The Key by Sarah May Palmer Page A

small piece of moldy cheese. Damn ! The meager contents served as proof that she was as conscientious about grocery shopping as she was about housework. Everything got assigned to the garbage bin.
    Well, toast it is then , Carly snarled as she let out a heavy sigh of disappointment.
    Soon she was back on the sofa; toast in one hand pen in the other. In no time at all the page was full of things to do, and she was turning over a new leaf.
    Carly wasn’t naive enough to think that she could just put on her CD, drop off to sleep, then catch a murderer red handed. She’d have to use the details she knew for certain and do her best to get to the right place , at the right time. If she did spot the murderer , she’d have to find a foolproof way to lead the police to him or her. “Hey Mr. Policeman , I just travelled back in time in a dream and solved a murder for you ,” was clearly not a credible option.
    The rest of the day was spent on the internet, re searching the case of Tracey Dawn Jackson’s disappearance. This sort of work cam e easy to Carly ; after all, she researched news stories for a living. She had access to many sources of information that were not available to the average Joe or Jane Bloggs , and she therefore had the ability to wade through an abundance of useful information documented shortly after Tracey’s disappearance.
    Photographs of Tracey’s home, family, friends, college, and the library where she went missing, all helped to build up a picture in Carly’s mind. She needed to feel as though she knew the people and places she was going to visit, before she embarked on her journey.
    Carly noted that Tracey’s family had continued appealing for information over the years, and every year on the anniversary of her disappearance they would make a fresh appeal. Initially it was ‘hot news’ and everyone wanted a piece of it, so there were countless TV, radio, and magazine interviews. But as time passed by, Tracey became old news, and the family found the media had lost interest.
    By early evening she figured there was enough information to get started. With any luck , by morning she would be a step closer to finding the killer and helping bring closure to the Jackson family . Mister or Missus Murderer pro bably thought they had gotten away with it after all this time, but they are wrong , Carly nodded to herself. I’ll get ya .

TWO
     
    It was quite late when Carly slipped the CD into the player and settled down into her bed. She closed her eyes and began to picture the place where Tracey was last seen.
    Soon Carly found herself on a quiet tree lined street that she recognized from a photograph. It was a sunny afternoon, the birds were singing, and it was hard to believe that for one girl in this town, this was possibly the last day of her life.
    Right, O.K., I need to find the perfect spot to see the library entrance. Then when Tracey comes out, in around 20 minute’s time, I can see if anyone’s watching her . I must try and get close enough to get a clear view, but not so close that anyone will notice me.
    Carly wasn’t quite sure what exactly she would do if she spotted the killer, but she would just have to take it one step at a time.
    Right then she saw the perfect spot. Set in the shade under two leafy trees was a small wooden bench. It provided an almost perfect vantage point to view the library entrance, and best of all, who would notice someone taking a rest on a sunny afternoon.
    If this were the present day, Carly could fill her time messing around on her cell phone; but this was 1979 and long before the dawn of the little miracle she had at home. It dawned on her how different life must be for the people of this era.
    The moments ticked by until Tracey Dawn Jackson walked casually out of the double doors of the library. She looked just like she had in the photograph, a pretty, happy, smiling young woman. She was with another young woman and they stopped on the pavement, chatting and