Beyond This Time: A Time-Travel Suspense Novel Read Free

Street Baptist Church.
    Kat often wondered, in the same circumstances, if she’d have had the courage her parents displayed. By comparison, the bouts of racism she encountered today were minuscule.
    “That was almost forty years ago,” Kat said, bringing her thoughts back on track. “What on earth made you think about that house tonight?”
    “In the springtime my memories get all stirred up. Been happening for years.” Dreama gently raised the record needle and turned off the player. She leaned her hip against the cleaning cart and stared into space. “I was barely thirty and already been working the clubs for nearly twelve years when I ended up in Maceyville. That particular March I was goin’ round with a handsome devil named Maximilian Devore.
    “I recall it being early in the month when it all started. On that night, my man come down to The Blue to ride me home after work. As we come up to that fork on Riverside and Azalea, we saw the house explode. Girl, the whole sky lit up like Christmas morning. The whole neighborhood was a running all over the streets in their night clothes.”
    “What happened to the folks in the house?” Kat asked. “Did they get out safely?”
    The cleaning woman shook her head. “Everybody tried to help put out the fire, used garden hoses and buckets. But none of that helped. That place burned to ashes in no time. I often thought if me and Taxi only got there a little bit sooner, ‘stead of stopping along the way for a kiss or two, things might have turned out different for that poor man.”
    Kat’s skin prickled. The similarities between Miss Simms story and her own experiences were eerie. On March 5, she and Mitch had caught a shots fired call on Riverside, male complainant. Shortly before they arrived, a second report had been transmitted about an explosion at the same address.
    “Do you by any chance remember the victim’s name, Miss Simms?” she asked.
    “I remember. I remember them all, honey. His name was Dilmer Richards,” Dreama said. “I knew him from the church choir. Officer Templeton, they never caught up with the men. Now that I think on it, a few days before there’d been another house fire in the east Hollow, way over on Tenth Street. That time a woman died.”
    “Gladys Pauley,” Kat whispered. “Her name was Gladys Pauley.”
    Dreama Simms laid down her dust cloth and stared at the officer. “That’s right, child. But how come you to know that?”
    Kat cleared her throat and gestured to the computer. “I’ve been transferring lots of old files lately. Her name must have stuck in my memory.”
    “There was a great deal of burning back then,” Dreama said sadly. “I reckon you’ll be coming across it in your work. A few days later it happened all over again. This time on my own street, Mountain View. I lived in a duplex along there until the city moved us out so they could tear them old buildings down. ‘Course that was long before you got borned. Nowadays that area is full of fancy custom-built houses. No more shanty town. No more colored folks.” She gave a mighty shove and the heavy cart rolled through the doorway. “See you tomorrow night.”
    Kat nodded absently, her thoughts elsewhere. Tenth Street, Riverside, and Mountain View. Three crimes, same locations, yet separated by almost forty years. A silly coincidence? It couldn’t be anything else, she told herself. But the hairs on the back of her neck curled and her arms broke out in goose bumps.
    * * *
    An hour later Kat gave up all pretense of working and brushed aside the stack of manila folders. The stories Miss Simms had shared kept interfering with her assigned job. What were the odds of the dates, names, and addresses duplicating themselves? Sure there were dozens of Jones’ and Smiths in town … but how many Pauleys were around?
    Determined to sort out the mystery, Kat cleared the NEW FILE screen and entered her security code.
    Five years ago the department had begun the arduous