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    The Summer of '77
    The Summer of '77
    The Summer of '77
    Ebook210 pages3 hours

    The Summer of '77

    By Bonnie Dee

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    About this ebook

    It’s the last summer before high school, and Rachel Walsh is tired of being the “good girl.” During a late-night bike ride back from a forbidden party, she sees a shadowy man dumping a tarp-wrapped bundle in a roadside ditch. When she returns to investigate the next day, the bundle is gone. The news soon reports a pattern of missing girls and Rachel is haunted by the fear she witnessed the bitter end of one of them.

    After confiding in her coworker Carl, a scifi nerd who may have a crush on her, Rachel discovers a clue that shines a dark spotlight on her safe little world. She grows suspicious of several trusted adults and investigates them. But playing junior detective could be a deadly game if a murderer learns Rachel saw him dump a body.

    During this sultry summer of Star Wars in a small Ohio town, Rachael loses her longtime best friend to a cooler crowd, starts her first real job, makes new friends, and learns the adults in her life aren’t infallible and danger lurks even in her safe cocoon.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherBonnie Dee
    Release dateSep 1, 2017
    ISBN9781370098408
    The Summer of '77
    Author

    Bonnie Dee

    Whether you're a fan of contemporary, paranormal, or historical romance, you'll find something to enjoy among my books. I'm interested in flawed, often damaged, people who find the fulfillment they seek in one another. To stay informed about new releases, please SIGN UP FOR MY NEWSLETTER. Help an author out by leaving a review and spreading the word about this book among your friends. You can join my street team at FB. Learn more about my backlist at http://bonniedee.com or find me on FB and Twitter @Bonnie_Dee.

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      Book preview

      The Summer of '77 - Bonnie Dee

      Summer of ’77

      Bonnie Dee

      SMASHWORDS EDITION

      Copyright © 2017 by Bonnie Dee

      All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

      This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

      License Notes

      This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.

      Chapter One

      The plaster saint on my dresser stared at me with disappointed eyes as I pushed my feet into unlaced sneakers. What did St. Therese, the Little Flower of Jesus, know about sneaking out at night? She’d probably been born praying and never imagined doing anything she wasn’t supposed to.

      As I grabbed my jacket and slipped out of my bedroom, my heart thumped like Percy’s hind foot used to when I would scratch his belly. At least he wouldn’t be in the yard to give me away with a bark, the poor old thing. I crept downstairs, avoiding the creaky third step from the bottom. The TV droned in the living room, out of sight, but I could picture the room: Dad, with his feet high on the La-Z-Boy footrest, his laughter booming over the canned laugh track of a sitcom, Mom, face tipped over her crewel embroidery of a wide-eyed owl. Dad made a comment about the show, and both of my parents laughed.

      I listened to the familiar sounds, torn between the thrill of going out and the hope my mom would hear me and invite me to join them. The living room was comfort and safety. Outside was the excitement of an adventure I wasn’t quite sure I was ready for. But Vickie was expecting me, so I couldn’t disappoint her. She’d kind of given me an ultimatum that afternoon.

      Are you in or out, Rachel? Her perfectly shaped eyebrows knotted in a frown. When are you gonna grow up? It’s time to stop being a kid and do some things.

      Her taunt made me feel like a toddler. I remembered when I’d been the leader and she had been happy to follow. Now she’d grown tall and busty and put on fresh lipstick all the time. She didn’t want to ride bikes with me because it might make her sweat, and she thought the games we used to play were boring. In a few months, we’d begin our freshman year. I could either cling to the past and lose Vickie or try on a role I wasn’t really comfortable playing.

      I padded, soft-footed as a kung fu master, out the front door and raced across the cool grass toward the shed. My bike was where I’d left it, propped against a wall behind the push mower because the kickstand didn’t work. I hauled the bike out and rubber-banded my bell bottoms so they wouldn’t get caught in the chain. One time of pitching onto asphalt and scraping holes through denim and into my knees had been enough to train me to keep my jeans under control—at least till I reached town where somebody might see me look like a dork.

      Without Percy to raise the alarm, it was easy to pedal down the driveway to the road. I missed my dog. He’d been a pup when I was a baby. Now he was dead. Recently, I’d been thinking a lot about how anyone might get struck down at any moment: Percy, my grandma, Aunt Betsy’s newborn who died in her crib. The more I tried not to dwell on morbid thoughts, the more chills haunted me. Even knowing heaven waited afterward didn’t help. It only made me wish I was a better person more likely to be let in.

      As I turned onto the road toward town, I thought once more of pure and perfect St. Therese, my patron saint due to my middle name. Were some people just born good, or did even saints struggle? It was a pretty good bet Therese, who’d become a nun by my age, had never done anything to displease her parents. Maybe it was easier to be sinless in the olden days than it was for a teenager in 1977.

      One last glance over my shoulder at the cozy yellow windows of my house and then I focused on the road before me. The line down the center barely reflected the faint moonlight, but I didn’t need much light to keep me on track. I knew this road foot by foot. To avoid taking the school bus last year, I’d ridden back and forth to town nearly every day. Anytime I wanted to see Vickie, I pedaled to her house just off Main Street. When we were younger, she used to say my house was more fun. There was the creek to wade in and woods perfect for building forts. But sometime in the past year, I noticed the road had begun to run only one direction.

      My legs pumped like I was racing for my life, the night breeze pushing me toward wherever this evening led. Vickie’s softball teammate Becky had invited us to Amber Scott’s party. We weren’t even freshmen yet, and we were going to be hanging out with seniors.

      But the bait that had really lured me was Jared Nichols. I fantasized about the hottest guy in high school talking to me, maybe even dancing with me, his amazing blue eyes looking down at me as he held me close. I’d probably go mute or say something so dumb, he’d know I was only a kid pretending to be older and cooler than I was. I tried to think of anything I knew about football or baseball, the two teams he was on. Then I remembered Mom said people like to talk about themselves best of all. So I’d ask Jared questions and let him do the work. That was the way to handle it—if he talked to me.

      These daydreams drove me a mile down the road and past Porters’ woods. The field corn with its whispering leaves had been freaky enough, but trees were worse. They blocked the moonlight on this stretch of road where anything could lurk in the shadows. I held my breath like I was passing a graveyard and I pedaled even faster. By the time I reached open road again, my chest was on fire. I exhaled and glided for almost a quarter mile, safely past the darkness.

      Pretty soon the country fields gave way to small- town neighborhoods. When Vickie’s cousin from Chicago had visited, she’d called Cutter’s Bend Podunk Paradise, but there were a couple of fast food restaurants, a bowling alley, a roller rink, a movie theater, and a park where the softball and baseball teams played. To me, our town seemed busy enough.

      Newly built aluminum-sided ranch houses sat shoulder to shoulder with sagging old Victorians. Their peaked roofs, cupolas, and wraparound porches made them seem like visitors from another century, old ladies in lace and long gowns. Vickie’s massive house sprawled over two lots. Her corner bedroom was in a tower. When we were little, we’d played Rapunzel at her window. That window was dark as I stopped on the sidewalk under the maple tree.

      Vickie came from the garage, trotting alongside her bike. Took long enough!

      I got away as soon as I could, and it’s a long ride.

      This seemed to be our new way of talking to each other, sharp and impatient. It was getting harder to remember feeling as close as sisters. Vickie hopped on and led the way down the street, in and out of pools of light. I sped up to ride beside her so we could talk. Are you sure Amber won’t mind us showing up? We barely know any of these guys.

      That’s the whole point of going. I don’t want to start freshman year as some bottom feeder. Becky’s our in with the popular crowd. Since she asked us along, she’ll vouch for us being there.

      The closer we got to the party, the more the rock in the pit of my stomach grew. In some ways, this was scarier than Porters’ woods. My fantasy about hooking up with Jared Nichols was ridiculous. He was about as likely to pay attention to me as Percy might have noticed a tick on his ear. Vickie and I weren’t going to suddenly be a part of this group. It would be awkward and weird.

      I don’t know—

      "Stop freaking out. It’s going to be fine. I told you Becky said I should drop by."

      But it’s not her party, and Amber didn’t invite us. I don’t think we should just show up.

      Vickie clicked her tongue loud enough to be heard over the whirr of tires on pavement and accelerated ahead of me. Arguing was pointless, and it was too late to back out now. Either we’d make friends with the popular kids like Vickie hoped, or we’d be humiliatingly snubbed like I feared.

      The thump of bass rocked the neighborhood before we reached Amber’s brightly lit house. My pulse pounded along with it as I dropped my bike on the lawn and followed Vickie to the front door. I felt like the star in a horror movie about to willingly enter the killer’s house. But Vickie was already through the door, so I trailed after her.

      My worst fear had been everyone staring at us and Amber asking us to leave. But no one even glanced our way. We weren’t being snubbed. We were just invisible to the older kids shouting at each other to be heard over the music. From the front hall through the living room, the place was packed. I shuffled along beside Vickie, wishing I was anyplace but there.

      There’s Becky, she yelled. Come on.

      We bumped past a few people dancing to Turn the Beat Around and stopped at the edge of a group of girls in halter tops and jeans tight at the hips and belled from the knees down. They tossed back shiny straight hair I could only dream of having. My own curls frizzed on such a humid summer day, especially after pedaling eight miles to town. Even hairspray couldn’t keep the frizz in check.

      Hey, girl! What’s happening? Becky wore a leather headband, not a plastic band with bangs in front, but an across-the-forehead hippie style only a cool girl could pull off. She wore a vest with her bare belly peeking through the fringe. Why were my clothes so boring and stupid? Because I blew my allowance on books, art supplies, and sometimes even a troll doll for my collection instead of saving up for hip outfits like these girls wore. Before fall, I’d get Mom to take me shopping for a new wardrobe. I’d walk into high school in groovy clothes that made me fit in.

      Like an amoeba, the group of girls swallowed Vickie into their cluster. If I’d joined the team, they’d be my friends too. Why had I refused to give softball a try?

      I looked around the room at people I didn’t know and some I sort of did but had never talked to because they were ahead a few grades. Younger kids didn’t talk to older kids much, but I suppose all that changed in high school.

      There was Jared Nichols, sitting like a king in the middle of his circle of friends. I just had time to admire the way his hair was parted perfectly straight in the middle and swept back in feathered wings when someone switched off the lights. Now the room was lit by black lights, and a small disco ball turned overhead, casting glittering spots on everything. The song changed to the Bee Gees’ You Should be Dancing, and I bobbed along with the beat.

      Vickie grabbed my arm and pulled me into her group. This is Rachel.

      I smiled and nodded. Everyone said hi, then returned to their conversation.

      He’s breaking up with her tonight. Confirmed. It’s a known fact, the girl with white-blonde hair turned violet from the black light announced. After tonight, he’s fair game. You should go for him, Becky.

      Who’re we talking about? I made an effort to join in.

      Jared Nichols is breaking up with Amber. At her own party! the redhead said. She’s gonna have a nuclear meltdown.

      I glanced again at Jared. He didn’t look like somebody who was about to dump his girlfriend. He seemed relaxed, maybe even stoned, and Amber was curled on his lap with her arms tight around him. Becky’s crush seemed as dumb as my daydream of dancing with him, which made me a little less in awe of her.

      I listened to them talk about boys and the upcoming school year and tried to put faces to some of the names. I wanted to add something to the conversation and earn a few laughs, but I couldn’t come up with a clever line. After a while, I just clutched the plastic cup Becky handed me and gazed around the room.

      There were a lot of cute guys with shoulder-length hair and shiny, wide-collared shirts. I spotted Ron Browning and John McGee from my grade. Only a few months ago, they’d been the same scrawny boys I’d known since kindergarten. Now they’d shot up and had moustaches and chest hair in the open Vs of their shirts. I took a deep drink of the sweet red punch that settled warmly in my stomach and seemed to spread through my body.

      The most romantic song I knew, Sara Smile, started playing. Girls laced their hands behind guys’ necks; the boys rested hands on the girls’ hips or snugged them into their back pockets. If I were brave enough, I’d walk over to someone in my league like Ron or John and ask for a dance. But I wasn’t brave.

      I watched Jared Nichols hold Amber close, nuzzle her neck, and whisper in her ear as they swayed. Nothing as romantic as that would happen to me tonight, maybe not ever. I wasn’t the kind of girl to have a guy swooning over me. The closest I’d come was in third grade when Greg Coppinger gave me a plastic ring from a vending machine and said we should go together. By recess the following day, he chased some other girl on the playground.

      I felt groggy and a little sick from whatever the punch was spiked with. I didn’t want to be all alone in that crowded room anymore. I nudged Vickie. Hey. I think I’m going to go now. I’ve got to get home.

      She frowned. We’ve only been here like two minutes. What’s the big rush?

      I’m afraid Mom’s going to find out I’m not in my room. I can’t stop worrying about it, so I might as well go.

      Okay. I’ll talk to you later. Vickie turned back to Becky before I walked away.

      As I reached the door, some girl said in a loud, slurred voice, Who’s that kid?

      Nobody. Just some freshman, a guy answered.

      I melted into a puddle of embarrassment and rushed for my bike. It looked ridiculous, like a child’s toy beside the cars parked in the driveway and on the street. I pedaled away as fast as I could back toward my country-mouse hole where I belonged. Part of me hated Vickie for not leaving with me. We were supposed to stick together no matter what, but she’d let me go off alone.

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