"Hey!" a voice squawked, "point that thing somewhere else!"
Kathleen thought she was going to pass out. A man sat on the desk chair, straddling its back. He held his arm across his eyes to shield them from the flashlight's glare. She dropped it and stumbled back.
"Oh, my God!" she screamed. "You...you're..."
"Dead?" the man suggested. It was Scott Sherwood. Kathleen was sure of that. His eyes twinkled in the same way. He had the same roguish smile and the same thick silver-black hair. His skin was extremely pale, though, as pale as...um, as pale as glaze on a cinnamon bun. "Yeah, I think I figured that out."
"But...if you're dead...no!" She grabbed the flashlight and fumbled for the door.
"What are you doing?"
She waved the beam at the specter before her. He just looked amused. "I'm going to go out this door, count to ten, go back in, and you'll be gone. The lights will be on, and this weird dream I'm having will be over." She found the door, slammed it shut, and leaned against it. I can't be seeing ghosts! They don't exist! There has to be a logical explanation for this! She counted to ten as calmly as she could, opened the door, and peered inside.
Scott Sherwood still sat backwards on the chair and still looked amused. "You don't believe in me, do you?"
"Of course not!" she exclaimed. "Wait! Why can I see you?"
"You found out what happened to me," Scott explained. "I made myself visible so I could get help."
"Why?" Kathleen asked.
Scott sighed. "I know I was killed," he said sadly. He pointed to his thick, white neck. Kathleen aimed the flashlight at it. She could clearly see an angry red line cutting into his throat. "I was strangled. They came up from behind and throttled me with an electrical cord."
"They?" Kathleen took several boxes off the other chair and sat down next to him. "Who are they?"
He shrugged. "Your guess is as good as mine. I never saw who did it. I tried to turn around and grab whoever had their hands on me, but it happened too fast." His face clouded over. "Someone murdered me and got away with it. The weapon was never found, and neither was its owner. Betty tried, the police tried, but no one could figure it out." He gazed sorrowfully at her. "Until now. That's what I want you to do, Kathy."
"How do you know my name?"
Scott grinned. "John talked about you. He knows about me, but he lost interest in WENN ages ago. I needed someone to help me solve this crime, so I can leave WENN and go to Betty."
"Betty…" Kathleen sighed, remembering the beautiful woman. "Scott, what happened to her?"
Scott looked like he was going to cry. "She got married, had a family, two boys. John Comstock is her younger son. The other one is in New York somewhere, pursuing his dream of becoming a stage actor and writer." He gulped. "She's dead now. She died a few months ago. That's why I have to find out what happened." His eyes watered. "I want to be with her, now that she's up there, but I can't until I finish my business here."
Kathleen shook her head. "Scott, that's impossible. It's 2000! Almost everyone who was involved with your murder is dead or close to being there. I doubt the police will want to bring up an old case that they probably regard as closed, anyway."
Scott nodded. "You're probably right." His eyes gleamed. "Which is why you won't solve it in 2000."
"What?" Kathleen exclaimed.
He took her by the shoulders. Kathleen was surprised he could touch her at all. "You can't solve it now. It's old news. I have to send you back to when it was new news." He grinned. "Or, better yet, before it was news."
"Send me back? Like time travel?" Kathleen gasped. "Who do you think I am, Michael J. Fox?"
"You're the only one who's read the letters and cares enough to try to find out who did me in." He stroked her hair. He had surprisingly soft hands for a ghost. "Remember what the letters said? I died because I knew something."
"What did you know? It must have been really important."
Scott looked embarrassed. "I don't remember much about what happened before I was killed. I know I had the notebooks, I just don't know where I put them."
"Notebooks?"
Scott nodded. "All the information I found was in the notebooks. I decoded someone's lines, but that part of my memory seems to be gone. There was a spy, an informant for the Axis, at the station. It may have been the same person who was involved in the disappearance of those other spies, too."
"Were you a spy?"
Scott hesitated, but nodded. "Yes, I was. I couldn't tell Betty. They sent me back to WENN to find the leak, and I didn't want her to get involved. She was already involved once, and we almost got killed."
"One of the letters mentioned that this wasn't the first time there was a spy at WENN. How did that happen? I mean, this is just a little radio station."
"That's why the Nazis used us three times for their network," Scott explained. "We were small, independent, and not well-known enough to attract attention."
"Where do Betty and the others come in?"
"It's a long, complicated story. Basically, a certain Mr. Pruitt, whom we thought of as merely a nuisance and a Satanic Santa, was a contact for the Nazi party in America. All he ever wanted was money, and they paid him well enough that he went along with their plans. We stopped one of his spy rings from destroying munitions plants, and I stopped him from shooting Betty and Victor Comstock." Scott held up his hand. "Don't ask about how Victor and Betty got involved. That's an even longer story."
Kathleen recognized the name. "Victor Comstock. Was he..."
"The man Betty married after I died, yes. You've probably guessed by now that he's also John's pop." He gritted his teeth. "We both fell hard for her, but Victor wasn't around much during the war years, and Betty preferred what was there to what wasn't." He seemed to droop and fade before Kathleen's eyes. "When he came back and found that I was gone, he married her and inherited the station from the former owner." Scott shrugged again. "Don't get me wrong. Victor was a nice enough guy. He never stayed around for long, though. If he wasn't running to the nearest war to spread American patriotism, he was running to New York or Washington on government business. Betty practically ran this place by herself for forty years, until John took over."
Kathleen felt a chill spread through her body. "Scott, I can't do this. I'm not a woman of the past. I could never live in the past."
He shook his head. "You won't be there long. Just enough to find out who had it in for me and why, and find those notebooks."
"But the notebooks could be anywhere! And how am I supposed to solve a mystery in the past? I don't belong in the past!"
Scott looked thoughtfully at her. "True. You don't." He smiled. "Trust me, I'll make sure you fit in enough that no one knows that you're from the future."
She moved back. "I can't do this! This is nuts! I'm dreaming. I hit my head on that shelf that fell, and I'm now dreaming."
You're not dreaming, Scott's now-faint voice assured her. His body grew faint as well. She could see the file cabinets through his chest. You're going to help me get to my Betty.
"What if I don't want to anymore?" Kathleen wailed.
Please, Kathy, the breathy voice moaned. I need to know! I'll never see her again if you don't help! The voice groaned, over and over, louder and louder, until the boxes and the pictures rattled. Scott's wailing combined with the thunder made quite a racket.
Kathleen threw her hands over her ears. "Scott, enough! I'll help you! I'll do whatever it takes! Just stop the movie-ghost stuff. If people hear you, they'll think the cast of 'The Blair Witch Project' moved in or something!"
The room was suddenly deathly quiet. Nothing moved. She barely breathed. Scott seemed to have vanished. Her shaky beam showed an empty chair. Then, she heard his voice, even fainter than before, but very happy.
I knew you'd help me, Kathy!
The door blew open at that point, and all Kathy could see was light. The thunder crashed and the lightning flashed. She felt a hand on her shoulder.
Come with me...
Kathleen screamed and ran for the door. She tripped over a box and went sprawling in a pile of papers. Lights danced on the dull walls and illuminated Scott's white, suit-clad body. The red welt on his neck stood out like a bolt of electricity. He held out his hand to her and smiled. The light in the flashlight died. The only light came from the lightning, and from Scott.
Kathy, come on...
Her heart pounded in her throat. This is crazy! This is insane! I can't be doing this! I can't even be thinking this! She sighed. What the hell! The young woman threw her hand out to the ghostly one. The moment she touched his hand, her world flashed, wavered, and went dark.
It was only seconds before the light came back on, but it felt like a century to Kathleen. She was still in the storage room...or was she? The desks were still there, and they were still piled with stuff, but the stuff wasn't dusty. The shelves weren't falling down, and the file cabinets weren't rusty. The typewriter didn't have cobwebs on it. There were daisies in a glass vase on the second desk.
She found a calendar on the desk and checked the date. It clearly stated March 29th, 1943. A small, old-fashioned radio played swing music. A half-eaten egg salad sandwich lay next to the typewriter. The room seemed to be in a state of orderly disorder. Scripts were still packed in boxes and cartons, but there weren't as many. She inspected the room, taking every change. He did it, Kathleen thought. Scott actually did it. He sent me back to 1943. She groaned. What do I do now? I don't know where to begin.
"Betty!" someone hissed. Kathleen turned around and found herself face to face with an angry woman. The woman shook a piece of paper in her face. She wore a fancy red dress with a matching hat, gloves, and a thick fur stole. "Where is the rest of my script for 'Valiant Journey'? We go on in five minutes!"
"Huh?" Kathleen looked around for something that seemed like a script. She found it under the sandwich. "Um, here it is, ma'am."
She mentally kicked herself for the "ma'am". The woman looked like she was going to have a fit. "Ma'am. That's very amusing. Tell me, Betty, have you forgotten who I am in the fifteen minutes since 'Our Fleeting Passion', or is the strain of not being near your beloved con man going to that little mind of yours?"
Kathleen was growing tired of this woman and her obvious attitude problem. If this was the kind of people Scott worked with, she felt very sorry for him. "Look, lady, I'm having a bad day. Why don't you just go on the air and do what you're supposed to do, instead of belittling others?" She left the woman fuming and went to explore the station.
The first person she ran into was one of the redheads from the picture, the younger one in the floral dress. She, too, carried a script, and she looked very impressed. "Wow, Betty, I never saw you blow Hilary off like that before." She had a Brooklyn accent that made her sound like a moll from an old gangster movie. She even chewed gum. "I guess you're just nervous about Scott coming back." The woman was tall, taller than Kathleen, and sported a bright-colored dress and floral hat. Her flame-colored hair was done in thick curls that nicely framed her overly made-up face.
Kathleen was so confused and disoriented that it hadn't occurred to her that she was at least an inch shorter than usual. She looked down at herself. She wore a plain khaki suit instead of the tank top and jeans that she'd thrown on that morning.
Who am I? That was when she remembered the photos in the album. I must be Scott's fiancée, Betty. She suspected that asking the woman whom she was and what she did at the station wasn't going to go over well, and she'd probably already blown her cover with Hilary. "Oh," she said, trying to cover her bewilderment, "yeah, I guess I am. After all, we are going to get married soon." Her voice was lighter and higher.
Maple elbowed her. "I can't wait until he gets back from the war and you guys get hitched! It'll be real romantic. You both deserve it." The woman nodded at the door. "I'd better get going. Hilary will start a minor war of her own if she doesn't have someone to act with."
Kathleen chuckled. If "Hilary" were the woman she'd met in the storage room door, she'd believe it. She hoped that she wasn't an actress. She'd die if she had to work behind a microphone with that woman every day.
She smelled coffee coming from one of the rooms down the hall. After the day I've had, I could use some of that! She wandered in to find three men chatting about how terrible the Pittsburgh Pirates were last season. She wished she could join their conversation. She was a big baseball fan, but she knew little about the game in this time period. She also didn't know if the real Betty was interested in baseball, or any sports. Women probably weren't supposed to be interested in sports in 1943.
"Oh, hi, Betty," one of the men greeted her. He was short and balding. His eyes danced behind round-framed glasses. She could see a big smile under his thick, gray mustache. "How's the bride-to-be today? Ready to go meet the groom at the station?"
No, I'm not! she wanted to scream. I'm not ready to see the groom. I'd strangle him if someone hadn't beaten me to it! I'm not Betty and I don't belong here! She sighed. "Yeah, I think I'm ready. I just need coffee and a chance to think, that's all."
"Understood completely," admitted the second man. He was a wise-looking octagenarian with a sweet face that also hid behind spectacles. He wore a big white cardigan and a red bow tie. "You're going to meet the one you love after a long time. That's not an easy thing to do."
The third man was also short, but stunningly handsome. His thick hair was so blonde it was almost white, and he had a set of big white teeth to match. His eyes were huge and brilliant blue. His grin made her heart jump, but the first words out of his mouth brought her back to Earth. "You look cute today, Toots. You sure you don't want to marry me instead of Sherwood? I'd make you really happy."
Kathleen rolled her eyes. She knew guys like this in college. "Sorry, buster," she said tersely, "I'm not interested." She glared at him. "And could you not call me Toots? What do I look like, chocolate candy?"
He eyed her like she was food. "Sure. You're the sweetest little trick I know." He grinned again, but she wasn't buying it this time. "You know I could make you happy. What can Sherwood give you that I can't?"
"Love," she said sharply. She nodded at the small man. "I think I'm ready to meet Scott now." Anything to get away from this jerk!
The little gray-haired man gave the blonde a rotten look. "Andy, why don't you lay off Betty? Or can't you take a hint?"
He grimaced. "Mackie, why don't you read your script for 'Two Gentlemen and a Lady' and mind your own business?"
Mackie glared at him. "Look, Betty and I are pals, and I don't like it when people treat my pals like personal property. She doesn't like you, so why don't you back off?"
Andy laughed. "I'm enjoying this too much." He swung his arms around Kathleen's waist, but she slapped them back. He was stung. "What was that about, Princess?"
"Don't 'Princess' me!" she snapped. "You heard Mackie! I'm not your personal property. I don't even like you! We work together and that is it. No touching, and no name-calling. I have a man, and I like him just fine, thank you!"
The tall redhead popped her head in. "Hey, Andy, would you mind gracing us with your presence in the studio, before Mount Hilary blows her top?"
The blond stood and downed the rest of his coffee. "Ahh, my public awaits." He gave Kathleen one more hungry look before heading out the door.
The old man headed out to the reception area, and Kathleen followed him, making a quick stop at the storage room to pick up the simple brown purse she saw in a right-hand drawer. She pawed around the coat rack, looking for a coat and hat that would fit her. She found a brown jacket and a matching hat and gloves. Oh, wow, that's right, women get dressed up to go everywhere in the 40s. She beamed. I've never worn the whole hat-and-gloves deal before. This will be really cool! Or, should I say swell?
She turned to the desk at the reception and was surprised to see it manned...or, more specifically, womaned. The older redhead sat behind the desk, clad in an emerald green dress with a large lace collar. She nodded briskly at the old man's spiel, and then grinned at her. She had one hand on what looked like a copy of "Time Magazine" and the other on a strange black board that was full of holes.
"It's about time you told Andy off," she said. "He's been chasing you ever since you hired him!"
The old man beamed. "I told Gertie all about how you said that you were going to marry Mr. Sherwood and you wouldn't look at another man." He shook his finger. "You don't worry yourself about Andy. He's handsome and young. He'll find himself another girl."
Mackie, who'd retrieved his own hat and coat, shook his head. "Not the way he's gone after Betty, Mr. Eldridge. The word 'no' just isn't in that man's vocabulary."
"Maybe," Kathleen mused, "this would be a good time for him to add it to his vocabulary, because I'm not going to stand for being treated like a candy bowl." She took the other man's arm. "Shall we, sir?"
"Of course." The two of them walked out of the station together. They rode the elevator downstairs. It was entirely different than the one that Kathleen rode in 2000. There was no music piped in, and no plastic buttons. They were wooden. She turned away from Mackie and lost herself in her thoughts.
What am I doing? This is crazy! I've got to find Scott and tell him to get me out of here. I don't know these people. I don't know what I'm doing, or how to be Betty, or who Betty was, other than Scott's fiancée.
She walked down the hallways. The building hadn't changed that much in fifty years. The radio and TV shop exclusively sold and repaired radios, and there was a little diner next door called "The Buttery" that defiantly wasn't there in 2000.
She climbed mechanically in Mackie's car. He started it up after some consternation and drove down Isabella Street. She decided to talk to this fellow and try to get her bearings. He seemed to be nice, and he did help her dump that pain in the rear Andy.
"Thanks for helping me back there," she said. "That guy is a royal pain in the rear end. Whoever hired him ought to be fired, along with him."
Mackie gave her a funny look. "You hired him, Betty. He had the best credentials for the job, I believe you said at the time."
Ooops! She mentally groaned. "I don't know what got into me. I must have been loony to hire an idiot like that." She looked out the window and watched old-fashioned brick buildings go buy. So, one of Betty's jobs is hiring people. That's ok. It's one of my jobs in 2000, now that I own WENN. Or, at least, owned WENN.I guess she's a writer, too. That would explain why Hilary assaulted me with that script.
"We were desperate," Mackie explained. "It was almost the same situation as the last time Jeff left for Europe, only Scotty wasn't around to show up unexpectedly and fill the void." She just sighed. Mackie smiled. "Thinking about Scotty?"
She'd been so lost in her thoughts that she hadn't realized he'd asked the question. "Oh, oh, yes, well, we are going to get married."
Mackie looked concerned. "Are you sure you're all right? You haven't been yourself this afternoon."
I'm not myself, Kathleen mentally grumbled. I'm someone else. "I'm all right, Mackie," she admitted, "I just need to see Scott. He'll be able to help me figure things out."
Mackie nodded and pulled up in front of a large, ornate building. Kathleen noticed railroad tracks running into the depot. *Holy mackerel, railroad stations used to look like this?* She stepped out of the car in a daze. It was several minutes before it occurred to her that she was alone. "You're not coming with me, Mackie?"
He shook his head. "Naww, I've got 'Two Gentlemen and a Lady' in fifteen minutes. Hilary will have my head if I don't get back in time." He frowned. "You sure you're ok?"
She nodded. "I'm fine, Mackie. You go on, before Hilary ends up doing a love scene with herself." Kathleen grinned as he swung out of the parking lot. She waved good-bye. "Remind me to like you a lot, Mackie," she whispered with a smile. She turned and went into the station.
She dug around in the purse. Thank goodness the real Betty scheduled her life down to the last detail. She found three dollars and fifty cents, a lipstick in a subtle crimson shade, a small notebook, an ID with a name and birth date, a pen, and a shopping list. According to the ID, her name was Elizabeth Martha Roberts, born in Elkheart, Indiana, on April 14th, 1916. That would make her about 26. Good, that's exactly how old I am. She had no driver's license, however. Oh, great, that means I have to walk or take the bus everywhere. She opened the notebook. It was set up like a daily planner, with entries for each day. She found the entry for March 29th and checked what Betty had to do. In addition to picking up Scott on the 2:30 PM train, she was meeting with two sponsors and having dinner with her new fiancée at 5:30 PM. They were going to spend the day together tomorrow.
A train whistle and a wave of people interrupted her stream of thought. She checked her little leather and brass watch. It was 2:30 PM on the dot. She made her way through the huge building, gaping at the crowd of well-dressed people. The women all wore heels and hats and stoles and made her feel plain. The men either wore spotless military uniforms or wide-breasted suits. I feel like I'm on Turner Classic Movies. I should be in black and white!
She found the platform that the train was arriving on and stood as close as she could. I hope Scott can help me, she fretted. Dressing up and meeting people is fun, but I feel like a kid. I wish I could just click my heels together, say 'There's no place like home!', and instantly find myself back in my own bed!
"Betty!" a man's cried joyfully. She turned to the sound of the increasingly familiar name and felt someone press his lips against hers.
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