had been here before. This was my past. Yet it was also my future. And my fate was in those bushes!

I skidded to a stop and stared into the dark, brambly bushes clinging to the bank. My heart pounded. If I went in there now, did it mean no one would ever see me again?

Rita had written in her diary that “Tight Sweater” disappeared. She figured the blonde had gone back to where she’d come from. But I knew it couldn’t be.

Something must have happened to me last time I was here. I wouldn’t have gotten back in my time machine with my tail between my legs and headed for home. I’d
never
give up so easily. I was here to save my sister, and a slap on the face was not going to stop me.
What had stopped me before?

An icy prickle of fear crept up my neck. Something far more sinister than a slap had prevented me from saving Rita.

Maybe I was
murdered
too. Perhaps Ben hadn’t really passed out. Maybe he had followed me, waiting for an opportunity to attack.

Was he lurking in the bushes now?

I’d botched things last time. I wasn’t going to mess up again. My sister’s life—and perhaps my own—depended on my strategy. I darted away from the bank, raced through the crowd, and headed to the water’s edge.

Cold waves lapped at my feet, soaking my tennis shoes.

There! I’d done it.
I did not hide in the bushes as Rita had written in her diary.

A wonderful feeling of power rushed through me like a current of electricity.
I
was in charge of my destiny. Things did not have to fall into place exactly as they had before.

I had been here only forty minutes, and I’d already changed the past.

17

"Are you okay?” someone asked, and I glanced
up at the most beautiful face I’d ever seen.

I’d been standing by the water’s edge nearly ten minutes, wondering what to do next. It was dark now and the party was over. A round white moon peeked over Windy Cliff, lighting the face of the gorgeous guy who’d popped up beside me. “I’m Shane,” he said, his full, sexy lips curving into an irresistible smile.