You May Now Kill the Bride (Return to Fear Street Book 1)
You May Now Kill the Bride: Part 1 – Chapter 2

One year later, Ruth-Ann had many lingering memories of Rebecca’s birthday party. She remembered her talk with Peter. Remembered the excitement of kissing him. And after that . . . she remembered the yellow sky.

She could picture their sloping lawn . . . the blue and white balloons that bobbed and swayed in a warm, gentle breeze . . . the pots of daffodils on every table, Rebecca’s favorite flower. No clouds, but the sky was low and the color of buttermilk, a fantasy sky.

And everything seemed perfect, Ruth-Ann remembered. She could still hear the soft voices and laughter, and see Rebecca’s girlfriends in their long, colorful silk dresses and feathery, flowery hats. The boys in their light suits, their Oxfords shined, their shirt collars open to the sunlight.

She remembered Jonny Penderman rolling up the gravel driveway in that pale blue touring car, the sides and the wheels blue as a bird’s egg. Kids jumped on the running boards on both sides of the car and hung on while Jonny made the tires spin over the gravel.

Ruth-Ann’s father appeared and squinted at her through his round eyeglasses. Randolph Fear was a short man, a bit overweight, his dark pinstripe suit strained at the waist, his stiff white collar a little too tight.

He pointed to the car. “Look at that jalopy. That boy should be ashamed to drive up in a bus like that.”

Ruth-Ann rolled her eyes. “Funny, Dad.”

Randolph shook his head. “That car must cost a heap of simoleons. Where does that Penderman boy get the money to own a car like that?”

Simoleons? Her father prided himself on his knowledge of the current slang. He thought he could impress his two daughters by “being hip to their jive.” But he usually embarrassed them and got things completely wrong.

“It’s Jonny’s father’s car,” Ruth-Ann said, moving toward the driveway.

Randolph followed beside her. “Didn’t that boy carry a torch for you for a while?”

Ruth-Ann frowned. “He’s Rebecca’s friend, Dad.” Everyone here is Rebecca’s friend, she thought, with only a little bitterness. Everyone loves Rebecca.

She watched her sister flirt with Jonny Penderman. He pulled open the car door for Rebecca, and she slid gracefully behind the wheel, tucking her long skirt under her. A circle of kids had gathered to admire the long blue car.

“I can get seven passengers in here. Easy,” Jonny was saying as Ruth-Ann drew near. “It rides like a dream. And yesterday, I was out past the north farms—no one in sight for miles—and I got her up to forty miles an hour.”

Some guys laughed. “That’s hooey.”

“Tell us another one.”

“Are you going to enter it in a race?”

Jonny raised his right hand. “I swear. The car was rattling like crazy. I was bouncing so hard, my head kept bumping the roof. I glanced down at the meter, and it said forty.”

More hoots and laughter.

“I believe you, Jonny,” Rebecca said from the driver’s seat. “Can I drive it?”

“Do you have a driver’s license?”

“No. Do you need a license to drive a car? Nerts to that!”

She slid out of the car and rearranged her red hat over her blond hair.

“I’m going to drive it to New York City,” Jonny announced. “Anyone want to come with me?”

“I do!” Ruth-Ann cried. She glimpsed her father frowning at her. She knew he’d never allow either of his daughters to go on a trip like that. Too far and too dangerous.

“Why are you driving to New York?” Rebecca’s tall blond lookalike friend, Lily Wayne, asked.

“To see the new baseball stadium,” Jonny answered. “Yankee Stadium. They don’t share with the Giants anymore. They opened it last week against the Red Sox.”

Ruth-Ann knew that Jonny was a big baseball fan. And so were a lot of the other guys, who loudly begged him to take them along.

She had to laugh. Who said Jonny’s dad would allow Jonny to take this beautiful new touring car that far? Jonny was a great guy, a lot of fun, but he wasn’t the most responsible kid in the world.

She smiled. Jonny’s dad had let him drive another brand-new roadster when he was fifteen—and he rode over a milkman’s horse!

Now, one year later, a year after that happy birthday party, Ruth-Ann remembered the pale blue car under the yellow sky. And the deep ruby red of Rebecca’s dress, swirling around her as she moved from guest to guest. Rebecca the smiling host, so warm and winning.

Only the best for Rebecca. Ruth-Ann knew that dress cost almost twenty dollars. It was silk crepe, after all, with those beautiful pleats down the skirt to her ankles.

Ruth-Ann remembered everything about Rebecca that day. Rebecca’s red velvet hat with the single feather standing from the back like a sword. The suede Indian moccasins she wore. Her blue eyes darting from guest to guest.

The way she hurried to greet Nelson Swift. The confident way she took Nelson’s arm and guided him to the drinks table, chattering like a happy little sparrow all the way.

Ruth-Ann watched them at the party, watched Nelson’s slicked-down black hair parted so perfectly in the middle of his tanned forehead. His pale green eyes, fox eyes. His toothy smile that never seemed real. His single-breasted black suit fitted so perfectly.

Watching him move in and out of the sunlight, crystal glass sparkling in his raised hand, smile plastered in place. His perfect posture. His perfect everything.

And Ruth-Ann asked herself: Is Rebecca really going to marry Nelson Swift?

That was her father’s fantasy. But it couldn’t possibly be Rebecca’s, could it?

If only the sisters had been closer, they could discuss such things. Rebecca was only four years older than Ruth-Ann. They pretended to be close. But they never spoke of personal things, of the things dear to their hearts, the things that really mattered. Were there such wide gaps in other families, too?

Questions. So many questions.

Now it was a year since the party, and Rebecca’s wedding was near. Days away. But Ruth-Ann preferred to linger in the past. To think about the party. The colors. The smiles. The jokes and laughter. Rebecca and her friends. Jonny and his touring car. Nelson and his grip on Rebecca’s arm.

Peter . . . Oh, Peter. Peter, why?