Diamonds and Dreams

by Brenda Bone

  Her curiosity got the better of her as she slid a pearl-handled letter opener across the back of the taped envelope. Reaching inside, she tugged on the heavy sheet of paper and began unfolding it. When she smoothed out the wrinkles, she could recognize the jagged pieces of paper as a collage made of pictures featuring Constance in the senior yearbook. There was her sister in a varsity cheerleader’s uniform, one of her in honor society, and another depicting her in a drama club production. There were several candid shots of Constance blended into the collage, and as Lindsay studied the mixture of photos, she suddenly felt cold chills spreading down her back. In the right hand corner was a small picture of her that appeared in the newspaper about a month ago when she helped to organize a benefit dance to aid victims of a tornado that left several local families homeless.

  Who would be so cruel as to send something like this? Why did someone apparently want to stir up all these sad mementoes of her sister and force Lindsay to relive the pain again? She had been too young to be in the school activities when Constance was in high school, so what was the connection? It must be from someone that had access to the old yearbooks, and quite possibly it could be one of the people who attended the class reunion, but which one and why?

  Lindsay felt uneasy for the rest of the day as she tried to keep busy catching up on the household chores. While she showered and prepared to go to work, the purpose of the collage continued to elude her. Was there some hidden message she had been unable to decipher? Did the sender simply want to reopen the scars of her sister’s death? Could the pictures contain a veiled threat to her? So many questions tormented her, but she decided not to say anything about the incident to anyone. If she ignored the collage, as well as the other peculiar happenings which took place recently, the culprit might become bored if she showed no reaction. At least, she prayed that her tormenter would tire of this bizarre game soon and quit harassing her.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  “Coke here! Cotton candy!”

  “Step right up, folks. Ride the Ferris wheel.”

  “Try your luck. Four balls for two dollars.”

  “Win a stuffed animal for your girl. Over here!”

  Everything about the Ohio State Fair—the loud merry-go-round music, the appetizing smells of popcorn, candied apples, roasted peanuts, the laughter, the sight of people having fun—put Lindsay in a festive mood as she strolled down the bright-colored midway. She glanced at her watch and saw that she arrived at the dusty fairgrounds an hour before she was to broadcast her show live from the center pavilion. Just because she had to work this evening, why shouldn’t she have a little fun first and do a little exploring?

  In one building she came upon the cooking and baking projects which earned blue ribbons for their creators. The tangy smell of hot apple pie made her stomach growl, so she stopped at a booth outside and bought a fat cone of fuzzy cotton candy that was so sticky she had to wipe it off her mouth. Returning to the midway, she felt a childish thrill spread through her when she bought a ticket to ride the Ferris wheel, then found herself high on the giant revolving wheel that towered above the treetops.

  “Get the scare of your life in the House of Horror!” a male voice shouted, and Lindsay, who never missed the late night chiller movies, couldn’t resist entering the spook house that displayed giant-sized pictures of horned monsters on the outside of the building.

  Inside, she stepped on the lopsided floor that tilted first one way, then the other while her eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness. Suddenly a hairy beast reached out to grab her arm and she thought she heard it mutter an animal-like noise close to her ear. There didn’t seem to be any other patrons coming through behind her. At least she didn’t hear footsteps or the usual screams and shouts. Jerking her arm free, she cautiously stepped toward the light shining ahead of her, only to discover when she got there, that it was a trick mirror. She was excited and scared at the same time when she found herself trapped with no obvious way to escape. The eerie silence began to grate on her nerves, however, and soon she had an uneasy feeling that something wasn’t quite right.

  Turning a corner, she saw a mummy open a squeaky coffin lid before she made her way down another dark hall. It was there that she heard a muffled voice whisper, “You’re the next one to die.”

  Her heart pounded now as she looked around and saw no one. There weren’t even any of the ghastly painted settings or people wearing monster costumes nearby. Where did the threatening voice come from? Was the message meant for her personally or was it something that everyone going through the House of Horror heard? It was difficult to believe that the anonymous voice spoke the same message to others. Too many children would be frightened and too many adults as upset as she was. She knew that she should investigate the matter further, but she felt too uncomfortable about the situation to buy another ticket and make another trip through the spook house. Besides, what if she had an enemy that followed her inside and lurked in the shadows?

  Deciding to get back outside as quickly as she could, Lindsay was relieved to hear some boys’ voices close behind her and she breathed easier when she heard one of them say, “We’re at the end now.”

  She was about to ask them if they heard the voice telling them that they were about to die, or even if they did it themselves as a prank, but they disappeared before she could approach them. Feeling her way along the crooked walls, she finally saw an open door and the bright lights of the midway a short distance ahead. When she stood among the crowd and squinted in the warm dusk again, it was easy to convince herself that her imagination must have played tricks on her when she was in the spook house.

  I must be getting old, she thought, to have actually become scared at the fair. She laughed aloud, as if to reassure herself that everything was fine, and started toward the pavilion where she’d broadcast her show.

  “Tonight I’m live at the great Ohio State Fair,” she began, her microphone clipped on her lapel. “I want to invite all of you to come out and say ‘hello’ while you have a great time enjoying the fun activities you’ll find here.”

  Several people immediately accepted her invitation. Throngs of fair-goers passed by the pavilion and Lindsay caught a glimpse of Nikki Chandler walking by with her husband and two young boys who appeared to grow weary. Lindsay didn’t have an opportunity to speak to Nikki since an elderly lady confided that she didn’t care for any form of rock music, but she did often tune in Lindsay’s program when she had difficulty falling asleep.

  The evening progressed and eventually the crowd thinned out as people started home. Lindsay spotted Nikki again, although this time she was alone and walking briskly as if she needed to leave fast. “Hello, Nikki,” Lindsay called as she came closer.

  Nikki strolled by, flashing no hint of recognition and barely glancing at her. Lindsay’s feelings felt hurt. There was no way that Nikki couldn’t have been aware of her presence, especially since a large red and white sign proclaimed that the radio hosts of WBKB broadcasted from this spot tonight.

  Why did Nikki try to avoid her? Lindsay didn’t understand why she’d been so nice at the reunion, and now refused to speak. She stared pensively at the retreating figure of Nikki until she could no longer see her. Deciding to ignore the apparently deliberate affront, Lindsay shook her head and began the long walk toward the parking area.

  “Lindsay! Wait a minute,” someone called to her from the noisy midway. Supposing that it would be one of her listeners, she turned to greet the person.

  Surprised, she saw Mike MacDonald running toward her. “Hello. I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced yet, but you’re Mike MacDonald, aren’t you? Are you working here tonight, too?”

  “No. I came to the fair to have fun. I caught part of your show, and as usual, you were great. Just don’t quote me on that,” he joked. “Want a soft drink or a cup of coffee?”

  “Thanks, but I was just leaving. Maybe some other time.”

  “Oh, come on. It’s not so late and I could use
some scintillating company. We might be enemies on the air, but there’s no reason why we can’t call a truce when we’re not working, is there?”

  “All right. Let’s have coffee.” She knew it would be rude to refuse him when he made an effort to be polite.

  She and Mike stopped at a refreshment stand which had two small tables with chairs around them, and then they took their steaming beverages over to one of the tables. For a few seconds they didn’t talk while they sipped the hot coffee. Suddenly an uneasy feeling crept over Lindsay when she realized they sat next to the House of Horror. Her apprehension increased as she noticed that Mike cast frequent glances in that direction. Did he go through the spook house and have the same unsettling experience that she did? Or was something else behind his strange behavior? He didn’t seem very talkative now for someone who sought her out only minutes ago. Was he the one that whispered the unsettling message to her? From past observations she knew that he sometimes behaved childishly on and off the air, especially whenever his rivals, and she was one of them, were concerned.

  Mike finally made an attempt to pick up the conversation and started talking about a dance that WQXL would sponsor, but Lindsay tuned out most of his words. Not knowing if she could fully trust him, she murmured an excuse to leave and left him staring curiously behind her.

  I need to stop feeling suspicious of every person I meet, she scolded herself. But how could she ever feel safe enough to let her guard down when somewhere out in the world an evil-minded person refused to allow her any peace?

  For several days Lindsay felt bothered by thoughts of her missing journal. She still had no idea who could possibly have been more intrigued by her private thoughts than by the large sum of money that lay untouched beside the book. The circumstances didn’t make sense, but she gave up hope of recovering her property.

  On Sunday she leisurely glanced through the morning paper, glad that the print edition hadn’t become extinct yet, as she scanned the personal ads. It always amused her that people were willing to publicize the private aspects of their lives so freely. Suddenly her heart felt tight within her chest. There, for all the world to read, were the most difficult words she ever wrote:

  “My closest confidante, where are you now? Can you still see me? Life will never again be as it was when you were here to share it with me.”

  Lindsay made this entry in her journal when she’d finally described her anguish and soul-searing pain as she reluctantly accepted the reality of Constance’s death. Now the agony started all over again. Each day presented more proof that someone tried to terrify her or perhaps they wanted to drive her insane. This latest incident confirmed that the culprit maliciously stole her diary and probably even knew she subscribed to the newspaper. How long had the ads been in the paper? Was this the first one or did her innermost thoughts become common knowledge to anyone who bothered to read the column in the past?

  The next morning she called the newspaper office to inquire as to the identity of the person responsible for placing the ad. “We’re sorry, ma’am,” a female voice told her, “but that information must remain confidential.”

  “Let me explain why this ad concerns me so much.” Lindsay went on to tell about the recent events.

  “I’d like to help you, but I’m not allowed to divulge any of the details you’re requesting,” the woman responded before she hung up.

  Lindsay sighed as she ended her call. She came up with nothing again. In her mind she pictured a face that was a blur, and the only part of it that was clear to her was the mouth that was twisted into a smirk as if it laughed at her.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  On Thursday morning the telephone rang as Lindsay entered the house after going to the bank to make deposits. She managed to reach the phone on the sixth ring before she breathlessly answered, “Hello?”

  “Is this Lindsay Blair?” asked a male voice.

  “Yes. How can I help you?”

  “My name’s Frank Thomas. I own WCIT, an adult contemporary radio station in New York. Ever hear of it?”

  “Yes. Your format is terrific!”

  “Glad you like what we’re doing. Do you think you’d be interested in becoming part of our team? I’m looking for an announcer. When I traveled through Columbus, I tuned in to WBKB a few times and heard your show. You’ve got a nice style.”

  “Thank you.”

  “My station needs someone like you with charisma so we can attract a younger audience along with more mature adults. Interested?”

  “I—I don’t know,” she stalled. “Your offer caught me by surprise.” Although radio personalities often received offers from other stations, she didn’t expect that anyone would notice her enough, at least not right away, to single her out from the others.

  “I don’t mean to rush you into making a decision, but I need an announcer immediately since my old one already left WCIT. One of my other employees pitched in and worked additional shifts, but I know that would exhaust any host, so I’m interested in getting some relief for him as soon as possible.”

  “That’s understandable. Tell me more about the job.”

  He gladly provided her with more details. The job seemed ideal for her, even if it would mean an out-of-state move.

  “If you’ll leave a number where you can be reached, I’ll call you back tomorrow and give you my decision. I need time alone to consider it and my current contract obligations.”

  “Fine. I’ll look forward to hearing from you,” he said, leaving his number.

  Lindsay felt dazed as their call ended and she settled into a soft chair. Everything happened so quickly. She could hardly believe that she had only about twenty-four hours to decide whether or not her life would take a new direction. The job at WCIT would mean a raise in her salary and a giant step forward for her career. Tension at WBKB had built up for a long time, even before Brant became her partner. Many times she didn’t approve of Desi’s ideas, but he forced her to promote them anyway. Then there was another problem—she feared she’d lose listeners at WBKB since many pictured her and Brant as a team and now she did the program solo again. Brant’s winning the contest proved that they preferred his outgoing style to her conservative attitude. What if they switched over to WBKB’s rival station where Brant worked now?

  Of most importance, she had to consider her relationship with Brant. If she moved away from Ohio, there would be little hope that they’d ever get back together again. Yet, she’d really lost him already, hadn’t she? From the beginning, she warned herself that she shouldn’t fall in love with him or she’d only be hurt.

  First thing the next morning, she called Frank Thomas. “I’ve decided to accept your offer.”

  The rest of the week she busied herself by making plans for her new job. There was a lot to do in such a short time. Most of the packing still remained to be done as well as deciding what to do with the house. She could put it up for sale, but it could take awhile before it sold. Maybe the best solution would be to rent it with a purchase option so she wouldn’t have to leave it empty. Then came the problem of finding another home for herself besides getting accustomed to a strange city.

  Soon after she faced the awkward situation of breaking the news to Desi that she, like Brant, decided to quit WBKB and accept a job elsewhere, Desi didn’t waste time in hiring a replacement for her. He also added gruffly that she no longer needed to come to work at WBKB during the short time she’d have until she left for New York.

  Thinking about how much she’d miss her friends, her favorite spots around the Buckeye State, and especially Brant, she wondered briefly if she made her decision too hastily. Then she counted all the advantages which her new job would present. She’d meet many new friends as well as meeting the challenge of a better job.

  Remembering that this was the night Brant would work at WQXL, she tuned in to his first program. Who knows? she thought. It could be the last time I hear his voice. She didn’t plan to see him before she left; saying goodbye would be
too painful.

  Brant was halfway through his show when she switched on the radio. “This is request and dedications night,” he said. “I’ve got another caller on the phone. What song would you like me to play, sir?”

  “The one called, ‘Honey, Don’t Leave Me Alone.’”

  “Would you like to dedicate that to anyone?”

  “Yes. To Sheila from Don.”

  “I’ll play it next for you and Sheila.”

  “Thanks. Maybe if she hears you playing our song, she’ll come back to me.”

  “I’ll do whatever I can to help. Here’s your song. Sheila, it comes to you with a lot of love from Don.”

  How can Brant feel so calm, so content, when all the disturbing things happened lately? He’s a true professional, Lindsay reminded herself. Even if he’s in a terrible mood, he never lets his audience know it.

  “Hello, who’s this?” Brant answered the phone again.

  “Annie,” came a soft, feminine voice over the air waves.

  “What song would you like to hear, Annie?”

  “‘Call of the Wolf,’” she said, “and I’d like to dedicate it to my boyfriend, Billy.”

  “Annie?”

  “Yes?”

  “Is Billy a wolf?”

  She giggled, “Yes, sometimes.”

  “Yikes! There’s a full moon out tonight, so if Billy is nearby, don’t stand too close to him while I play this song.”

  He never jokes around like that with me anymore, Lindsay thought forlornly.

  When the song ended, Brant put another caller on the air. “Grandpa?” a childish voice asked hesitantly. “Is that you? My loose tooth finally fell out.”