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3:10 p.m. Sunday, August 30th, 1992
TURNER stood off to one side of the kitchen and watched Mrs. Trimble fuss over the family. Elaine, Barbara, Stanley, and Stephanie all sat enjoying an afternoon tea, the four Keeners actually eating and talking together around a kitchen table. It was one of the good things that had come out of this otherwise awful mess. They could’ve eaten in the parlor and left Mrs. Trimble behind. Or worse, they might have stayed up in their separate suites, cut off from everybody. Instead, here they were, acting like regular people. Almost.
Listening to Stephanie rhapsodize over staying in a house where three murders had been committed, he’d not noticed at first that Samantha had appeared in the doorway behind him, Bailey standing behind her with a blank countenance. Turner lifted an eyebrow at her.
She squinted at him. “Bailey and I are going to take a little stroll and get some fresh air. I thought you might want to come along.”
He nodded. He knew she really meant that they were going to Travel, and that she was inviting him to come with. Not a surprise, it was what he’d been expecting.
The two turned to go, and he followed them out of the house and into the hazy sunshine, around to the front and down the gravel drive toward that old boathouse. Until they were out of sight.
Not that anyone would be watching, what with the family and Mrs. Trimble in the kitchen while the Treasury agent stayed in the study guarding a couple of killers—and probably continuing to question Quill. With still a couple hours before help could be summoned, the man would have to amuse himself somehow. And now that everybody knew him to be a federal agent, he didn’t have an excuse to play butler. The family was also having to do without footman or maid. The hardship would do them good.
So no one would see the three of them go, and it would probably be quite a while before anyone even noticed they were missing.
Samantha focused her intense gaze on Turner. “You know these people. You know this time better than Bailey or I. What do you think is going to happen here?”
He wasn’t sure what she was asking about. He assumed she wanted to know whether justice would be done, or rather what kind of earthly justice Quill and Dobson would face. “As for Dobson, there will only be Padget’s word concerning the man’s confession, once you two are gone, but federal agents have a lot of credibility with the courts. And they should be able to get Dobson’s DNA off that telephone wire that the pictures Padget has will show was wrapped around Talia’s throat. Though the use of DNA evidence in criminal trials is still relatively recent, that should be pretty persuasive with a jury.”
She just continued staring at him, so he kept on talking. “On the other hand, Dobson did decide to cooperate in catching Quill, and he’s got information on lots of other crimes to trade, so he can get a sweetheart deal from the prosecutor if he plays his cards right. And if he’s as smart as he thinks he is, that’s what he’ll do. As for Quill, you saw for yourself how Padget was handling him—even if they put the man in prison, it’ll likely be Club Fed.” And so, the murders of Brandt and Oak would be trumped by the Treasury. And poor Talia, would her murder be forgotten?
Bailey must have been thinking the same thing. “We did well, Sam. It all turned out far better than it might have, and the only mystery we didn’t solve was who leaked the details of Keener’s death to the tabloids.”
Surprised, Turner managed to keep his expression blank. Of course, he’d found the whole sordid business distasteful, but he had felt he had to share what he’d witnessed, to make it public, though he’d not known why. Now he understood. That account had brought his fellow Travelers here to bring these horrible crimes to light. And to help him get home. He looked at Samantha to see if he’d told her what she wanted to know.
She nodded curtly. “But what about the family—will they be alright?”
Turner blinked. He hadn’t expected her to care about the Keeners’ fate. “With the lawyer who drew up the will and was one of its executors headed for prison as a murderer, and the other executor about to vanish, any challenge to Brandt’s will should succeed. And since the two Mrs. Keeners have already come to terms, I think it’ll all sail smoothly through the legal system. It’s not like there’s anyone who is going to object.”
“Terms?”
“They want to leave the provisions of the original will giving Mrs. Trimble her hundred thousand and splitting the rest of the estate between the children in trust. But with them as the trustees. Then they agreed to split the properties between the two families. Elaine and Stanley get the home in the Seattle suburbs, while Barbara and Stephanie get the island with its mansion and Mrs. Trimble.”
Samantha shook her head in disbelief. “I can’t believe Barbara Keener is happy about that.”
Turner shrugged. “She may not be thrilled, but it won’t drive her crazy, not the way it would Elaine. I think she’s doing it more for Stephanie’s sake anyway—the girl wants to write mysteries and says she will find it inspiring to live where three people were murdered.”
Bailey chuckled. “What about Keener’s company? I take it you’re really not going to stick around to do the job?”
“Stanley’s going to be president, but they’re not going to let him actually do anything. Not that he’d want to, but he’ll just be a figurehead, with Barbara and Elaine making all the big decisions and leaving the rest to the employees. They know what they’re doing and can do it, as long as Stanley’s kept out of their way. As for me—” He smiled at Samantha. “I want to ask you a favor.”
She nodded briskly. “Of course, I mean to take you with me. You’ve been on your own and without a leader for thirty years, haven’t you? Did you think I’d leave you here alone? Besides, I’ve only got one helper, and as useful as Bailey is, I need another.”
Turner took a deep breath. He should have expected she’d take that kind of line with him. “What I’m asking you to do is take me to twenty twelve. I have a wife now, and that’s where I hope to find her, or at least Anya or Page and hope they know where and when my wife can be found.”
“Married? You? Who is she? What happened to her?”
Was it really so astonishing that he had tied the knot? He tried to tamp down his annoyance at having to answer these questions. “Her name is Verity, and she’s a native of two thousand. We were Traveling to twenty twelve.” For their honeymoon. “At least we were supposed to be, but somehow we were separated, and I landed in Texas in nineteen sixty-two, which I already mentioned to you. I don’t have any idea what happened to Verity, or Matt and Page for that matter.”
“Matt?”
Turner rolled his eyes at her. “You’ve missed a lot traipsing about on your own, the two of you. I’ll catch you up on the way back to the future. Getting to twenty twelve is the only thing I can think to do. If I hadn’t found you...”
Samantha nodded. “You’ve been forced to take the slow path for thirty years, hoping to run across your wife. We must be the first Travelers who have crossed your path. And you need us.”
He sighed. “I do. Anya was going to meet us at the rendezvous, and I have to make it there and see what she knows about Verity. And the others, what happened to them. I only pray she knows.”
“You could always wait around another twenty years and get there eventually. You might even find her along the way.”
“I’m tired of waiting.”
Samantha smiled. “Then you can come with us. I’ll try to get you to twenty twelve—a lot faster than you’d get there on your own, but there may be a detour or two.” She held up a hand to forestall a complaint. “A few weeks or even months would still be better than twenty years, wouldn’t it?”
“Of course.” She would have a hard time stopping him hitching a ride if he wanted to Travel with her, but he couldn’t make her go where and when he needed to be. “I can’t argue with that.”
“But. You’ll have to agree to work as my assistant while you’re Traveling with me, until I get you where you’re going. Meaning you acknowledge my authority as leader and act accordingly. If you can’t, I’ll find a way to leave you behind, and you can make your own, slow way to the future.”
He shrugged. “If I could put up with Page as my leader, following you shouldn’t be a problem. And I see Bailey manages alright. But you’ll have to be the one to explain to Page that you appropriated me.”
She sniffed. “It’s not like you’re helping her as things stand. Besides, if you’re married she’ll have to get used to your being bossed around by another woman. She really can’t object.”
Turner and Bailey shared a look. Both of them clearly knew Page much better than Samantha, but then what choice did Turner have? He had to try to find his wife. But just in case he never could make his way back to her, he had already made some arrangements that should see ‘Turner Belue’ declared dead and Verity properly widowed.
So he no longer had his old ID, and it would be awkward after this weekend’s events if he kept calling himself Hope. Which left him once again without a last name. Well, Sam and Bailey were still just Sam and Bailey, so Turner would try going back to being plain old Turner, at least until he had need of more than the one name.
Bailey looked at his watch. “It may be no more than an hour or so before the ferry shows up. Why don’t we wait, and get the captain to contact the police before we leave?”
Samantha shook her head. “We’d better get going, then, before he shows up. Let someone else explain to the man—they’ll have to tell the authorities too, when they arrive. It’ll be good practice.”
Turner nodded. “Stephanie was eager to come down to the boathouse and wait for the police anyway. I’m sure she’ll be happy to meet the ferry. Or maybe they’ll make Jake walk up to the house. But we aren’t needed.” He saw her start to fiddle with her watch and added a suggestion. “If you’re thinking of hopping into the future, I hate to say it, but I believe we’d better go backward.” It would take him farther away from where he wanted to go, though it would work out easier in the end.
“What do you mean?”
“We might run into someone who would recognize us in the future, and there might not even be a way off the island. But three years ago Brandt had yet to buy the place and it was uninhabited. But the old man who’d been living here had left his boat in the boathouse, so we could borrow that to get back to the mainland. If there’s gas—it’s a motorboat.”
Samantha nodded and started setting the temporal coordinates. “If there isn’t any gas, you and Bailey can row us to the coast.”
“I hope there’s good weather. It sounds like an exciting trip.” Or a nightmare and a chore, depending. “I just wish we could let everyone in the house watch us leave. Imagine what they’d think when we disappear.”
Sam pushed a button, and they did just that.