Cold Memory

by Leslie A. Kelly

  Gypsy and Mick eyed each other, both interested by that last bit. Her grandfather had been less than forthcoming about this meeting, but now Gypsy’s curiosity was definitely aroused.

  “Why don’t I get us all some coffee,” Mick asked, as if knowing Gypsy might want a moment alone with the woman.

  Gypsy nodded. “Thanks.”

  “Nothing for me; I’m fine,” said Penny, lifting a soft drink cup and sipping from the straw. The slurping sound said the cup was almost empty. Gypsy suspected Miss Travers had been sitting here for quite some time, perhaps working up her nerve to have this conversation.

  More interesting by the minute.

  After Mick had walked away, she sat down across from Penny. “Have you had breakfast?” She didn’t see any trash on the table.

  “I haven’t been able to eat for a couple of days.” Penny swallowed hard. “I’ve been feeling sick to my stomach.”

  “I can imagine,” she replied, remembering what Jersey had looked like in death. Hard enough for an officer of the law to witness; she couldn’t imagine a civilian walking in on a scene like that.

  “After Jersey died Monday morning…”

  “Actually,” Gypsy clarified, sensing the young woman might benefit from the facts, “it happened Sunday night.” Suspecting Penny had been tormenting herself over what she had—and had not—done for the dead man, she added, “He had passed away well before you went in there Monday. There’s nothing you could have done to help him.”

  She nodded, mumbling, “Thank you for that. But it’s not just about what I saw, or, what I told the police I saw.”

  Gypsy didn’t like the sound of that. It sounded like this witness might have said something that wasn’t true during her interview, which could really present a problem for the case. “Go on.”

  “There’s something I need to explain. It might be hard for you to hear, harder for you to believe.” She looked up, watching as Mick walked back toward their table, carrying two disposable cups with steam coming out of the sippy holes at the top. “That’s why I wanted him here.”

  Placing both cups down, Mick pulled a chair up to the end of the table. “Me?”

  “I’ve heard things about you.”

  “Good or bad?” Gypsy mumbled.

  Mick quirked a grin. “What the Chief means to say is that she’s sure you’ve only heard great things about my history with the carnival.”

  “Actually, I’ve heard you used to be a performer.”

  He popped the top off his cup, picked up a small packet of sugar, and dumped it in. “That’s right. I wasn’t nearly as popular as I hear you and your brother are, though. Death-defying, that’s what most people say about you.”

  Mick apparently knew more about the witness than she did; Gypsy wasn’t even sure what the sibling act involved.

  “They have a knife-throwing act,” Mick explained. “Where others would stay perfectly still, Miss Travers leaps all over the place as her brother releases the blade. I hear she has such quick reflexes that she can practically see where the knives are going to land and jump out of their path right before she’s hit.”

  “Impressive.”

  Taking a deep breath, Penny looked at Gypsy. “And true.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean,” she explained, “that I can see where the knives are going to land, and jump out of their path right before I’m hit.”

  Impressive, indeed. “So I guess that means you’ve practiced a lot?”

  The petite brunette blew out a breath, steeling herself. “It might be better if I show you.”

  “No knife throwing in McDonald’s, please.”

  “Not that. It’s something else. I’ll only need a second to show you. One second.”

  Gypsy nodded and Mick shrugged. She suspected he was every bit as curious about where this conversation was going.

  Penny looked around the restaurant—stared intently, in fact—and then she said something strange, her voice forceful. “I’m not going to do anything except sit here and watch that door for the next ninety seconds.”

  She stiffened, her eyes closed. Literally one second later, they flew back open and she burst into laughter.

  Mick tilted his head in confusion. Gypsy actually gaped. What the hell just happened?

  “Sorry,” Penny said, still grinning. “In ten seconds, the door is going to open and a frazzled woman is going to come in, pushing a stroller holding a little boy of about four—who’s too big for the stroller. A slightly older girl will be with them.”

  Gypsy glanced out the nearest window, expecting to see such a family. That she did not wasn’t a big deal. Sitting where she was, Penny might have a different view of the parking lot.

  The younger woman didn’t seem to notice her distraction. “The boy is in a really bad mood and will be whining from the minute they walk in that he doesn’t want an egg sandwich, he wants cereal, and it’s all Emily’s fault that he’s not going to get it because she had to go to the stupid dentist before she goes to stupid school.”

  Well, that didn’t sound too unusual for a four-year-old. A bratty one, anyway.

  “Mom is embarrassed, looking around and realizing there are no other kids here, and that most of the adults are staring. She’ll try to shush him by saying he can have cereal as soon as they get home. But the kid wants it now. He’s going to get louder and louder, he’ll tug on her coat, and eventually will climb out of the stroller, throw himself onto the floor, and start screaming like he’s being chased by lions.”

  That sounded annoying as hell. Gypsy didn’t know what Penny was trying to prove, but she really hoped the other woman was wrong. Screaming kids throwing tantrums were really not her thing. “So far, it’s not sounding very funny.”

  Before Penny continued, Gypsy heard the door on the other side of the restaurant open. She hadn’t had a view of that parking lot—none of them had. Mick did, however, have a line of sight to the door. His eyes widened, then they all heard a little voice saying he didn’t want eggs, he wanted cereal. Et cetera.

  “Okay, interesting,” she admitted, thinking of a bunch of possible explanations for this. Including that it was a setup and Penny knew the other woman.

  But could she really make little kids act on cue?

  “That little girl will roll her eyes, glare at her brother, and look like she wishes she was still an only child.”

  Gypsy already didn’t blame her.

  “Finally, when she can’t take it anymore, the kid is going to grab a milk carton off the tray on the counter, open it, and dump it all over her brother’s head, saying, “Here’s the milk. You’ll get the cereal when you get home!”

  All three of them turned to look toward the front of the restaurant, where the boy’s yells were increasing in volume. The mom looked embarrassed, the sister angry. Although she doubted Mick really expected everything to play out the way Penny had described—any more than Gypsy did—they both watched closely for the next several seconds.

  Right up until the at-the-end-of-her-rope girl swooped up the milk carton and dumped the contents all over her brother, saying exactly what Penny had predicted.

  Gypsy’s eyes widened, she heard Mick cough into his fist to hide a laugh. The entire restaurant was silent for a second, the adults torn between wanting to applaud, or breathe a sigh of relief for the blessed silence.

  It didn’t last long, however. The mother shrieked at the girl, and the little boy’s scream would have sunk ships at sea. But it sure had been fun while it lasted.

  “Okay,” Gypsy said, turning to face Penny Travers. “How did you do that?”

  Mick answered first, murmuring, “She can see into the future.”

  Gypsy almost snorted, and then she heard Penny reply.

  “Yes, I can.”

  Although the three of them fell silent, the restaurant was still awash with noise. The mother picked up the sopping little boy to console him, ordered the sister to push the stroller outside, and dep
arted. Then there was actual silence. It stretched on for a while.

  Finally, Mick broke it. “So who’s gonna win the Super Bowl?”

  Penny managed a smile. “It doesn’t work like that. I can only see into the future surrounding me—my involvement in it.” Looking embarrassed, she added, “And only for ninety seconds,” as if it was something to be ashamed of.

  Mick whistled, visibly impressed. “That’s pretty amazing. I’ve never met anyone who can do that. It looked like you were in a trance or something, but only for a second.”

  “Yes, exactly. My brother and I have timed it. I have to sort of, I dunno, push myself into the future, and suddenly I’m there, mentally at least. I see ninety seconds precisely, and am then rubber banded back to myself. It’s always exactly one second after I closed my eyes.”

  “Fascinating.”

  Hearing his tone, Gypsy realized that Mick believed everything Penny claimed. He had heard her brief explanation, witnessed something that could have some other explanation than the paranormal, and bought every word.

  Gypsy was a skeptic at heart. She didn’t trust people immediately, and still struggled with otherworldly stuff, even that which she knew existed. Like Mick’s ability.

  Yet something about the girl’s story rang true. And deep down, she suddenly realized, she actually believed her, too.

  “If you ever get tired of the knife-throwing game, I can hook you up with someone who might want to hire you,” Mick said.

  Penny giggled. “Even with my sucky ninety-second lasting-time?”

  “Actually, I think it’s a pretty amazing amount of time. Ninety seconds is a lot when you’re faced with a decision that could mean life…or death.”

  Penny gave Mick a melting look like women always did. Not because of his handsome face, but because he’d said something that made it clear he really understood her. She was again reminded how very much it had to suck for a guy who was so good with people to never be able to touch anything they’d ever handled.

  Like her clothes the other night?

  Hmm. They really hadn’t seemed to bother him. If the phone hadn’t rung, she suspected he’d have had them off her in another couple of minutes.

  “Thank you for believing me,” Penny said. “It wasn’t easy to admit. My brother’s the only person I can talk about this to.”

  Gypsy had a flash of insight, realizing people who were different always had to stick together and to find a way to help each other. She suspected Penny’s brother was the stabilizing influence in her life, the one she could turn to when her world became too crazy. Shane had always done that for Mick.

  But maybe…well, maybe now he had somebody else to do that for him too.

  Her.

  She shook off the personal reactions and the thoughts of the maybes about her and Mick and went back to Penny Travers. Before she’d told them what she could do, she’d said something that made it sound as though her witness statement wasn’t entirely true. Knowing legal cases rose or fell on the tiniest of details—I’s being dotted and T’s being crossed—she asked, “So, Penny, why did you tell us all this? And what else is it you need to say?”

  The vulnerable-looking, younger woman’s cheeks paled. She licked her lips.

  Again, Mick answered the question.

  “She didn’t really find Jersey’s body.”

  Although she suspected he was right, Gypsy ignored him, staring at Penny, waiting for her to admit the truth.

  “Well, I did,” she insisted, “but not physically. Not in actual reality.”

  Actual reality? Sounded like a politician’s term.

  “You saw his death in a vision,” Gypsy pressed.

  “Well, no, not his death. I saw him dead in a vision.”

  Penny told them what had happened Monday morning. Her story sounded the same as it had in her statement, which Gypsy had read, right up until the moment it diverged from it. That would be the moment when she saw the drop of blood outside.

  “I was scared. I mean, I was afraid for Jersey, and I wanted to check on him. But when I saw that blood…even though part of me wanted to help, the other part wanted to run away.”

  “That’s completely normal. You know you couldn’t have helped him,” Gypsy said, just as she’d told her earlier. “There’s absolutely nothing you could have done.”

  “I know that now, but I wasn’t sure at that moment. So I, well, I convinced myself that I was going to go inside, and then I watched what would happen when I did. I saw he was already dead, screamed like a banshee, and ran for help.”

  Although it was taking Gypsy a little while to figure out how everything worked, Mick seemed right on the ball with this whole new paranormal possibility. “So afterward—what happened when you didn’t go in, didn’t do what you were, um, supposed to do?”

  “The ground tried to trip me.”

  Jesus, did they serve whiskey in fast food places now? She could really use a splash of it in her coffee. “Excuse me?”

  “Time doesn’t like to be changed,” Penny said. “That’s the only way I can explain it.”

  “Time doesn’t like to be changed,” Gypsy repeated, shaken by the prospect that time could be a tangible thing.

  “Right. Monday, it was like the grass was growing at my feet and it kept tangling around my ankles to pull me down.”

  “And time did that.” Of all she’d heard, this was proving to be the hardest bit for Gypsy to swallow.

  “I don’t know, that’s how I look at it,” Penny said. “Maybe it’s fate, or the order of the universe, I have no idea. I just know that if I deviate from what I say I’m going to do before one of my, um, mental trips, something always happens to try to make me go back to ensure the original version comes true.”

  “So what if, one of these days when you’re doing your act with your brother, you see a vision of a future in which a sharp blade flies into your heart?” asked Mick.

  An impish grin made her cute face look even younger. “Then I’ll be really careful that in avoiding getting stabbed in the heart, I don’t fall into a bucket of knives that I didn’t know was right behind me.”

  Mick lifted his coffee in salute, answering her grin, as if it all made perfect sense.

  Gypsy was left feeling befuddled and stupid. To think a week ago she’d been picturing her rosy, entirely normal life, in a quaint, friendly, low-crime little town. Yeesh. Things really could spin out of control like the Round Up ride, with the floor falling out from beneath your feet and everything.

  Knowing she couldn’t let her own doubts interfere with the case, she pushed all the weirder stuff out of her mind to focus only on what had actually happened Monday morning. She had to figure out whether this confession was going to change any aspect of the case, or inhibit the prosecution of whoever had committed the crime. It wasn’t like she could tell a district attorney to go in to a courtroom and admit a time traveler had discovered the victim.

  “Okay,” she said, knowing they had to go back to the basics. “I want you to read your statement and make sure all of it is correct, as far as you recall. Later we’ll figure out what to do about the fact that only your mind went into Jersey’s place.”

  Taking Gypsy’s iPad, which she pushed across the table, Penny read the words on the screen. Nodding a couple of times as she remembered specifics from her vision, Penny took her time, being very deliberate. Her face told the story all over again, as she bit her lip when recalling moments of fear, gasped when remembering the horror, and wiped her eyes as she grieved all over again for poor old Jersey.

  When she reached the bottom of the screen containing her interview, she swiped to continue. Gypsy tried to warn her. “Wait, you might not want to see….”

  But it was too late. Penny had gone from statement page to crime scene photo with a quick flick of her finger. Gypsy half expected her to shudder and push the tablet away, but the young woman surprised—and impressed—her. Instead of reacting with disgust at the dreadful image, she stu
died it carefully.

  “You don’t have to do that,” Gypsy murmured.

  “Yes, I do. I want to be certain it looks just as it did in my vision, to make sure nothing’s changed. I want to help as much as I can, especially to make up for not being honest at first.”

  “It’s your call.”

  Penny kept going, moving through the image file. She got through the hardest—the ones of Jersey’s bloody body on the bed—to others of the house, and the room itself. Different angles captured the scene exactly as it had been Monday morning. It might not seem to matter, but there was no way of knowing if the precise location of something might have been changed as cops and CSI’s trooped through. Entire chains of clues had been lost that way.

  She couldn’t help thinking of that black feather from the funnel cake trailer. If she’d secured the scene better, maybe it wouldn’t have wafted away, or gone out on the bottom of somebody’s shoe.

  Gypsy also wished she’d gotten a chance to read the crumpled piece of paper clutched in Jersey’s hand before it had been appropriated by the Jacksonville detectives. She’d been preserving the crime scene very carefully that day, having learned her hard lesson. Guards had been at the door, nobody allowed in while the CSIs documented everything. By the time she was ready to clear the paper for removal from the victim’s hand, the detectives had come in and taken charge, not even allowing her to look at the thing.

  Their refusal to be cooperative, like cops usually were, had felt personal, and deliberate. She didn’t know if it was because she’d chosen to leave the JPD in order to come up to Ocean Whispers, because she was a woman, or because somebody had gotten to them. Somebody like Montgomery Tanner, perhaps. It seemed like something the privileged millionaire would do, just to keep control over the town he considered his personal playground.

  “Wait,” Penny mumbled, going back to a previous image and then scrolling forward again. “Something’s missing.” She closed her eyes, putting a hand to her forehead, as if deep in thought, or trying desperately to remember some elusive detail. After a moment, she exclaimed, “The button!”