You May Now Kill the Bride (Return to Fear Street Book 1)
You May Now Kill the Bride: Part 1 – Chapter 3

The trouble didn’t start until a few weeks after the party. All had agreed the party had been a big success.

It seemed to put Rebecca in a rare good mood. Several times, Ruth-Ann caught her humming to herself. And once, she peeked into Rebecca’s room and saw her singing and practicing a wild new dance, some sort of jazz step with her arms shooting above her head and her shoes tapping the floor.

Rebecca froze when she saw Ruth-Ann peering in at her. Ruth-Ann braced for an angry tirade. Usually, Rebecca didn’t like to be spied on.

But, to Ruth-Ann’s surprise, Rebecca smiled at her and waved her into the room. “It’s a new step I learned at the Hot Bunny Club with Nelson. Want me to teach you?”

Ruth-Ann could feel herself blushing. “You know how clumsy I am.”

But Rebecca insisted. They stumbled through the dance step a few times, laughing and bumping into each other. For once, Rebecca didn’t get frustrated. She kept patiently urging Ruth-Ann, who was as clumsy as she claimed, to try it again.

We’re actually having fun together, Ruth-Ann thought.

Ruth-Ann’s shoes tapped the floor. She flung her hands up—and lost her balance, and the two sisters ended up laughing in a tangled heap on the carpet. “Maybe we should try a waltz,” Rebecca said.

She dragged Ruth-Ann to her feet. “Nelson got two tickets to see the Paul Whiteman band on Saturday at the Palladium,” she said. She winked. “He can be useful.”

She pulled Ruth-Ann to her dressing table. “Come help me put up my hair.”

What an odd thing to say, Ruth-Ann thought. He can be useful?

Rebecca sat down in front of the tall mahogany mirror and opened a quilted box of hairpins. “My hair is so long and heavy, I feel like I’m wearing a blanket on my head.”

Ruth-Ann shook her head quickly from side to side to make her short hair flare out. “You spend hours putting your hair up, bringing it down, brushing it out. I just give my head a shake, and I’m ready to go.”

Rebecca rolled her eyes. “I’d love to give your head a shake.”

They both laughed.

Their faces were side by side in the mirror. Ruth-Ann gazed at their reflection as if seeing them for the first time. She wasn’t a golden-haired, blue-eyed princess like Rebecca. But she knew she wasn’t bad-looking.

She had warm, wide brown eyes and a winning smile. Her parents were always urging her to smile more often, but it didn’t come naturally.

Her hair was coppery, darker than Rebecca’s. Her nose wasn’t as graceful as her sister’s. And she had a tiny dimple in her chin that she hated.

I’m not as pretty as she is, Ruth-Ann thought. But I’m more interesting.

Was that really true?

Rebecca was twenty-one, and a good life was pretty much set out for her. Randolph Fear had secured her an apprentice job at Mrs. Paul’s, the milliner shop in town. Rebecca was artistic, and she wanted to be a designer of ladies’ hats.

Mrs. Paul said she showed a wonderful flair for it. She said she would help Rebecca submit her designs to a hatmaker in New York.

And then there was Nelson.

True, Dad had picked Nelson out for Rebecca. Nelson worked at Mr. Fear’s investment firm. The stock market was booming in 1923, and Nelson was the company’s biggest money earner.

Nelson was big and boyish and boastful, loud and sometimes a little vulgar. He liked to laugh a lot. Ruth-Ann knew that Rebecca hated the way he was always slapping people on the back or poking a finger on their chest as he spoke to them.

He’s like a warm, friendly animal, Ruth-Ann thought when Dad brought him to dinner that night. He’s so eager to please, he’ll lick your face to make you like him. A big, warm puppy dog.

He was only twenty-one, the same age as Rebecca. But he smoked cigars and wore dark pinstripe suits from New York, and acted like a tycoon.

Mr. Fear had invited Nelson home to dinner and practically thrust Rebecca and him into each other’s laps! Most of the time, Rebecca seemed happy with Nelson. She liked dancing and going to the new jazz clubs on the other side of town.

But Ruth-Ann could never tell if Rebecca was serious about him. Standing behind her sister at the mirror, their faces looming so close together in the reflection, Ruth-Ann worked up her courage. Maybe she and Rebecca could have a real sister-to-sister talk.

“You and Nelson—” she started.

But Rebecca cut her off. “I think Peter is too old for you,” she said.

Ruth-Ann blinked. She had to steady herself. It was so unexpected.

“Peter is my age,” Rebecca said, eyes straight ahead into the mirror. “You’re still in high school.”

“Only for a few months,” Ruth-Ann snapped. Her surprise began to turn into anger. Why is Rebecca saying this?

She started to pin a rolled-up strand of Rebecca’s hair. But her hand slipped and the pin jabbed the back of her sister’s neck.

“Ow!” Rebecca screamed and spun toward Ruth-Ann. “You don’t have to attack me. I’m not a pincushion!” She rubbed the back of her neck. “That was vicious, Ruth-Ann. I was just trying to help you.”

Ruth-Ann took a step back. “It—it was an accident,” she stammered. “Really, Rebecca. My hand slipped.”

“I’m your big sister,” Rebecca said, softening her tone. “I know you and I aren’t exactly best pals. But I care about you. And I think you’re heading for trouble with Peter.”

Ruth-Ann stood with her mouth open. She couldn’t shake off the shock of her sister’s words. “Peter and I—”

Rebecca turned back to the mirror, but her eyes remained on Ruth-Ann. “He’s a Victrola salesman,” she said with a sneer. “Where is that going to lead?”

“He—he’s learning how to repair Victrolas as well,” Ruth-Ann said. “Peter is very mechanical. He is fascinated by record players and radio receivers.”

“No one else is,” Rebecca replied. “Do you really think people are going to put those things in their homes and stand around listening to them?”

“Well . . .”

“He’s so immature,” Rebecca said, rolling her eyes. “I’ll bet he reads all those H. G. Wells novels about time machines. Does Peter want to sell time machines, too, Ruth-Ann?”

“Now you’re just being cruel,” Ruth-Ann said, lowering her voice to a whisper. She felt her anger rise in her chest. “I—I don’t know why you’re saying these things.”

“I told you. I care about you.”

“Peter and I have good times together,” Ruth-Ann said. “We laugh a lot. We enjoy being with each other. We understand each other.”

“That’s wonderful,” Rebecca said sarcastically. “But—”

“He works hard,” Ruth-Ann continued. “He wants to be a success. And we do things together when he’s not working. We take long bike rides up on the River Ridge. We have picnics in Shadyside Park . . .”

Rebecca slammed a fist on the dressing table. The box of hairpins jumped. “Ruth-Ann, you need a future. You’re graduating from high school next month. You have no plans. What are you going to do with your life? You need a husband, a man to take care of you. Not a boy who spends all his time trying to hear voices on the radio waves.”

Ruth-Ann realized her hands were balled into tight fists. She uncoiled her hands and took a deep breath. “So is that why you’re so attached to Nelson? You need a man to take care of you?”

“Nelson is Nelson,” Rebecca said. She sighed. “He is okay sometimes. But he can be a bear.”

Ruth-Ann squinted at her sister’s reflection. “A bear? What does that mean?”

Rebecca clawed the air with her hands and uttered a low animal growl. Like a bear growl.

“Would you care to explain?” Ruth-Ann urged.

Rebecca sighed. She waved a hand at the mirror. “Go away, Ruth-Ann. Just scram. I can do my own hair.”

Ruth-Ann gasped. She really thinks she can give me a royal proclamation about Peter. Then send me on my way. Am I supposed to bow and say thank you?

“Nice talking to you, Rebecca,” Ruth-Ann murmured. She spun away from the mirror and, taking long, heavy strides, stormed out of her sister’s room.

The shock of Rebecca’s sudden attack on Peter had Ruth-Ann dizzy and off balance. She bumped the wall as she turned into the hallway, stopped, and shut her eyes, waiting for the dizziness to fade.

Rebecca must have been thinking about this for a long time, Ruth-Ann thought. She was waiting to ambush me. But—why?

Anger battled with her confusion. The one time she thought she was getting close enough to her sister to have a real, honest conversation, Rebecca hit her with a sneak attack.

Ruth-Ann realized she had clenched her teeth. Her jaw started to ache. She took a deep breath. She decided not to go to her room across the hall.

Instead, she took hurried steps to the end of the hallway. She turned at a closed door and grabbed the brass knob. She twisted and pulled, and in a few seconds slipped into the narrow stairway that led up to the attic she had discovered years ago.

Ruth-Ann was careful to close the door behind her. The stairway didn’t lead to the attic everyone used. The stairs to that attic—cluttered with old furniture and clothing, cartons and crates of the discarded and forgotten—were at the other end of the house.

This narrow stairway, steep and creaky, climbed to a separate room, a windowless room that sunshine could never invade, a room that only Ruth-Ann used, that only Ruth-Ann knew about.

A room of secrets.

Her heart was racing when she reached the top of the stairs and stepped into the warm darkness of the tiny space. Her hand found the kerosene candlelighter where she had left it and, a few seconds later, three flickering flames at the tops of long, slender candles lit the room.

Ruth-Ann waited for her eyes to adjust to the darkness. The candle flames danced and sent shadows pulsing over the low ceiling. The air was warm and dry and smelled of sharp spices, the spices Ruth-Ann used to cast her spells.

It was time to cast another.