Last Dance Page 6

  Finding the museum was easy. Finding a parking space was nearly impossible. But when Thorn went after something, nothing stopped her. After weaving through side streets, she zipped into a spot as another car pulled out.

  A large redwood plaque arched over the doorway: “Chloe Museum.” Entering the brick building was like walking into a tomb. The chilly air smelled of ages past. Shivering, I tightened my coat around my shoulders.

  We stepped into the parlor lit by cone-shaped lamps on wooden end tables. There was a scent of lemon and fifties music played softly in the background. The décor was totally retro; an overstuffed olive-green couch and matching loveseat circled an oval glass-topped coffee table and thick shag carpet that muffled our footsteps.

  “This reminds me of my grandmother’s house,” Thorn said, poking a puffy green couch pillow. “I bet there’s a kitchen with ugly checkered linoleum, too.”

  “Looks like we go down that hall.” I pointed to a wooden sign directing us to the museum.

  Following the posted arrows, we stepped through French doors into a large open room with bright overhead lights. The dampness was gone, but goose bumps rose on my arms.

  “Welcome!” boomed a cheerful voice. The elderly bald man who stepped out from behind a clothing display was as round as a beach ball. The yellow T-shirt stretched across his chest had to be a size triple X. And his grin seemed even wider.

  “Uh, hi,” I said uneasily. “We’re looking for Kasper.”

  “Congratulations—you found me!” he said with a twinkle in his eye. “What can I do for you pretty ladies? How about a genuine Chloe souvenir? All red-tagged items are on sale today, ten percent off. Take your pick from Tshirts, key chains, shoe laces, dolls, hats, socks, and toothbrushes.”

  “Toothbrushes?” Thorn arched her brows. “People actually brush their teeth with Chloe toothbrushes?”

  “Why of course! In glamorous shades of pink, blue, and red. But it’s the refrigerator magnets that sell best. Would you like to see our selection?”

  “We’d rather hear more about Chloe,” I replied, slowly turning a rack of post cards. I picked one up with a picture of Chloe at a dance. She wore a full, mid-length skirt that swirled in a breeze on an outdoor pavilion.

  Just like my dream, I thought uneasily.

  “Well, you’ve come to the right place,” Kasper said. “I’m a scholar of the unexplained and have written numerous books on paranormal topics. I know everything about our famous ghost.”

  Thorn tilted her head at him. “Have you actually seen her?”

  “Sure. As clear as I see the two of you.”

  I raised my brows, tempted to point out that few people saw ghosts that clearly. I knew he was exaggerating, but saw no reason to spoil his fun.

  “After I retired,” Kasper went on, “I found Chloe so fascinating, she became my hobby.”

  “I’ve never heard of anyone having a ghost for a hobby,” Thorn said.

  “Well, now you have.” He slapped the counter and laughed as if he’d told a hilarious joke. “This very building you’re standing in is seeped in Chloe history. This was her home for all of her seventeen years and I’ve recreated the rooms in exact detail from old photographs.”

  That led to an invitation for a personal tour (waiving the usual two dollar fee), and we went from room to room, seeing everything “Chloe.” Flowered skirts, tight-knit sweaters and a closet full of shoes, including pink ballet slippers and the black-and-white saddle shoes from my dream. School yearbooks and old board games—Scrabble, Life, and Uncle Wiggley—were stacked in a corner. Clunky metal skates with a shiny key were sprawled on a fluffy white rug. And an entire wall of portraits charted Chloe’s growth from infant to teenager. It was eerie to see her so vibrant, so alive. Her friend Cathy had to be in her seventies, but Chloe never aged.

  Seventeen forever.

  When we finished the tour, I asked for directions to the restroom. Going downstairs, through a side hallway, I made a quick potty stop. But when I came out, I got turned around, because I found myself in a darkened hall that dead-ended at a wooden door with a fist-sized red heart painted on it.

  “Sa-bine,” came a breathy whisper.

  “Who said that?” Now it was my own heart thumping wildly. I looked around fearfully, seeing no one, yet sensing I wasn’t alone.

  “Sabine.”

  I covered my hands over my ears, but my own name echoed like a curse inside my head. Icy darkness seeped out from the door. But I didn’t back away. Instead I moved closer, compelled by forces I didn’t understand. I reached for the knob and—

  “Get away from there!”

  Jumping back, I turned to find Kasper striding over. His fleshy face was reddened and his mouth pursed tightly. He grabbed my arm. “That room is off-limits!”

  “Why?”

  “Because it’s not safe,” he blustered. “You shouldn’t be here.”

  “Sorry, but I got lost.”

  “I’ll show you the way back.”

  Shadows shifted and energy flowed behind the door, and I was oddly reluctant to leave. I pointed to the door. “What’s inside?”

  “Spiders and rotting wood.” He drew a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped sweat off his forehead. “I keep it locked for safety reasons. The stairs are old and dangerous, and I can’t afford a lawsuit if someone falls. I hardly ever go down there.”

  “So who painted the heart?” I asked.

  “I don’t know. It was there when I bought the building fourteen years ago. Probably the work of a bored kid.” He seemed flustered as he nodded towards the hall where Thorn waited. “Come on. I can’t leave my store unattended any longer.”

  Returning to bright lights and tacky souvenirs was jarring—as if we’d traveled through a time capsule from decades past. And the image of the delicate red heart stayed with me.

  Had the voice calling my name been from Chloe? I wondered as I browsed through aisles of cheesy merchandise. Had she wanted me to open the door? Was something hidden inside that Chloe wanted me to find?

  When I saw a biography on Chloe’s life, I couldn’t resist picking it up. Flipping through the pages, I skimmed the first chapter. I was pierced with a sharp sense of connection, despite our differences. She’d been outgoing, flirtatious, and aspired to become a famous actress or dancer. I was more serious with no lofty ambitions. I didn’t want to stand out, I longed to fit in.

  So why was Chloe reaching out to me?

  While Thorn sorted through videos of black-and-white movies, I made four purchases: Chloe’s biography (written by Kasper), a Chloe toothbrush (I mean, who could resist something so cheesy?), and two yellow souvenir Tshirts.

  “Thanks for visiting and come back again,” Kasper said, banging the cash register shut. “I’ll walk you to the door.”

  I shook my head. “Thanks, but you better stay here to answer your phone.” And sure enough, as I said the word “phone,” the phone behind him rang. The startled look Kasper gave me was priceless.

  Smiling, I hurried to catch up with Thorn who had already left the museum. As I glanced up at the sky, a raindrop splashed on my face. Overhead, dismal gray clouds swirled and I heard an ominous rumble of thunder. There was a light touch on my shoulder, but when I turned to look, no one was there. When I glanced down at the ground, a faint impression of a heart appeared in the cracked cement.

  The icy chill tingling up my spine had nothing to do with the weather. Chloe was sending messages, not unlike when I’d had a vision of a dragonfly tattoo. I hadn’t wanted to get involved then, and had tried to shut out the visions. But I’d finally surrendered to my gift—and ended up saving Danielle’s life.

  But Chloe is already dead, I thought, confused. It’s too late to save her.

  Curiosity swept through me with a storm of question marks. Who was the dark blond stranger? What was behind the heart door? Why did Chloe keep appearing in October rains? Why had she summoned me?

  But I reminded myself that I didn’t have
time to chase a ghost. This whole trip was to help my grandmother. After I talked to Eleanor Baskers, I’d go home. Of course, I had the rest of the day free to do whatever I wanted … or maybe what Chloe wanted. The only thing I knew for sure was that if I did nothing, I’d find out nothing.

  Thorn was crossing the street, and I waited for a break in traffic to join her.

  “It’s starting to rain!” Thorn covered her head with her hands.

  I lifted my chin, soft drops falling on my face. “Perfect weather for ghost watching.”

  “If you say so.” Thorn shrugged. “Those obsessed Chloe fans will be thrilled. Bet they’ll be out in force tonight at the pavilion.”

  “Yeah.” I gave her a solemn look. “And two more.”

  “Who?” Her eyes widened. “You don’t mean?”

  “Yes, I do. It’s crazy, but I have to see Chloe.” I clutched the shopping bag close to my chest. “Let’s go ghost hunting tonight.”

  After dinner, Thorn played dominos with her aunt and uncle. They invited me to join them, but I wanted to call my grandmother. Despite the distractions from Chloe, I’d never stopped worrying about Nona. Only when I called her, the phone rang and rang and rang. Why wasn’t she answering the phone? Was she meeting a client? Having dinner with a friend? Or lying injured on the floor?

  You’re just being paranoid, I told myself. Nona is fine. Besides, Dominic is there to help if she has any problems. So stop worrying already.

  I set down the phone, then headed to the family room to join in the game of dominos. But when I peeked into the room, Thorn and her aunt and uncle were laughing so cozily, I was reluctant to intrude.

  I used to play games like that with my sisters, I thought wistfully as I watched silently from the doorway. I remembered years ago when I’d taught my little sisters to play poker. Since Mom didn’t approve of gambling, we played outside in our tree house. We didn’t have money for betting, so we used M&M’s. Whoever won a hand ate their winnings. It was impossible to keep score, but no one cared. And we laughed in the same connected way Thorn was laughing now.

  I swallowed a lump in my throat and turned away.

  Back in the guestroom, I closed the door behind me and sank on the bed. I didn’t want to think about my messed-up family, so I picked up the book I’d bought earlier: the biography of Chloe Anne Marie Talbot.

  Rain pounded lightly on the window as I slipped back in time. Seventeen years wasn’t long enough to fill many pages, so the book was padded with numerous pictures and newspaper articles—a picture of four-year-old Chloe posing prettily on a pony at a county fair, one of her strutting in a bathing suit as the newly-crowned Miss Pine Cone Princess, and dozens of her in school plays. She was also involved in numerous clubs and committees, as if she was determined to make an exclamation mark on the world.

  By her sophomore year, there were subtle changes in the photos—a sly arch of dark blond brows and an invitation in her sultry smile. There were always guys hanging around her, as if mesmerized.

  I skimmed through the chapter on her family. Chloe was an only child of older parents who gave her everything, yet governed her life with strict rules. Mr. and Mrs. Talbot never missed a Sunday at church and were active members of their community. I was startled to find out Mr. Talbot was a lawyer, like my own father.

  The next chapters gave an overview of Pine Peaks in the fifties. There were many news clippings of prominent citizens, and lots of dull details about politics. But what I wanted to know—had to know—was what happened to Chloe.

  So I jumped ahead to the last chapter, titled “The Last Dance.”

  Every Saturday night she would iron her best skirt and go to the pavilion. Then she would fly on saddle shoes for hours, floating across wooden slats, flirting and teasing, but never giving her heart.

  Then one rainy day in October, a handsome stranger known only as James drifted into town. He was different from the country beaus who clamored after Chloe. He was a sophisticated sweet talker with an air of mystery. When their eyes met, it was magical. After that, every dance belonged to James. They twirled and laughed and fell in love.

  Chloe’s family and friends warned her not to trust the stranger, to settle down with a young man from her many suitors, but she ignored them, following her heart. And when James asked her to go away with him, she agreed to meet him at the pavilion.

  It stormed that night, and Chloe ignored warnings to stay inside. Rain fell heavily around the pavilion as Chloe waited. Time passed, hopes were dashed. No one knows for sure what happened, but her friends believe that when James didn’t show up, her grief forced her into a wild dance, swaying and spinning to music only she could hear as her world stormed.

  Perhaps she stumbled or simply lost her way. But when the sun broke through clouds the next morning, her lifeless body was found not far from the pavilion, at the bottom of a cliff. Some say the fall killed her, but others know it was a broken heart.

  And the mysterious stranger was never seen again.

  So where did James go? I wondered as I stared through the window at the rain pounding the tree branches. Had he gotten cold feet and run away like a coward? Or had something terrible happened to him? If he’d truly loved her, how could anything keep him away? And how did my dream fit in? James had been with Chloe on the cliff. But according to the book, he’d never shown up.

  Poor Chloe, I thought with a sigh. She risked everything for love. I can’t imagine loving anyone so fiercely. It’s not a real love anyway, more like obsession. I’d rather be with someone I admire and respect … like Josh.

  Yet it wasn’t Josh’s face that flashed in my mind. Instead I saw ice-blue eyes and sandy brown hair. Hands rough enough to pound nails, yet soft as silk when caressing an animal. And a smile that could be as sad as tears.

  Get a grip! I told myself. What are you thinking?

  Jumping up, I slammed the book on Chloe.

  Then I went to play dominos.

  All that was missing was the music.

  If this were a movie, haunting music would play eerily in the background as Thorn and I made our way down a dimly-lit street that bordered a graveyard. No stars or a moon, only inky darkness and a drizzling rain that kept falling as if the sky was in mourning. A perfect night to meet a ghost.

  “This is totally insane,” Thorn must have said a dozen times. But I noticed an excited gleam in her eyes. “I don’t know why I let you talk me into this.”

  “You could have waited in the car.”

  “And miss all the fun?” She laughed, holding tight to a blue umbrella. “Still I felt awful lying to my aunt about visiting a friend. She’d freak if she knew what we were really doing.”

  “Technically you didn’t lie.” A gust of wind caught my umbrella, but I held on firmly. “We are going to visit a friend.”

  “Only you would consider someone dead for fifty years a friend.”

  “I consider you a friend, too.”

  “Oh, thanks,” she said with a roll of her eyes.

  We grew silent as we walked down the narrow country road leading to the park, where the pavilion rose tall and white against black night. We passed wild prickly rose bushes that grew in the ditch beside the graveyard. Through iron fences, pale headstones rose in eerie tribute to those loved and lost.

  Beside me, Thorn tensed and I could tell she was nervous. Nona had told me never to fear a graveyard, that they’re only haunted by memories of the people left behind. But I wasn’t so sure …

  We stepped through the park’s stone archway onto freshly mowed grass and moved toward the pavilion where a crowd gathered. Their dark umbrellas reminded me of black birds flocking to feast on scattered crumbs. Beyond the pavilion rose a rocky hill that jutted out then dropped off sharply into a canyon. The cliff, I realized with a shudder.

  Bright artificial lights caught my attention and I saw Newscaster Heidi under a tomato-red umbrella, checking her makeup in a compact mirror. Her crew huddled under a flapping tarp, protecting thei
r equipment. The last thing I needed was to accidentally get filmed at a ghost festival. If anyone from school saw me, it could be disastrous. So I planned to stay far away from the cameras.

  “When will she appear?” I heard someone ask.

  “When it’s completely dark,” came a reply. “Any minute we’ll be told to shut off all flashlights and they’ll cut the pavilion lights.”

  Thorn nudged me. “What’s that music? It’s familiar.”

  “It should be. We heard it over and over at the museum today,” I said, not adding that I’d heard this song in a dream before I even knew Chloe’s name.

  “Yeah, that’s it.” Thorn snapped her fingers. “Dance Away Love. Kasper was selling the CDs for half price. What a gimmick. He comes off all jolly like a bald Santa, but he’s only after a quick buck. He didn’t even live here when Chloe died.”

  “You can’t blame him for being a good businessman. Look, isn’t that him now?”

  “Yeah. Talking to that dark-haired woman. She’s familiar. I’ve seen her before.”

  “We both have,” I agreed, watching as the woman left Kasper in the crowd and made her way to the raised pavilion. “Only she was wearing a yellow Chloe shirt at the time instead of bobby socks and a poodle skirt. She’s the one who told us about Chloe. The fan club president.”

  The woman folded her dripping umbrella as she stepped onto the covered pavilion. She held a microphone and moved with authority. As she took a commanding position, the crowd burst into enthusiastic applause.

  “Welcome!” she addressed the audience. “I’m delighted to see all of you here tonight. As most of you know, I’m Monique Montes, President and Co-Founder of the Chloe Club and I’m delighted to see you all again for our Annual Chloe Celebration.” She shielded her eyes from the glare of the TV camera and added, “It’s almost time to turn off the lights and invite Chloe to join us.”

  “This is so bogus,” Thorn muttered beside me.

  “In a few moments, we may witness an amazing sight,” Monique went on with a dramatic wave of her hands. “Some of you are here for the first time and others, like myself, have been coming every October since Chloe first appeared here nine years ago. For Chloe to show herself, conditions need to be perfect. So close your eyes and push out all thoughts of negativity.”