Wrong Face in the Mirror: A Time Travel Romance (Medicine Stick Series) (15 page)

The wind died down and tiny snowflakes began to fall as Alistair plunged downward until he found himself standing on the sandy shore which had been filled with lake water in better days. In the dim light of the
slivered moon, he could see the humped shape of the old building not too far away, looking strangely like a stranded whale with its edges rounded away by time and water.

He had the unreasonable feeling that Hart was out there somewhere, he could almost sense her presence, and stood listening for her call.

Droplets of wind-blown water showered across him, dampening his hair and clothes so that he began to shiver as temperatures started to fall. He couldn’t give up. He couldn’t go back.

Somewhere Hart was in desperate trouble and needing him. He had to find a way to get to her.

Stacia stood in her own body, her hair whipping in the wind as Sibyl brought her to a stop in front of the darkened structure that was Millers’ Store. She was extremely conscious that this was where she’d seen the image of herself lying dead in the street.

She couldn’t just let this happen. Something had to be done to stop Sibyl, yet she felt frozen somewhere between disbelief and fear.

“Sibyl, you’re making a mistake here,” she tried to protest.

“Shut up,” Sibyl said matter-of-factly. “You’re messing up my life and I won’t have it anymore. It’s all right. You won’t mind once you’re dead and nobody will know. I’ve got it all worked out. I’ll stuff you inside the old store so you won’t float to the surface once the water fills in. Nobody will ever know what became of you.”

Thoroughly out of her mind, Stacia accessed with rising fear. She’d thought Hart had died here, but they were getting close to the timeline if water was to pour in here at dawn. Maybe she wouldn’t be able to escape. She couldn’t be sure that it wasn’t Stacia who would meet her end at Sibyl’s hands.

She was so scared that her brain wouldn’t work right. She wasn’t ready to die, not when she and Alistair were just rediscovering each other. Not that she wanted Hart to be killed either.

This was crazy. Within minutes, if she lived that long, she would be as out of it as Sibyl Forrester.

Thin clouds obscured the moon so that the scene on the lonely little street was lit only dimly. Stacia trembled, knowing she had progressed through her memories of the past to the final moment. When this was over, if she survived, her own memory would be intact. Everything she had experienced would be alive in her mind.

Events were moving swiftly, but in her mind the replay was in slow motion. Sibyl stood only feet away, the pistol now steady in her hand, her eyes showing a maddened determination. “With you gone, he’ll be mine again,” she said.

Under the circumstances Stacia couldn’t feel sorry for this woman who was dooming herself to a lifetime where she would never be sure of the man she loved. She would never be secure because she herself was creating the doubts and fears inside her own mind.

With sudden
conviction, Stacia knew that the woman she’d never met, Hart Benson, would not have entered into an affair with another woman’s husband, no matter what her feelings were, no matter what kind of pressure he put on her.

With that knowledge, she desperately wanted Hart to live and threw herself at Sibyl, grabbing for the gun.

She heard Alistair’s anguished voice calling behind her, “Hart!” and then the gun went off with a loud bang.

She felt herself pushed forcefully from her own body and knew that Hart was there, as determined to save her as she had been to save Hart.

And then for one terrible instant, she was outside, in neither body, and she watched as the red-haired woman crumpled to the ground and sank into the limpness of death.

Sibyl started screaming.

Alistair Redhawk was a man solidly grounded in reality and wasted no time telling himself he was imagining things as he walked into what should have been a lake and watched a woman with a gun shoot the woman he loved.

He yelled her name and rushed forward. He knew his Hart was there even though he didn’t recognize the form. Everything in him told him it was her as he fought to get to her, to save her.

He heard the
shot fired, saw her fall. “No!” the word was one long anguished yell and then he was standing in lake water and black-haired Hart was slumped at his feet, her face down in the water.

He grabbed her up and raced for the shore. She wasn’t breathing. She wasn’t breathing. That thought raced through his brain as he threw her down on the sand, not bothering to be gentle, but trying to slam life back into her. He started resuscitation, desperately expending well trained and experienced efforts to save the woman who meant everything to his life.

And then she was gone, not even there, and the strange evening was over and a dim wintry sun was breaking dawn in the east.

For a minute it seemed he was in a jail cell and Tommy Benson was yelling at him that he’d killed his sister and in that instant, he knew that this was the moment that had flung Hart across space and time to a distant city where she’d lain in a coma recovering from the shock of seeing herself and the twin with whom she’d shared so much shot and killed, then nearly drowning
herself.

With tears in his eyes, he knew he would find her again because it had already happened.

For just an instant he’d been allowed a glance into the past as if it was necessary for the future between him and the woman he called Hart.

Like doubting Thomas he had not been able to fully believe with
out proof and now that evidence had been given to him.

Hart stood waiting for him just at the point where the path led upward from the lake to the grounds of the lodge. It was snowing harder now and a light coating of white lay on the ground. When he took her into his arms, she was shivering and he knew that just as he’d been only minutes before back there in 1947, so had she.

It had just happened. And it had happened sixty four years ago in the past. Right now he couldn’t even try to reconcile those two facts.

Murmuring meaningless words of comfort, he led her back up the hill to the lodge and, knowing she wasn’t ready to face others, took her to her room where he ordered breakfast and coffee.

He urged her into a hot shower and when she showed no reluctance, joined her, only to have her sob against his bare chest. “I tried to warn her, but it was too late. She died, Alistair. Hart died.”

He didn’t know what to say. For him it was Stacia
who had died. He’d first known the woman in his arms as Hart and she would always be so in his own mind. This lovely woman with her blue-black hair and striking blue eyes was his wife, though what mattered most was the person inside her. And, to his  confusion, she thought of herself as Stacia.

That other body was long gone and he wondered at her ability to deal with the twin knowledge of her past. Whatever happened the two of them were in this together
.

After he’d toweled her dry and helped her into clothing and dressed himself, they sat down to a hot breakfast of
waffles and bacon and with several cups of hot coffee.

Color begin to come into her cheeks and she stopped shaking, but she didn’t even try to talk until after that second cup of coffee.

“It was Sibyl Forrester,” she said. “She thought Hart was having an affair with her husband.”

“I know. I saw her shoot you . . .Stacia. Maybe she was right and her husband and Hart were involved . . .”  He found it hard to believe the woman he’d known all his life as an upstanding citizen could have lived with such guilt since she was in her twenties.

“Hart would never do that.”

“Be fair. She told me that she was in love with someone. Maybe the guy was
Ray Forrester.”

“She might have loved him, but she would not have said so, would not have acted on it. My guess it was someone else back there in Medicine Stick that she loved. But the one thing I know is that Sibyl Forrester was out of her mind that night on the street. She could have imagined the whole thing.”

There was no point to arguing, though he thought she was being somewhat naïve. “No matter. She committed intentional murder and I think she’s still after you. My suspicion is that for some reason she staged the burglary at her own house and set your loft on fire.”

Hart frowned. “An old
lady like that?”

“Sibyl Forrester has always been a very resourceful woman. She taught for years, th
an served as principal at the grade school. After she retired, she bossed half a dozen volunteer committees.” Even as he said it, it seemed hardly rational to believe that a mentally unbalanced woman could do those things.

“But Alistair, she didn’t know I was me. Why would she try to kill Hart?”

He shook his head. “I know, but it’s what happened. I’m as sure of that as I am that it’s November.”

Two days later when they were back in their own home, Alistair told her that they needed to go together to call on the Forresters. “I’m sorry to put you through this, but I think your presence could have a powerful affect. We’ve got to do something; we just can’t her have going around thinking she can kill you.”

Hart’s impressions of Sibyl Forrester were confused. On the one hand, she remembered all too clearly that strong and scary woman pointing a gun at her, but she also knew there was the straight-backed but rather shrunken white-haired woman
whom she met when she was with Serena and Bobbi. The woman she wanted to throw the book at was that one in Medicine Stick.

When she tried to explain this, Alistair took her into his arms. “Honey, she tried to kill you only a few days ago in Mountainside when she set your place on fire. And Mrs. Harris deserves the truth as well, she lost some valuable property and she’s not well off.”

Hart sniffed, trying to keep back any fugitive tears. “Then go arrest her. Charge her with arson at least.”

“I can’t do that. We don’t have an ounce of proof. But after all these years of holding on to the secrets of the past, surely it’s eating her up inside. Maybe the right confrontation will force the truth out of her.”

Somehow she doubted it. But she guessed she owed this much at least to Hart who, she was now convinced, had deliberately stepped in to save her life. Hart deserved some measure of justice even after all these years.

Finally she stepped back to say, “Let’s go now. I want to get it over with before I talk myself into not going.”

She wore her usual jeans and a bright blue pullover that he said made her eyes  look even more vivid than usual and he was dressed totally sheriff in a light brown uniform, an important western style hat, boots and badge. Admiring him, she couldn’t help but think that he could have played the role in the movies.

She just hoped Sibyl took him seriously. It was the only chance they had.

When they pulled up at the Forrester home, a strange car was parked outside. “Rental car,” Alistair commented. “Probably belongs to Serena and Bobbi. They’re still trying to track down Stacia.”

She nodded. “Wish there was some way I could tell them.”

“They’d never believe you, honey.”

“Suppose not.”

Leaves were falling from the Bradford Pear trees in the front yard, obscuring the recently frosted grass. Dry as it had been the last few years, Hart figured they must pump a lot of water on this yard to keep it healthy.

Her gaze rested on a stone angel fountain that reminded her of a decoration, sans fountain, that had rested in the Forrester’s back yard in Medicine Stick.
These two had lived on all through the years, enjoying the normal ups and downs of life, having left Hart dead under the water. It wasn’t fair; she deserved some repayment.

But the best they could do was try to see the truth brought out. She had never dreaded any moment so much as the one just ahead, but she owed it to Hart to walk through that door and confront Sibyl Forrester with her deeds.

Alistair rang the bell, than knocked. “They don’t always hear the bell.”

Raymond
answered the door, looking hot and bothered, his round pink face with its white goatee having the appearance of a troubled but cherubic angel. He seemed so mild and unthreatening that it was hard for Hart to imagine him as the motive for a woman’s death.

She heard loud voices coming from the living room behind him. “Don’t see why you think you can come here troubling us about a woman who died a lifetime ago. We’re nearly ninety, my husband and
me, surely we deserve some peace at our age. We’ve earned that, at least.”

Serena’s voice answered Sibyl’s with equal firmness and no
touch of the hysteria in the other woman’s. “We certainly didn’t think of it as harassing you, Mrs. Forrester, but felt that you would be willing to help us for the sake of your old friends and neighbors. We only want to put closure on something that has troubled our family for generations now.”

“Stacia Larkin was no friend of mine and as for the rest of your family, you don’t seem to realize that they were just trash, the kind of people I would have walked
around if I met them in the street.”

Hart stepped
past Alistair in time to see Serena’s blazing eyes as she retorted, “They were only poor, Mrs. Forrester. When did poverty become a crime?”

“If they weren’t lazy and no count, they wouldn’t be poor. If they tried to get ahead like the rest of us instead of expecting a handout and breeding like rabbits, then they could manage well enough.”

Her anger stirred to action, Hart forgot herself. “My Dad worked harder than anyone I know. So did my mother and we were all brought up that way. And as for the size of the family, that was their business and they looked after their kids and loved each as though it was the only one!”

The room went silent after her blast of words. Bobbi Lawrence eased from her chair and came over to
touch Hart’s shoulder with reassurance. Serena looked troubled, but Sibyl just glared at her with a frightening rage.

It was
Raymond Forrester who responded to her challenge. “Hart, Sibyl wasn’t talking about your family. Everybody knows that the Hartleys were the most prosperous family in the Medicine Stick area and your mother’s grandmother only had the one child.”

Alistair stepped in. “I’m here officially,” he said, “as the sheriff. This isn’t just a visit.”

His tone was different, he didn’t sound like the usual easy-going Alistair, not even to Hart. She wondered if this was how he was when he was at work, dealing with law-breakers.

They all looked at him, even Bobbi Lawrence sitting back
down in her chair, her brown hair glistening and the brown eyes bright with interest. Serena made a move as though to get up and leave like she thought that would be the polite thing to do. Then, at a slight nod from the sheriff, sat back down, her hand reaching out for her granddaughter’s.

Hart stood off to the side, her pounding heart belying her look of calm. She felt more like an observer as she watched Alistair begin his confrontation.

He focused his gaze on Sibyl Forrester, who of them all seemed the least uncomfortable. She looked every inch the poised and self-assured matron, but her husband, still on his feet, swayed uneasily. For the first time Hart wondered how much he knew. Certainly he’d been there in Medicine Stick that night and when Sibyl finally let him out of the cellar, he must have guessed at strange happenings.

“The necklace with the big diamond in the center that was stolen,” Alistair began and Hart frowned, not having heard about this before, “and the old school picture. What really happened to them?”

Raymond shuffled anxiously. “I told you, sheriff, somebody slipped in while we were sleeping and took both items. That necklace had been handed down to my wife from her grandmother.”

Alistair shook his head. “My deputy is bringing a warrant right now. We’re going to search the house,” his voice was soft, but firm with intent. “Don’t you think one or the other might be found here
? Either one will do.”

My necklace
, Hart thought in bewilderment. But it sure wasn’t a real diamond. Mom bought it at the ten cent store ‘cause she thought it was so pretty. She gave it to me for my sixteenth birthday.

“You are talking pure nonsense, Alistair,” Sibyl said, giving a little laugh. “Why would
I steal my own necklace or an old school picture?”

Raymond
didn’t say anything.

“My guess is because that school photo of the year when
both you and Stacia Larkin graduated would show her wearing that necklace. Selena here told me that her sister loved that necklace her mother had given her and wore it on all special occasions. Getting their picture taken senior year would have been a real special occasion.”

“What nonsense!” Sibyl scoffed. “Stacia Larkin’s parents
could never have given her anything of real value.”

“It was fake,” Hart said, “not a real diamond.”

“You took it off her after you killed her. You knelt over her dead body and unclasped that necklace and put it on yourself. That was how much you hated her.”

At Alistair’s words Serena gasped. Bobbi put an arm around her grandmother, encircling her protectively.

The atmosphere in the room was tense enough to cause glass to shatter, Hart thought.

“She didn’t know what she was doing,”
Ray said mournfully. “She was out of her mind and in a way it was all my fault.”

“It was a small hand gun,” Alistair continued unrelentingly. “And I suspect if we send divers down we’ll find it still somewhere in the bottom of the lake. The gun you aimed at Stacia Larkin and used to shoot a bullet through her head. And then you pulled her body into the old store where you thought nobody would ever find it after the water was released the next morning to pour into the lake.”

Total silence fell on the room and Hart watched through the window as a uniformed Wichita County deputy parked his car next to his boss’s and, papers in his hand, walked importantly toward the front door.

“What I don’t get is why you went after Hart? Why did you burn her loft?”

Sibyl Forrester laughed, a soft, very reasonable sound. She didn’t seem at all like a woman not in possession of her senses, but she got to her feet, walking slowly past the sheriff to confront Hart.

Her face was very close, her gaze staring straight into Hart’s eyes. “Do you think I don’t know you’re in there, Stacia? Don’t you realize I would recognize you wherever you were?”

Chills ran down Hart’s back, but she held her ground while Alistair opened the door for his deputy and instructed him to read her rights to Sibyl Forrester while Helen’s granddaughter Serena sobbed quietly in the background.