Time After Time by Antoinette Stockenberg Page A
Authors: Antoinette Stockenberg
Tags: Humor, Romance, Contemporary, Paranormal, Party, romantic suspense, Ghost, beach read, Summer Read, planner, cliff walk, newort
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she was in right now.
The mood was: jumpy. Liz's
breakthrough to the attic had cost her a lot in peace of mind and
hours of sleep. Chimes ... ghosts ... claims of reincarnation. Liz
was convinced that the only way to get her life back to normal was
to read through the letters, get to know Victoria St. Onge as an
ordinary — if cunning — human being, and dismiss her from her
thoughts forever.
She was far less confident
about what to do with her amnesiac friend on the
Vineyard.
After plopping Susy down
under the watchful eye of the children's librarian, Liz squirreled
herself a few feet away in the Newport Room and began leafing
carefully through bound and yellowed copies of the Newport Daily News, beginning with the ones from early 1936. The crumbling
newspapers, with their simpler, gentler themes, were naturally
fascinating to Liz, a Newport native, but she made herself focus on
her mission: to find out when Victoria St. Onge died.
By the time she came to
the year 1939, Liz not only knew when, she knew how.
****
"So how's the Vineyard
working out?" Liz asked Victoria in a resolutely cheerful voice
when they talked on the phone that night.
"Better than my wildest
dreams," Victoria said happily. "You remember the internist who
treated me after the accident? I told you about him — dark eyes,
beard, funky sense of humor? He's here, on vacation too, and boy oh
boy, he's alone. He's a windsurfing nut. So guess what? I've decided
that I want to
learn."
"You, windsurf? I don't
think so." Victoria was the most unathletic woman Liz had ever
known.
"I know — I fall
constantly. Ben thinks it's hysterical. This morning I fell right
out of my top. Unfortunately, the water's so damned cold that we
had to go out and buy me a wetsuit." Victoria sighed and added, "I
hope that's not the end of the attraction."
"If that's all he cares
about ...," Liz said, in a motherly way.
"Well, it's not as if he
can love me for my mind."
"Victoria — you've lost
your memory, not your mind. And anyway, he knows it. Stop being so
defensive."
"You're right. God, he's
such a doll. Funny, patient, kind. Too bad his ex-wife couldn't
handle his years of med school. But not too bad for me."
"Go for it, kiddo," said
Liz, suffering an odd and unexpected pang.
"Are you reading the
letters? I haven't had the time I thought I would," Victoria confessed
without guilt. "One thing's clear, though: Victoria St. Onge was a
conniving little ... whatever. She did make some enemies. I'm
surprised she lasted so long."
"Yeah ...," Liz said in a
vague way.
"What?" said Victoria at once. "What did you find out?
Who did what to her?"
"Good lord, Tori — you've
read my mind!" said Liz. Immediately she thought of the other
Victoria — the other mind-reader. It was too eerie. With a wince in
her voice, Liz said, "I was at the library, so I thought I'd do a
little investigating. It turns out that Victoria St. Onge was ...
well ... murdered. In 1939."
"Murdered! How?"
"Um ... a blow to the
head."
"Now that pisses me off. That was
supposed to be a safe time to live. I expected to die in my sleep!
Really, it's too much. The streets aren't safe. I may never come
back, you know? Maybe I'll just buy a house on the Vineyard. Ben
and I were looking at these adorable teeny-tiny cottages at Oak
Bluffs ..."
Victoria's bouncing back
and forth between lives had Liz reeling, but at least she wasn't
taking the news tragically. Obviously Dr. Ben was a hell of an
effective distraction. Relieved, Liz said, "Look, I'd better let
you go. Susy's been waiting patiently for her bedtime
story."
She was able to get off
the phone without having to explain that before the final blow to
the head, Victoria St. Onge had suffered a brutal beating at the
hands of a thirty-yearold con-man who'd been living with her —
thank God, in some other house than Liz's — at the time of her
murder. The murderer's name was Johnny Ripen, and he was sent to
jail, at the end of 1939, for life.
It
The mood was: jumpy. Liz's
breakthrough to the attic had cost her a lot in peace of mind and
hours of sleep. Chimes ... ghosts ... claims of reincarnation. Liz
was convinced that the only way to get her life back to normal was
to read through the letters, get to know Victoria St. Onge as an
ordinary — if cunning — human being, and dismiss her from her
thoughts forever.
She was far less confident
about what to do with her amnesiac friend on the
Vineyard.
After plopping Susy down
under the watchful eye of the children's librarian, Liz squirreled
herself a few feet away in the Newport Room and began leafing
carefully through bound and yellowed copies of the Newport Daily News, beginning with the ones from early 1936. The crumbling
newspapers, with their simpler, gentler themes, were naturally
fascinating to Liz, a Newport native, but she made herself focus on
her mission: to find out when Victoria St. Onge died.
By the time she came to
the year 1939, Liz not only knew when, she knew how.
****
"So how's the Vineyard
working out?" Liz asked Victoria in a resolutely cheerful voice
when they talked on the phone that night.
"Better than my wildest
dreams," Victoria said happily. "You remember the internist who
treated me after the accident? I told you about him — dark eyes,
beard, funky sense of humor? He's here, on vacation too, and boy oh
boy, he's alone. He's a windsurfing nut. So guess what? I've decided
that I want to
learn."
"You, windsurf? I don't
think so." Victoria was the most unathletic woman Liz had ever
known.
"I know — I fall
constantly. Ben thinks it's hysterical. This morning I fell right
out of my top. Unfortunately, the water's so damned cold that we
had to go out and buy me a wetsuit." Victoria sighed and added, "I
hope that's not the end of the attraction."
"If that's all he cares
about ...," Liz said, in a motherly way.
"Well, it's not as if he
can love me for my mind."
"Victoria — you've lost
your memory, not your mind. And anyway, he knows it. Stop being so
defensive."
"You're right. God, he's
such a doll. Funny, patient, kind. Too bad his ex-wife couldn't
handle his years of med school. But not too bad for me."
"Go for it, kiddo," said
Liz, suffering an odd and unexpected pang.
"Are you reading the
letters? I haven't had the time I thought I would," Victoria confessed
without guilt. "One thing's clear, though: Victoria St. Onge was a
conniving little ... whatever. She did make some enemies. I'm
surprised she lasted so long."
"Yeah ...," Liz said in a
vague way.
"What?" said Victoria at once. "What did you find out?
Who did what to her?"
"Good lord, Tori — you've
read my mind!" said Liz. Immediately she thought of the other
Victoria — the other mind-reader. It was too eerie. With a wince in
her voice, Liz said, "I was at the library, so I thought I'd do a
little investigating. It turns out that Victoria St. Onge was ...
well ... murdered. In 1939."
"Murdered! How?"
"Um ... a blow to the
head."
"Now that pisses me off. That was
supposed to be a safe time to live. I expected to die in my sleep!
Really, it's too much. The streets aren't safe. I may never come
back, you know? Maybe I'll just buy a house on the Vineyard. Ben
and I were looking at these adorable teeny-tiny cottages at Oak
Bluffs ..."
Victoria's bouncing back
and forth between lives had Liz reeling, but at least she wasn't
taking the news tragically. Obviously Dr. Ben was a hell of an
effective distraction. Relieved, Liz said, "Look, I'd better let
you go. Susy's been waiting patiently for her bedtime
story."
She was able to get off
the phone without having to explain that before the final blow to
the head, Victoria St. Onge had suffered a brutal beating at the
hands of a thirty-yearold con-man who'd been living with her —
thank God, in some other house than Liz's — at the time of her
murder. The murderer's name was Johnny Ripen, and he was sent to
jail, at the end of 1939, for life.
It
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