“Just scare him?”
“Fire it in the air or at the ground. The noise alone would scare a city boy like that and send him packing.”
“If you say so, Pearl.” Frank shrugged and stuck the gun in his waistband. “Let’s keep searching. We can start by walking around the barn.”
He strode away so quickly she was barely able to keep pace with him. After they’d rounded the barn, she was relieved to see that Alice and John weren’t romancing in the dark in the back of the building, something that would have set Frank off and made Alice the talk of the town if word got out. She said, “Let’s go back inside. Maybe they’ve returned by now.”
Frank waved a dismissive hand. “You do what you want. I’m heading down to the lake. That’s where all the lovers go. That’s where he’d take her.”
She couldn’t really leave now. Frank had a gun and was going to confront Alice and John, maybe even shoot John and wound him. The idea struck Pearl as unthinkably awful and also oddly thrilling. Things like this only happened in radio dramas. She’d never dreamed she’d see it happen in real life.
Pearl stumbled down the path after him, silently cursing the dirt that must be covering her good shoes. She’d be a wreck by the time this was all over. Not as bad as Lorraine Whitt, though. There was no way she’d ever look that bad. The thought brought her some comfort.
When they got to the edge of the water, Frank pointed and said, “Right there. In the boat.”
By the light of the moon, Pearl could barely make out the two people rowing toward the island. She squinted. “Are you sure it’s them?”
“Looks like.”
As they watched, the boat reached the island. The man got out first and pulled the bow onto shore before helping the lady out of her seat and onto dry ground. He actually lifted her by the waist and swung her around. Across the water skipped the unmistakable sound of Alice’s laughter.
“Come on,” Frank said, gripping her sleeve and pulling her toward one of the other rowboats.
“Where are we going?”
“To the island, of course. We need to save Alice from that bastard.”
Frank helped Pearl into the rowboat and climbed in himself. In a minute, he’d unknotted the boat from its moorings, pushed off, and they were on their way.
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
1983
Standing outside the barn, Kathleen took a deep breath. “It was so crowded in there,” she said, lifting her hair off the back of her neck. “I don’t know about you, but I imagined it differently.”
“Me too.” Joe glanced back at the door. “I thought it would be more elegant. It reminded me of a high school dance.” His dreams, he knew, had influenced his expectations. Even though none of his dreams were set at the Barn Dance, he’d inhabited John’s skin often enough to sense the man’s world and form an idea of what might have been. As John, Joe had seen Alice’s upswept hair as she sat at the piano at the Victory Theater. He’d felt the styles of the day, the way things were back then. Going to the Barn Dance in 1983 was like experiencing a broken promise. The music, the clothes, the decorations—all of it just seemed wrong.
“So John and Alice went to the dance,” Kathleen said. “We know that much. And then she was shot and died. But where did this happen?”
“Somewhere outdoors. The same evening as the dance,” Joe said thoughtfully. “The dreams were separate, but I always got the feeling that the Death Dream happened after the Rowboat Dream.”
A car turned into the parking lot and pulled into a space, the headlights veering as it turned. The laughter of giddy teenagers accompanied the sound of the car doors opening and closing. “The Rowboat Dream.” Kathleen mulled over the words. “You know we’re close to the lake?”
Five minutes later, they were at the metal pier, looking at rowboats dipping and bumping against each other in rhythm with the soft waves. “Was the rowboat in your dream like these?” she asked.
He shook his head. “My boat had a different kind of thing where the oars were attached. And inside the bottom of the boat were support pieces that looked like a rib cage.” He spread out his fingers and touched his fingertips together to illustrate.
“A wooden one, then.”
“I guess.”
“That would make sense, given the time period.” She gestured toward the boat at her feet. “Want to go for a ride? It might make your nightmares end completely.”
“Doesn’t it belong to someone?”
“No doubt, but we’ll just take it out and be back in no time at all. I can finally show you the island. It’s not too far.”
“And if the owners of the boat come here in the meantime?”
“We can leave a note on the pier if you want.” Kathleen snapped open her purse and pulled out a small spiral-bound pad of paper and a pen. She flipped back the cover and wrote:
BORROWED YOUR ROWBOAT. WILL BE BACK SOON.
KATHLEEN DINSMORE
With a flourish, she dropped the pad onto the pier and stuck the pen back in her bag.
“If you’re willing to put your name to the crime, I’m okay with it,” Joe said with a smile.
“If I get prosecuted, you can visit me in prison.”
“I’ll bake you a cake with a file in it.”
“I never got that. What would I do with a file?” She reached down and pulled the rowboat parallel to the pier, then sat down and swung her legs over. Joe held the boat steady while she climbed in, then got in and sat opposite her.
“File the bars in your cell?”
“Ha! Do my nails is more like it,” she said. “A file would be worthless. I’ll tell you what: if you’re going to the trouble, you might as well bake me a cake with some dynamite inside it, or a shovel. Something useful.”
“I’ll do my best.” Joe gestured to the oars. “You do know you’re in the seat to row? You want to switch?”
“No, I’ll do it for a while, and then we can trade off,” she said, lifting the oars and lowering them into the water.
She never stopped surprising him, in a good way. He nodded and sat back, admiring the capable way she eased the oars back, then dipped and pulled them forward, propelling the boat farther and farther away from the Barn Dance. The strains of the song “Crazy Little Thing Called Love” drifted across the surface of the water, a musical backdrop just for them. Joe tapped his palm on the side of the boat in time to the music and studied Kathleen as she happily rowed them toward the island. The Barn Dance had been a letdown, but this evening was turning into a good night after all.
Ricky stood on the shore and watched as the couple in the boat receded into the distance, disgust rising from his gut. Kathleen was really on a date with that guy, complete with slow dancing and a romantic boat ride. That guy. Unbelievable. He couldn’t believe the pansy-ass was making her row. What kind of man would do such a thing?
In his opinion, Joe wasn’t a man at all but a skinny kid aiming higher than his reach. She had to be dating him out of pity. The idea of this man-child touching Kathleen—kissing her, putting his filthy hands on her—made him want to puke. The rage that welled up in him made him all the more convinced that he was doing the right thing by maneuvering to take back what belonged to him.