You May Now Kill the Bride (Return to Fear Street Book 1)

1923

Ruth-Ann Fear remembered the feel of hands wrapping around her neck from behind. She remembered the startling pressure and how warm the hands were—warm and damp.

She remembered the leap her heart made, the gasp that escaped her throat. The fingers tightening until she struggled for breath.

With a hard twist of her body, she spun around—and stared into Peter Goodman’s eyes. She made another sound, this time a cry of recognition.

He lowered his hands, the fingers sliding gently now, tracing a damp path along her throat. His touch now tender. Still not breathing, Ruth-Ann watched a smile form on his lips.

“Did I startle you?” His grin grew wider. He knew the answer.

Why did Peter enjoy scaring her, sneaking up on her, catching her off guard? Was it just another boy thing, having to prove himself superior? Showing Ruth-Ann who was in charge?

She took both of his hands in hers. “I knew it was you,” she lied. She tugged him close and pressed her mouth against his. An awkward kiss. He was still enjoying his little prank.

He kissed her again. Ruth-Ann pushed him back with both hands on the lapels of his dark suit jacket. “Do you like my dress?” She stuck out both arms, modeling it for him. It was pale blue, shiny as silk, a wide bow tied at the waist, the skirt falling to her ankles.

His eyes moved up and down. “It’s the cat’s whiskers, Ruth-Ann. What did your mum and dad say about your haircut?”

Her eyes flashed. “They loved it.”

“Go chase yourself!” he exclaimed. “Even you can’t keep a straight face when you say that.”

She laughed. “Okay. The truth. They hated it. They said, ‘Just because a lot of foolish, misguided young women are cutting their hair into short bobs, why do you have to follow them?’”

“Good question,” Peter muttered.

Ruth-Ann raised her pale blue cap and brushed her short, coppery hair with one hand. “Why? You think I look like a boy?”

Peter’s cheeks turned pink. “Of course not.” He leaned forward and kissed her again.

“Actually, Mum and Dad didn’t make much of a fuss. That’s because it was me with the bobbed hair. If it was Rebecca, they would have gone blooey. At least they would have canceled this birthday party.”

Peter raised a finger to her lips. “Stop, Ruth-Ann. You’re always saying how they like Rebecca better than you—”

She pushed his finger away. “You know it’s the truth. Do you know the first thing Mum said when she saw my new haircut? She said, ‘Don’t worry. It will grow back.’”

Peter started to laugh but stopped when a car horn honked. They both turned to see a bright red roadster rumble up the gravel drive.

Two girls in long party dresses hurried across the grass to greet the car. On the terrace, two maids in black-and-white uniforms were setting down trays of drinking glasses.

Peter turned away from Ruth-Ann and started toward the house. She grabbed his hand. “Peter, where are you going?”

“Inside,” he replied. “I want to try your father’s—”

“—Radio set.” She finished the sentence for him. It was maybe the only thing Peter Goodman and Randolph Fear had in common. They both loved to spend hours tuning in distant radio stations on Mr. Fear’s radio receiver.

“No,” Ruth-Ann insisted. “You have to help me get through Rebecca’s birthday party.” She tugged him toward the lawn. “Come say hello to Mum and Dad.”

“Right now?” Peter said. He shrugged. “Why? They don’t like me anyway.”

“Please. They think you’re the bee’s knees.” Ruth-Ann knew she was lying. Her parents didn’t like Peter at all.

“The boy has no gumption.” That’s what her father had said. “Why doesn’t he ever look me in the eye? Is he hiding something? He talks into his chin. I can’t hear a word he mumbles.”

But Peter was good enough for Ruth-Ann. If Peter were dating Rebecca, her parents would demand that President Harding call out the army to chase him off. Or they would put Rebecca on the next passenger ship to Europe to break them up.

Rebecca was the princess. Randolph Fear even called her that. “Princess.”

Her parents had little to say about Peter dating Ruth-Ann, and she was glad. She needed something or someone to be hers and hers alone, and Peter fit the bill.

He wasn’t the most exciting guy in Shadyside, or the best-looking. In fact, with his chubby cheeks and round black-framed glasses, his straight brown hair down over his forehead, he looked a lot like an owl.

Peter wasn’t the funniest, or the sharpest dresser. His family wasn’t rich or important. He didn’t have to be any of those things to make Ruth-Ann happy. And she realized that Peter was one of the few people who did make her feel happy, not in second place, not like Rebecca Fear’s little sister.

Peter was halfway to the house. “You can’t stay in there the whole time,” Ruth-Ann called to him. “You have to come out and be social. You have to come out when lunch is served. Do you hear me?”

He turned back and gave her a little wave of one hand. His glasses caught the sunlight and made it look as if his face was lighting up.

She heard her mother shouting. “Ruth-Ann? Where are you? The Grainers are here. Ruth-Ann?”

But she stood and watched Peter, watched him until he disappeared behind the terrace door.

Peter. Peter. Peter . . .

She had no idea how soon he would betray her.