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

by Bartholomew, Barbara

  Founded in 1901 when Oklahoma was still a territory, it had mostly been established by pioneers from Texas who had come up looking for free or cheap land. Settlement had been thin, even in its heyday the town had never numbered over a thousand residents and by the time it was submerged after the war when the new lake was built on that site, less than two hundred individuals had lived there.

  Prominent among the local residents had been the Hartleys, owners of the largest ranch in the area, also named for the town, or vice versa, Medicine Stick Ranch. He was surprised. He’d known Hart had been left a tidy sum by her mother’s family and her first name had been in their honor, but he hadn’t know that the famed old ranch, no longer intact, had belonged to her family. Hart’s parents had died relatively young and she never talked about them much. He’d always wondered if Tommy had felt left out, his mom had not been a Hartley and so he’d not come in for a share of that family’s largess as had his half-sister.

  He tried goggling the Hartleys but didn’t come up with much. Apparently they’d been a rather private family, at one time settled behind the barbed wire fences of their large ranch, but the property had been sold late in the fifties and Madge Hartley, who must have been Hart’s great grandmother had died in her home in San Francisco, leaving the bulk of her not insubstantial estate to her son, who would have been Hart’s grandfather.

  Grandpapa married a woman named Henrietta Todd from an old New England family, a joining of family fortunes, and that was the money that had come down to Hart.

  He and Hart had never talked about her money. He’d not been particularly interested and she’d seemed somehow a little embarrassed.

  They’d lived in his house and on his salary for those few weeks they’d been together and, being admittedly somewhat old fashioned, he’d been proud of those facts.

  Taking another bite from his sandwich and chewing thoughtfully, Alistair reminded himself that this research wasn’t supposed to be about Hart and her family, but beginning to seek resolution into an old, old murder. That person who had spent years lying under the lake water deserved some answers to her death.

  Or his. He reminded himself that Hart’s insistence that the bones were those of a girl were not proof. And as for evidence, how likely was it that what she’d said about the body being left to be covered over as water filled into the newly built lake was preposterous.

  He looked up information on the forming of the lake. Built by the Corps of Engineers, it was designed for both recreation and water storage and it was true that the water had rushed in fairly abruptly. An old dam up river had been torn down to allow water to pour into the larger lake bed with its newly built dam. Within hours the lake had been nearly full and the little town of Medicine Stick erased from sight.

  That had happened in 1947, only a couple of years after the war ended, long before either he or Hart was born. Maybe that grandmother of hers had made up stories and told them to the little girl so that they lingered in her memory. Perhaps she imagined someone trapped in the little town as the water poured in.

  It was the way a child would think.

  He continued his research without learning anything of significance until long past bedtime, then went finally to bed and dreams of Hart that would linger painfully into his waking hours.

  Chapter Seven

  Hart kissed her nieces goodbye, handing them the loaf of banana bread she’d baked earlier as she got into the car, and then waving as she drove away.

  Tommy and Nikki were still in conversation inside, but their voices were no longer raised so loud they scared their small daughters. Hart grinned, thinking that she’d never have gotten away with moving if Nikki hadn’t taken her side. She’d told her husband he was being overprotective, that his sister was an adult and certainly capable of making her own living arrangements. After all, she’d said, she’s only halfway across a very small town, she has a cell phone and you can be there within five minutes if she needs help.

  Nobody had suggested that Nikki was pushing her own agenda to get her sister-in-law out of the house and Hart could hardly blame her for wanting her own family in her own house back to their former level of independence.

  That was what she wanted also. Freedom to make her own life.

  By the time she got back downtown, it was beginning to near evening and only Pizza Plus had a few cars parked outside. She knew the little café closed at eight and supposed that after that Mountainside’s business district would be hers almost exclusively.

  She told herself that the idea of being downtown alone at night didn’t make her the least bit nervous, but she was glad it was still daylight when she went inside the antiques shop. From now on she would leave a little light on downstairs so that she could find her way up after dark.

  The old furniture and collectibles seemed lost and abandoned down here as she edged her way past them and she determined that as soon as she had time she would begin the laborious task of dusting and sweeping down here. This might not be part of her apartment, but it was in a way front yard.

  She heard or imagined faint scurrying sounds in the far corners of the shop and was glad when she could step into her apartment and close the door behind her.

  She had cornflakes with the one leftover banana sliced on top for her supper, then indulged in a long hot bath. She hadn’t thought she would want television, but now decided she might look into purchasing one just for the sound it would bring to this too quiet world.

  It grew even quieter as the evening darkened and she curled up on her bed with one of the books she’d found on the shelves in the living room. She supposed the books were her own, though she didn’t remember having read this one before. It was an old Mary Roberts Rinehart called The Red Lamp, a spooky old fashioned ghost story that might not have disturbed her consciousness on a sunny day in the company of others. But here with only the glow of her little reading lamp around her and darkness behind the glass of her windows, silence deep on the streets outside, she began to feel so on edge that she started to imagine something would jump out at her at any minute.

  Realizing that her choice of reading material was creating the problem, she lay the book down and picked up her old favorite. Unfortunately she opened the book to the scene where the twins . . .”

  She closed its faded covers. She was not in the mood for tragedy tonight.

  It was early to be going to bed, but she took off her fluffy robe and tossed it to a nearby chair, crawled between sweet smelling sheets and turned off the lamp, then lay with her eyes wide open, thinking that she’d had a long and trying day and should go immediately to sleep.

  The events of the day began to parade themselves through her mind beginning with old Mr. Jeffers, the ancient prisoner who was her most ardent reader at the library. She didn’t know of what crime he’d been convicted, but she was sure the harmless old guy should have been released years ago.

  He seemed gentle and thoughtful and the books she helped him choose made up his whole world. Today she’d helped him pick out the latest Clive Cussler novel, feeling he would enjoy a little vicarious adventure.

  The poor man had spent most of his life locked up, or so she understood. Virtually his only experience of normal life was through the books he read.

  When she’d left work she’d felt good, though a little worried about how she was going to break the news to her brother that she was moving out. The drive through the park had been sheer procrastination, putting off the confrontation and look how that turned out.

  Her mind tried to veer and avoid that moment at lakeside when she saw Stacia’s body lying on the ground. But who was Stacia and how could she feel such horror at seeing her limp and dead when she didn’t even know who she was?

  She saw the wavering light spark on her left, caught only in her peripheral vision and her mouth went dry. She closed her eyes, covering them with her hands to block out any possible seepage and somehow that only make it worse so that her heart started to pound.

  She
sat very still, telling herself things like this didn’t happen and tried to focus on something mundane and every day. It was funny, she decided, how she didn’t look anything like Tommy or his daughters. They were all so fair that they freckled, their hair cotton blond, almost white, while she had darker skin that didn’t seem to burn and hair such a deep black that it glinted with tones of blue in the sun.

  Of course they’d told her she and Tommy had different mothers. Probably she took after her mother and the genetics he and the girls displayed came from his maternal side.

  Finally convinced that she’d anchored her mind firmly in reality, she dared open her eyes again and found the light still there. It was, in fact, growing closer and brighter turning into twin lights drawing up on her like an approaching automobile, though she heard no sound.

  Breathing quickly, she slammed her eyes closed once again, but still felt that approaching menace. Someone was trying to run her down, trying to kill her!

  Her lashes flew up and she turned to face the lights that were now flooding the bed around her and, of course, saw only darkness.

  Quickly she switched on her bedside lamp and got up, shaking and sick, to spend the rest of the night on the sofa, only falling asleep a couple of hours before she had to get up and go to work.

  Alistair Redhawk ended the connection with the OSBI investigator rather thoughtfully, considering whether or not to call Hart with the news. He shook his head, decided it would be better to tell her in person and then before he could decide for sure what to do about her, he was summoned to the scene of an accident just outside town and from then on put in a busy day of work before having his mind focus again on Hart.

  Almost without further thought, he found himself driving toward Mountainside. It had been easier when he’d had his mind resolutely set against her, telling himself that she’d not only betrayed him by falling in love with someone else after having married him, but that in a way it had been her fault that he’d spent days under suspicion of having murdered her with all his friends and neighbors looking at him in a way he’d never seen before. A solid, responsible kid who had grown into a man widely trusted, he’d had a new view of life as the man who just might have killed his wife.

  He hadn’t liked it much.

  Her dark blue Nissan was parked in front of the defunct antique shop so he supposed she was at home and got out to knock loudly at the door, hoping she would hear him up in the apartment.

  After a few minutes he heard approaching footsteps and saw through the glass in the top of the door that she was coming. She gave him a shaky smile, than unlocked the door. She looked tired and ill, her face pale and her eyes darkly shadowed. “You all right?” he asked.

  “Sure,” she said unconvincingly. “I’m fine.”

  “You don’t look fine.”

  “Well, thanks a lot.”

  “No, I mean . . .”

  She dismissed the apology with a wave of her hand and led the way toward the stairs. “I just didn’t sleep well last night.”

  “Finding a skeleton can do that to you,” he tried to quip.

  The attempt at humor fell flat. She turned to scowl at him. “While you’re used to finding dead people.”

  He nodded. “Though usually they’re not quite that dead.” When she didn’t smile, he went on hastily. “Just thought I would stop by and share the preliminary report from the OSBI.”

  “Already?”

  She stopped on the stairs, turning to face him.

  “They say it looks like the bones have been in the lake a long time. Maybe as long as the lake has been there. The body confined by the walls of the building and submerged in mud which possible accounts for their preservation. Now that they’re exposed, they’d in danger of crumbling quickly.”

  She nodded as though this was simply what she’d expected.

  “Of course, this is only an off the top observation. It’ll be weeks, more likely months, before they’ve finished their analysis.”

  Wordlessly she led the way up the stairs and into her living room. A blanket and pillow lay on her big sofa and he wondered if she’d spent a restless night there.

  He waited while she brought him tea and then sat down to sip at her own. The little apartment was not air conditioned and this late in the afternoon it felt stuffy with enclosed heat.

  “There’s something else.” Unconsciously he leaned toward her. “They found a spent bullet shell inside the skull.”

  She didn’t seem surprised. “So she wasn’t left to drown when the water poured into the town.” She drew in a deep breath. “I’m glad of that.”

  Hart insisted on saying ‘she,’ he noticed again. He tried to count the years from 1947 until now. Going on six decades and she was only twenty six. It was laughable to think she could know anything about that long ago murder.

  He drank his tea and sweltered in the heat. How did she stand it? Finally he got up and went over and opened one of the windows in the back. The resultant breeze was a warm one, but at least it stirred the air in the room.

  “I see things,” she said out-of-the-blue.

  It was difficult to know how to respond. “What kind of things?” he asked cautiously.

  “Last night it was a light that turned into two lights. I saw the headlights of a car trying to run me down.”

  Shocked, he questioned, “Did you call the Highway Patrol? Did you get a description of the car? Are you hurt?”

  He didn’t realize he’d reached over to grab her arm until she shook him free. “You don’t understand. I was right in there in my bed.” She pointed. “There was no car.”

  Now he really didn’t know what to say. “Maybe it was the head injury,” he finally mumbled rather apologetically.

  “Nobody’s ever said I hurt my head. All they told me is they found me lying in the street in Oklahoma City, not a mark on my body, but so deeply unconscious that I didn’t wake for several weeks. No sign, either, that I’d been drugged.”

  He nodded. “That’s why they let me go. Because there was no evidence of trauma and everybody knew I was in Mountainside the night you disappeared. I guess they thought until then that I’d buried your body in my backyard.”

  She finally managed a crooked little grin. “I think we can be fairly sure that didn’t happen.”

  They ate a supper of bacon, scrambled eggs and toast together and he found himself lingering with her until he reminded himself that things hadn’t worked out and they were no longer together. That had been by her choice, not his.

  Darkness came on earlier now that the season was moving toward fall. Hopefully the days would soon turn cooler. He got to his feet. “I’d better go.”

  She nodded, not trying to detain him. “I think I’ll get a television,” she said irrelevantly.

  After he left, she stood in the cool air blowing in through the screened window. She supposed she was actually lonely because she’d liked having him around. At least he no longer glared at her with such venom.

  They must have once liked each other to have married. She couldn’t quite bring herself to use the word ‘love’ in talking about this man who was still a stranger to her.

  He’d helped her wash and dry the few dishes they’d used for their meal and she’d put them away. She hadn’t much to do now but get ready for the next day. Then she remembered that it would be Sunday and another day off from work.

  Perhaps she would travel to the nearest town of any size and buy a television set. Maybe she’d buy a computer too. Everybody seemed to use them these days. Surely she could learn.

  She hadn’t been paid for her job but Tommy had said there was enough already in her account to cover the checks she’d written for rent, food and other necessary purchases. She needed to make a raid on a real grocery store as well. Here in Mountainside her only shopping choice was the convenience store on the highway south of town.

  But what were her resources? She went to dig into the box that Tommy had given her that contained documents such as
her birth certificate and checkbook. Her brother had told her she had enough money to get by, that her maternal grandparents had left her some. Cully at Pizza Plus had indicated the same.

  She found her latest bank statement in the box as well and glanced at the figures displayed there, then looked a second time.

  The figures said that she had over ten thousand dollars in her account. That wasn’t just some money. That was a fortune. She guessed she could afford a television and a computer.

  She located another Mary Roberts Rinehart novel, this one called The Circular Staircase, found herself engrossed with the plot and amused by the main character. Reading until nearly midnight, she fell into exhausted sleep on the sofa to dream of nothing more threatening than a herd of cows that mooed at her.

  She kept thinking she heard Nana telling her it was time to get up and do the milking and she’d yelled back that it was Helen’s turn. She’d milked the previous evening.

  Chapter Eight

  Being county sheriff wasn’t an eight-hour-a-day, five days a week job. Even though it was Sunday Alistair reported into his office in the town of Wichita just to the left of the county jail.

  He said a brief, “Morning,” to Mary Sue who was part office assistant and part assistant jailer. “Only got a couple of regulars,” she said with an equal lack of enthusiasm. Mary Sue had warned him when he hired her that she was not a morning person and not to try to carry on a conversation with her until after she’d had at least three cups of coffee.

  He nodded and went on to the interior office from which he conducted official business and began to attack the always mountainous paperwork, much of it online these days. This was the one part of the job he hated, but with characteristic stoicism he made a practice of doing first what he most detested and then moving on to tasks he more enjoyed.

  He was, of course, interrupted half a dozen times but by mid-morning was beginning to reduce the workload enough to allow himself a second cup of coffee and a few moments research online. Not finding much more relevant about Medicine Stick and its demise, he leaned back in his chair, sipping his coffee and considering options.