“I’m not calling her. I’ll be fine.” I got out of the car. I didn’t tell him that Gent asked me not to bring Gram on this trip. That fact itself might cause him to call her.
Jake joined me a second later with his bag of tricks.
“If something happens, you’ll need to get out of here quickly, too. Can you grab that stuff and just go?” I asked as he put the bag on the hood of the car and unzipped it.
“Not necessary, I’m pretty sure,” he said. “If I’m trespassing, they’ll just ask me to leave. And ‘they’ will be someone I know. I can tell them I’m doing something for the archives and they won’t even blink twice. In fact they’ll probably just leave me be. Everyone knows I like my history. I’m sure I’ll be here when you come out.” Jake smiled and tried to hide a hard swallow.
“Good point,” I conceded.
“Go, go talk to your ghosts. I will see if I can find some on my own.” Jake smiled and then sobered quickly. “But be careful.”
“I will.”
I’d put on thick-soled hiking boots this time, but I still made my way carefully thorough the debris along the path. Once to the spot underneath the landing in front of the door, I turned back to wave to Jake. He’d been watching me and waved first.
I hoisted myself up and then looked at the ground as I moved my foot over the invisible magic border between the two times. The change occurred as it had before, and I was suddenly struck by the fact that it was no big deal. I didn’t feel anything different, I didn’t hear anything different, like trumpets announcing that things were happening that should never be happening. It was so casual, maybe too casual.
I stepped all the way over the invisible line and knocked on the beautiful new/old door with the brass handle.
“Gent, it’s me, Betts Winston.” I looked back toward where Jake would be in my time, but I couldn’t see him. I saw only a distant sort of blackness. I decided that it was better to just look at the door.
A second or two later, it opened.
“Betts, you’re here! I wasn’t sure you’d come,” he said as he opened it wide. “And you didn’t bring Miz?”
“No.”
“That’s great, come in, come in.”
Once again, I stepped over a threshold.
The bakery had transformed to its original state just as it had the night before, and Gent was dressed in white as he had been. I saw his parents and his sister in the gloomy background. They were busy at their tasks, and I was pretty sure they didn’t know I was there.
I’d experienced this all before so I shouldn’t have been concerned that I wouldn’t be able to get back to where I belonged, but without Gram by my side, a sense of doubt swept through me and made me nervous. It was as if whatever tether took me back was now weaker without Gram here. I didn’t like it.
“Gent, I’m here without Gram because you asked me to come without her, but I don’t know why. I don’t like lying to her. You said you were going to tell me who killed Roger, and I wish I understood why you don’t want her to know who it was, too.”
Gent, with his youthful but intelligent eyes, looked at me thoughtfully and then cocked his head slightly.
“I don’t know who Roger is,” he finally said.
I sighed. Stupid ghosts and their Swiss cheese memories.
“You said you might know who the killer was, that you wanted to tell me. Roger was the dead man at the school today,” I said.
“Yes, of course. I’m sorry. I was talking about my killer. I might be able to help figure out who our killer was. I know I’ve never had this memory before because if I had . . . well, if I had been able to tell Miz the detail I’m remembering, I’m sure I wouldn’t have caused her so many years of pain.”
“I don’t understand, Gent.”
“We were killed and then taken from here never to be found again. Miz was here when it happened, but she was spared. I believe she saw the killer, too, but she’s never been able to remember much and it distresses her so to talk about it. After years of trying to figure it out, she finally told me I wasn’t allowed to speak about it ever again—and, I remember her anger and pain when she made it clear that the topic was off-limits, I always remember. I think it’s the only memory I carry with me at all times, because causing Miz pain only makes mine so much worse.”
“That’s why you asked me to come alone?”
“Yes. I’m sorry. It’s selfish, I’m sure, but I couldn’t help myself. You see”—he looked at his family members—“they can’t rest until our bodies are found. They weren’t supposed to be able to come back and their . . . travels tire them.”
Gent, defying his serious and grown-up words, sniffed and then scratched at a spot behind his ear.
“Your killer set the fire, killed the four of you, then somehow removed your bodies before starting a fire in the other part of the building?” I said, putting together pieces of this conversation and my earlier one with Evan and Morris.
“No, well, yes, someone did set the fire and I don’t know exactly what happened after that, but my family and I were killed first. We knew something, you see, we were called to the bakery that night under false pretenses, I think.” Gent shifted his weight from one bare foot to the other and then looked toward the dark corner where the strange sound had come from the night before. “I can’t remember why. Miz came with us because we were supposed to be . . . golly, I still don’t know. But she was with us. She’ll never tell you but she thinks she was hit over the head and taken outside. Then the rest of us were killed and our bodies, what was left of them, were put somewhere after they were burned.”
I was stunned speechless for a second. My mind had slowed to ponder speed when Gent had said that Gram was hit over the head, and it took it a moment to catch up again. Gram came horribly close to being killed herself.
“I . . . I don’t know how I can help,” I said. “It’s been a long time.”
“Come over here with me. I’ll tell you the memory and you can think on it.”
I followed him to the far and still-dark corner of the jutted wing. It became illuminated slightly as we approached it, but not brightly.
“My family was here, you see.” Gent pointed to a spot that was suddenly filled with a long seat, something like a couch with a thin cushion, but less comfortable, more utilitarian, closer to a bench. “This was a room where we could go to have lunch. I wasn’t with them. I think I was with Miz.”
“Is this the break room?” I asked.
“I don’t know what a break room is, but we could bring a lunch and eat here.”
I’d have to look it up to be sure, but there might not have been laws mandating such things as breaks in Gent’s time; thus, no “break” rooms yet. There weren’t many child labor laws, either; that I knew without needing to research.
“Okay,” I said.
“Anyways, for some reason I think I was shot first, but then I think the rest of my family was shot when they sat on that bench”—he pointed at the bench—“My ma has told me she thinks that’s what she remembers. We were all shot dead.”
“Shot?”
“Yes, ma’am, shot. I don’t always remember this so quickly, but this time I did. Miz told me later about the two men they found dead and burned, but they never found our bodies. No one ever knew we were killed. Eventually, I think people realized we were missing but we weren’t much of anything to anyone but ourselves. No one cared. Except Miz, of course, and I know she spent some time trying to figure it out. It’s been hard on her, painful, but she knew us, knew me when we were alive. You didn’t. Maybe you can look at it more . . .”
“Objectively?” I said.
Gent shook his head. “I don’t know what that means.”
“With a little detachment, nothing personal invested into it.”
“Detachment.” Gent smiled. “Yes, detachment, without being so upset about it all.”
I wanted to tell him that I was, indeed, somewhat upset—it was an upsetting story. But
he was correct, I hadn’t known him when he and his family were alive so I didn’t have that attachment. I looked closely at him. Were he and Gram about to turn into an “item” when he was killed, or were they already one? I thought about asking but that felt uncomfortable, like I might be prying where I didn’t have a right to pry. But would I have existed if Gent had remained alive and she hadn’t married my grandfather? There’re good reasons why the past can’t be changed. But that’s not what Gent was asking me to attempt to do. He just needed the truth. What had Morris just said—the truth tends to cause a lot of ruckus before it sets anyone free.
“Gent, I don’t know where to begin to look into this. What can you tell me—the name of the killer, a description, why you and your family were called here that night, anything?”
Gent smiled. “Something, a thing I’d never ever remembered before, came to me last night when we heard the noise in the corner. Oh, I wanted to tell Miz, but I didn’t want her to get angry and tell you to ignore me. I don’t know where you live so I had to come talk to you at the school. Sorry about that.”
“It’s okay. Tell me.”
“I remembered a name. Mary. We were called here because of something to do with someone named Mary.”
“Mary?” I said. Mary was a very common name back in Gent’s time.
“Yes. Will that help?”
“I, uh, well, I don’t know. I can try.” I didn’t sound encouraging.
Gent’s shoulders dropped, but he smiled and said, “Thank you, Betts. Thank you.”
“What else?”
Gent’s eyes opened wide. “I don’t have anything else.”
Mary. That was the big clue. That was why I didn’t tell Gram I was coming to the bakery. Just a common first name was supposed to solve a decades-old mystery. Perhaps if Gent had been older, I would have rolled my eyes and laughed. But he was just a seventeen-year-old kid who wanted his family to be able to rest in peace. I didn’t have the heart to hurt him further.
“Really, Gent, I will try. I’ll do my very best,” I said. I would, I just didn’t think it would lead anywhere.
His smile brightened and his shoulders rose again. “Thank you.”
“Let’s try to think about it a little more. Do you remember any trouble? Do you remember you or your family getting caught doing something you shouldn’t have been doing?”
Gent laughed uncomfortably. “No, I don’t remember, Betts. I don’t remember anything else.”
I thought a moment longer about what I could say that would prompt more memories to come to him, but I knew it didn’t really work that way. It seemed our conversation had come to an end. I thought about asking him about what would happen to him and his family when the building was demolished, but I suspected I knew; they’d somehow be . . . lost. There was no need for small talk, and since the rest of the Cylas family hadn’t noticed I was there and that imaginary tether to Gram had continued to fade, I figured it was time to go. Before I left, I said, “I’ll be at the school some of the time, but let me give you my home address.”
Instead of an address, though, I just gave him directions, using the elementary school and the railroad tracks as markers. He’d be able to find the small white house, three down from the old tracks at the spot where the train station was once located much easier than he’d be able to track down the address.
From all indications Gent Cylas was a nice kid. I liked the idea that he and Gram were young together, but it was difficult for me to make the connection to that time, to those people, even though Gram had been one of them. Objectivity, however, might be the best thing this time around after all. I liked the ghosts, but it would be wonderful not to become overly attached to this one.
Gent walked me to the magic door and bid me a polite farewell. We didn’t make specific plans to talk again, but I knew where to find him. I suspected that now that he knew where I lived I’d see him there soon, too. The ghosts’ short visits gave them an impatience they couldn’t control.
As I stepped easily back into my own time period, my eyes went immediately to where I thought Jake should be.
And he was there, peering up at me but over the shoulder of someone else, someone who had their back to me. It was too dark to see Jake’s face clearly, but I thought he was probably trying to eye me a message.
The surprise visitor sensed that something was going on behind him so he turned to look.
“Betts?” Freddie said as he hesitantly waved.
“Hey, Freddie,” I said from my perch above. “Hang on a second.”
I made my way off the platform, stepped through the debris, and joined the two men watching me.
This was going to be another interesting conversation.
Chapter 12
“I told Freddie we were ghost hunting,” Jake said as I joined them.
“Really?” I said.
“Did you find anything up there?” Freddie asked as he sent a dubious glance toward the run-down building. “How did you get in?”
I looked at the boarded-over door. “I didn’t. I was just looking through windows.”
Freddie’s eyebrows came together. He must have wondered how in the world I had done even that much or why he hadn’t seen me earlier. I interrupted his thoughts.
“What are you doing here and how do you know Jake?” I asked.
He turned his glance my direction. “I was just out walking around and this is where I ended up. Your car is so recognizable that I stopped to talk to your friend about just how many old blue Novas there were in Broken Rope. He introduced himself.”
It would have been at least a little more covert to bring Jake’s VW Bug. We would have to do better next time.
“Where are you staying?” I asked.
Freddie shrugged. “I’m at the Tied and Branded for now. I’m looking to rent a room or a house or something. I wasn’t as prepared as I should have been before I got here.”
“About that,” I said. “When you got into town you stopped by the jail to ask the police directions to the school?”
“Yeah.”
“Where was your welcome packet?”
“Sitting on my counter in my kitchen back home. I left it there accidentally. I was late for the plane and I had to hurry.”
It could be true. He didn’t sound like he was lying.
“Where’s home?” Jake asked.
“Maine.”
“Oh?” Jake said.
“Yes, sir.”
“What part?”
“Bangor,” Freddie said.
“I love Maine,” Jake said.
I had no idea that Jake had ever been to Maine, but I filed that discussion away for later.
“Any ghosts?” Freddie asked.
“No,” I said.
“I’ll have to check what I recorded, but maybe,” Jake said.
I rose my eyebrows his direction. He remained serious.
“Wow, that’d be something, wouldn’t it?” Freddie said. “I’d love to see a real ghost, and this couldn’t be a better town for ghosts. I’ll be around for a while. If you find anything, would you tell me about it?”
The time wasn’t right, but there was something about Freddie’s enthusiastic interest in the “ghosts” of Broken Rope and his assumption that he wasn’t going anywhere any time soon that got under my skin.
“Freddie, my Gram and I were going to talk to you tomorrow. We’re having some difficulties with your references,” I said.
“Oh? What kind of difficulties?”
“Some go to disconnected numbers, no one’s returning our calls, and when they do, they’re fishy.”
“I don’t understand. Maybe you, Missouri, and I could sit down and try them together tomorrow. I was in such a hurry to get them written down, I could have made some number mistakes or something.”
He didn’t skip a beat. There was no hesitation to his response. I had no sense that he was making anything up.
“I think that’s a good idea.”
“Thanks.” He casually turned his attention back to the building. “So, are you into ghosts and stuff?”
“Jake and I enjoy ghost hunting,” I said.
“Interesting,” Freddie said. “Sounds like a fun hobby.”
“It is,” Jake said.
“I’d sure like to see a ghost,” Freddie repeated. But this time, there wasn’t enthusiasm. Instead, I thought I sensed sadness.
“Hey, can we give you a ride back to the Tied and Branded?” I asked.
“Oh, no, that’s okay. The fresh air is doing me some good. Such horrible news about Roger, that he was killed and all. I’m having a hard time not letting it bother me. Walking helps. Do you think one of the students is a murderer?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “Do you have any sense that someone in our group could do such a terrible thing?” I didn’t point out that he was a student, too.
“I don’t. I’m sorry, I wish I knew something that could help.”
I’d been so zoned in on the reference discrepancies that I hadn’t considered how Roger’s death might be affecting our youngest student if he wasn’t, in fact, the killer. I needed to stop making such quick assumptions.
I took a deep breath. “I’m certain the police will find the killer. In the meantime, we should all be careful. Really, we’d be happy to give you a ride.”
“I’m fine. I’m not scared,” he said, his voice surprisingly even. “I’m just sad.”
“I’m sorry, Freddie.”
“Me, too.”
I thought Jake might intervene and insist that Freddie come with us, but he remained unusually silent.
“Well, have a nice evening. Nice to meet you, Jake. See you tomorrow, Betts,” Freddie said before he turned and walked away from us and from the town’s semi-well-lit Main Street.
“Interesting guy,” Jake said when Freddie was out of earshot.
“Yeah? How?”
“He’s not from Maine. In fact, I bet he’s never been there before.”
“What makes you say that?”
If Bread Could Rise to the Occasion Page 11