The Mammoth Book of Time Travel Romance (14 page)

“Niall was the favoured grandson. He was a bit of a scoundrel, with plenty of money and a handsome face and probably no one in his entire life had ever said no to him. So, when he set eyes on Helen, he wanted her, and for Niall that was it, really. He wanted her and so he had her.”

“Gabe, you make him sound appalling,” she laughed.

“Helen wasn’t as well bred as Niall, but far more respectable. She held out for marriage, and eventually he proposed. It was a big wedding.”

“You sound as if you didn’t like Helen,” Claire said.

Gabe looked down at his coffee cup. “Do I? My grandfather had a photograph of her in his desk drawer – I think he was half in love with her despite the fact she was long gone before he was born. She was beautiful, and she used her looks to get what she wanted. A bit like Niall used his charm. It made them well suited.”

“Was it a happy marriage?”

“Niall was a womanizer but despite that he always insisted he loved his wife. Then Helen disappeared. Vanished completely.”

“They searched?”

“Oh yes. Looked everywhere. The police believed she’d run off with a lover – although who that lover was was never discovered. But the people around here thought differently. A rumour started that Niall had murdered Helen and hid the body. The rumour was never substantiated but it was enough to make Niall’s life unbearable. He sold up and left the district. The valley was flooded and that was that.”

Claire was quiet, mulling over his words. She knew the story, of course, but somehow Gabe’s blunt retelling of it made it all more real to her. “What do you think happened to Helen?”

“I don’t know, Claire.” He was frowning, and now he pushed his coffee cup aside. “Why this sudden interest?”

Something stirred in her mind but she couldn’t grasp it. Tantalizingly it remained just out of reach. And there was that niggling feeling in her stomach again, that urge to find out what really happened. That sense that something wasn’t quite right.

Claire met Gabe’s intelligent eyes and for a moment she was strongly tempted to tell him what had happened last night, but almost immediately she knew she wouldn’t. Gabe was a rational man and what Claire had experienced, if it wasn’t an auditory hallucination, wasn’t rational.

“Last night I walked across the reservoir, closer to the homestead, and took some photos,” she admitted.

“By yourself?” Gabe’s frown deepened. “Claire, it’s dangerous out there!”

“I was alone.”

He shook his head. “That’s my point. You were alone and the ground is treacherous. You could have fallen . . . been hurt . . . anything.”

“I was fine,” Claire said firmly.

Gabe seemed to know it was time to back off. He rearranged his teaspoon. “Are they good?”

“The photos? I think so. I haven’t developed them yet.”

“Why don’t you use one for the front cover on Thursday?” A peace offering.

“Thanks. I will.”

Gabe nodded, and then his mouth quirked up into a smile. Claire smiled back. I do love him, she thought. That’s why I don’t want to burden him with any more of my problems.

“Do you still have your grandfather’s photo of Helen?” she said.

Gabe hesitated. “Somewhere.”

“I’d like to see it some day.”

“I’ll look it out,” he said casually.

Helen’s body was one long ache where she’d landed on the ground when he pulled her from the horse. She opened her mouth to scream but he was already on her, hand covering her face, dragging her towards the barn. She kicked and struggled, but then he raised his fist and struck her hard on the jaw, and everything went dark. When she came around she was lying on the ground just inside the barn, her head throbbing and her vision woozy.

Was he gone?

But no, even as the hopeful thought entered her head she heard his steps as he made his preparations. Helen knew she was going to die and anger and regret filled her. A single foolish mistake had brought her to this violent end.

“Niall . . .” she groaned.

He laughed. “Too late to be sorry,” he mocked. “Far too late for that.”

Claire had an assignment with a local farm-machinery supplier, taking details for a paid promotion. Afterwards, on a whim, she drove out to the town cemetery, where the gravestones spoke of past joys and sorrows, good times and bad.

The iron gate clanged shut behind her. Heat shimmered from the ground and the smell of eucalyptus filled her nostrils and cleared her head. High among the drooping leaves a bird rustled and then flew off with a slow, lazy flapping of its wings.

The McEwen graves were in the older, pioneer section. Her gaze slid over Niall’s grandparents and parents, but there was no stone for Niall. Wherever he’d died it wasn’t here. There was nothing for Helen, either.

It would be impossible to bury someone whose body had never been found, but there could be a memorial with her name and a brief rehash of the circumstances of her disappearance.

No body, no memorial and no way to put Helen to rest.

The heat was getting worse, the air so still and hot Claire found it difficult to breathe. Still no hint of rain. Sometimes Claire wondered if it was ever going to rain again. Drought, with its accompanying water restrictions and daily worries and irritations, had become a way of life. Nothing stirred, nothing moved, and yet there was that sense of watching.

Hastily Claire turned back.

It was late by the time she began to transfer her photos on to her computer. They were good, especially those where the homestead sat lonely within its moat, the water reflecting the first dawn light. Claire began to set aside the ones she thought would make a good front page for the newspaper, turning her full attention to each new shot.

One of them puzzled her until she realized that the camera must have gone off when she fell over. A dark, confusing shot, with a partial view of the front of the homestead, some of the sky, and the gleam of light on the water. All shadows and angles.

She was about to move on when something else caught her eye. Reaching for the zoom button, she leaned closer to the computer screen. Her heart seemed to stop.

There was a face, barely visible within the gloom of the doorway. Had there been a door? Claire didn’t remember. The face was only half a face, the gleam of an eye, the shine of cheek and lips, but it was a face. Surely she could not be mistaken?

No, she wasn’t. Something or someone had been there. Watching her. She hadn’t been alone out there after all! Some stranger had been waiting, observing her, hiding from her. Then the voice; the word “Helen” had been spoken by a real man and not a ghostly presence?

She felt relief fight through her fear. Claire peered more closely at the photo, but it was impossible to accurately make out the features in the dark and light smudges that mingled to make up the man’s face. She could show Gabe, see if he recognized anything about the man, but Gabe was protective enough. If he thought she was in any sort of danger he’d be here, babysitting her. Better if she kept it to herself, at least until she knew what she was dealing with.

It was probably nothing to worry about.

Helen could hear Moppet barking. A warm wet tongue woke her from her half-conscious state. She murmured reassurance, but when she tried to take the little dog in her arms she found her ankles and wrists were bound with cord. The barn door was closed, too, and it was dark inside.

At least she was still alive. For now.

Moppet barked again and she tried to hush him, discovering that her mouth was also bound with some sort of cloth gag
.

Helen wriggled on to her back, wincing, and sat up. He’d tied her hands in front of her and it only took a moment for her to find a pitchfork among the bales of hay. She rubbed the cord against the prongs until they frayed enough for her to break them. Even so, her skin was raw and bleeding. Hurriedly she removed the gag and then the cord about her ankles, then staggered to her feet.

Moppet ran to the back wall and Helen followed, realizing there was a gap in the boards, half hidden behind a barrel. The little dog darted through and Helen began to follow, ignoring the stabbing pain behind her eyes and the queasiness in her stomach.

Behind her the barn door opened.

Angus had once been a big man but age had bowed and shrunk him down into something less formidable. Angus ran a small museum in an old house in the main street.

Claire knew she should be working but she still had that squirmy feeling in her stomach and she needed distraction. It was more than that, though. The idea of solving the mystery of Helen and Niall had taken hold of her. It wouldn’t restore her own lost self, but it would help. It would give her the self-confidence she needed to tell Gabe she was in love with him.

“Do you have any photos of Niall McEwen’s homestead?”

“I do have a few photos. Why do you want to see them, Claire?”

“I thought I’d do a story on Niall. Now that the homestead is no longer under water, people are interested.”

“Are they?” Angus looked sceptical. “There was always something nasty about that whole Helen thing.”

Nevertheless he went and found the photos, packed in a cardboard box. When Claire asked if she could take them with her he gave her a hard stare.

“I’ll be very careful,” she promised.

Reluctantly he put the box in her arms and she carried it out to the car, closing the trunk just as her cell phone rang.

“Claire? Merv here, how you doing?”

Merv was her neighbour further along the reservoir towards the spillway.

“You haven’t lost a dog, have you Claire?”

“A dog? I heard one barking one night in the reservoir. I thought it might be yours.”

“Well, it’s here but it’s not mine. Not yours either then?”

“No.”

“Just turned up in the middle of the night. Strange thing was it was covered in mud and all wet. Must have been in the water, I reckon.”

Claire felt a prickle of unease. What about the man who had been in the homestead, the man in the photo? Was the dog his? And if so, why had he left it behind?

“Claire?”

She realized she’d fallen silent, standing by her car, the phone pressed hard to her ear. “How about I come over and take a look at it now? I’m about to drive home anyway.”

“See you then.”

Merv, man of few words, hung up. Claire climbed into the car, telling herself that it was probably just a stray dog, dumped on the highway further out of town. Animals could smell water for miles, couldn’t they?

Merv was waiting for her, his shock of white hair even wilder than usual. Inside a dog was barking. Short, sharp yaps. It sounded like the dog she’d heard the other night. As Merv opened a door a small bundle of newly washed white fur ran past him and straight at Claire. Before she could stop it, the small dog was jumping at her, blunt claws scrabbling at her legs as it barked hysterically.

“Whoa there, boy!” Merv caught the sturdy little animal up, holding it away from her, but it continued to bark. Bright eyes peered at her through a mop of white fringe, and a pink tongue lolled as it fought to catch its breath. Merv looked at Claire. “You sure you haven’t met before? He seems to think you’re his.”

She shook her head, laughing, and reached out to rub the dog’s head. It was white and woolly. This wasn’t the sort of dog that an owner dumped on a highway; this was a pet, healthy and well fed.

“I wonder where he came from?” she asked, smiling as the animal licked at her hand, little tail wagging so violently its whole body shook in Merv’s arms.

“Your guess is as good as mine. He’s an intelligent little fellow, and friendly.”

Claire gave the woolly head another pat. “I’ll put something in the paper for Thursday. Perhaps we can find his owners.”

The dog seemed calmer now, and Merv put it down. It trotted over to Claire and sat, gazing up at her with adoring eyes.

“Love at first sight,” Merv quipped.

“I’ve never had a dog,” she said, stooping to tickle the animal under the chin. “Well, not that I can remember, anyway.”

Merv leaned against the doorjamb. “Nothing’s come back to you then?”

Claire grimaced. “Nothing. It’s as if I never existed. As if I’m nobody.”

“You’re somebody in this town, Claire,” Merv reminded her levelly.

It was nice of him to say so, and Claire smiled.

“I hear you’re digging into Helen’s disappearance.” The humour had gone from Merv’s eyes.

“Yes, I am. Do you think Niall killed Helen? Is that what everyone thinks?”

He shrugged. The little dog barked, breaking the tension.

“Do you want to take him? Might be company for you until his owner’s found.”

The dog was watching her, panting, and she nodded. Why not?

But as she drove away, the dog sitting proudly in the back seat, questions began to fill her head. If the dog belonged to the man in the homestead then why had it run away? Could . . . could the man have fallen? Claire’s heart began to pound. Was he still out there, inside, too hurt to call out? Trapped and injured and expecting her help.