“Have you seen Jenny?” The old man appeared in the doorway and started when he saw us.
“Who the fuck are you?” Frank yelled and stormed after him with the knife in play.
With both ghosts gone I grabbed a tissue from the side table, pressed it to my neck, and stared forward in utter desperation. That’s when I saw it. The key that Otto placed on my coffee table was still there. With the tissue stuck to my neck, I lunged for the key.
I may not be able to read situations like my relatives did, but I could sure as hell read objects.
I sent my second sight out and around the townhome to make sure I was alone. I didn’t want to delve into the key if I was going to be surprised by Philippe. Or worse, Otto.
No one.
I placed the key in the palm of my left hand and squeezed my fingertips against it. I was sure that Otto already knew what he planned to do with Blake when he found me on the couch that morning. Since he had the key in his possession then, maybe the key would know where Blake was.
“Show me your history, sweetheart,” I said to the key. “I need to know how I can help Blake.”
I prepared myself to be flooded with the evil of Otto. Instead, my focus was drawn to the kitchen where a key holder in the shape of an old-fashioned iron key was nailed to the wall. Not exactly where I thought I’d go, but I went with it.
The evening sun floats in on a warm breeze through partially open windows in the library. Dressed in a sleeveless, silver-beaded, light pink 1920s gown, Ellen sways gently in my grandfather’s arms to Bessie Smith’s I Need a Little Sugar in My Bowl. She takes a sip from her wine glass and slows her dance as my grandfather kisses her red-stained lips.
“You two should leave a little to the imagination,” Otto says as he swaggers by, a glowing Carolena floating effortlessly in his arms, her jeweled bracelet adorning her wrist. He twirls her as Bessie hits her high notes with gusto, then he lowers Carolena in for a stylish dip.
Ellen and John “ahhh” and applaud Otto’s and Carolena’s snazzy moves, and the small, retro-dressed gathering rides the high of illicit love.
My grandfather walks over to where I witness the key’s memory. His face is smooth, the outline handsome. He takes the key from the rack and hands it to Otto. “Just until her apartment remodel is complete,” he warns, and holds the key out of Otto’s reach.
“No more than a month,” Otto says. “Two at tops.”
My grandfather pauses, then hands Otto the key, who then hands it to Carolena.
“Thanks, old man,” Otto says, and slaps my grandfather on the back.
“Thank you, John,” Carolena says. “Please, come and enjoy yourselves any time you need to. Tristan and I don’t take up much space.” Carolena peeks to the corner where a young, dark-haired boy sits in the ray of the sun and pushes tiny trucks around him.
My heart thumps hard at the sight of him. Tristan. Of course Blake wouldn’t use his real name.
“We can meet at my place,” Ellen whispers to John as they move with one another, hip to hip. “I’ll have my mother take Nate to the park.” Ellen and my grandfather look at a young, blond-curled boy in brown cotton pants when he tugs on my grandfather’s jacket.
“Up, Dada, up,” he says in a tiny voice.
“That’s my good boy,” my grandfather says and picks him up, then kisses the boy’s apple cheeks. The three of them dance together until the shrill ring of a phone interrupts them, and my grandfather answers the black landline that sits on a shelf beneath the bookcase.
I popped out of the reading with a jolt, the key’s memory of the party vanishing into my current day. Taking two and three steps at a time, I dashed toward the spare room. It was a small space with an angled ceiling, room enough for a modest study or apparently, a nursery. On the side wall, and behind an old armchair, was a square cut-out, a portal that led to the attic space. I pushed hard on the narrow door and grabbed the cardboard box from the dark.
Inside were the odds and ends I’d stored, just to clean and clear the space a bit. Even though Grace had specifically forbidden me to move any of my grandfather’s things. One of the items I’d taken from the library was an old black landline. The exact one I’d just seen my grandfather talking on.
I unwrapped the long wire that was still attached to the back of the phone and plugged it into the outlet across the room. I wasn’t breathing when I lifted the receiver, but when I heard the dial tone I exhaled in a whoosh.
The small paper where Blake had written Carolena’s and William’s phone numbers was right where I left it.
“Yes,” William answered.
“It’s Addie,” I said breathlessly. “Otto’s kidnapped Blake, you have to find him.”
“What? Where are you?” William asked.
“He’s holding me captive in my town home. He’s going to take me to the Gardner art,” I said.
“Why is he taking you to the art?”
“He wants me to help him. I—I don’t have time to explain,” I said, and knew there would never be a time when I could. “Today, I think. Maybe you could follow us. He could be back any minute. I don’t know how much time I have. I think I overheard them say he’s got the art in a warehouse somewhere down by a river. You’ll find Blake?” I said it all so quickly that my words ran together.
“This doesn’t make any sense,” he said. “You don’t—”
“Please, please—” I realized that I couldn’t give William anything solid that would allow him to help Blake. “Nevermind. Don’t call me back on this line. They don’t know I have a phone and I can’t have it ringing.”
“Addie, wait,” he said.
I hung up and dialed the next person. No one answered, and I wasn’t surprised. There’s no way she could have recognized the number.
The voicemail clicked on without a greeting, and I told Carolena everything I’d told William and then some. “I don’t know where Otto’s taken him. He’s holding him until he’s sure I’ll help him with the Gardner art. I don’t know how to get out of this.”
I put the receiver back in the cradle and prepared to call Grace. But the front door slammed and I jumped beyond my skin. Quicker than light I restocked the phone to the box, the box to its hiding spot, and moved the chair to cover the outline of the opening. There’s no way I would have time to get back downstairs before they found me.
Chapter 46
There were no audible footsteps but Otto’s presence was palpable when it spread through my home. I held my breath on the exhale then inhaled slowly through my nose to try and calm my out-of-control heartbeat.
I felt his fiery gaze on the side of my face while I stared out the small window. I didn’t move.
“What are you doing?” The energy that rode on his words hit me like a curse.
I waited a beat and gathered what calm I could before I answered. “Wishing I was outside.”
Otto’s perennial tan had disappeared and was replaced by a fatigued shade of lime, like he’d eaten something that didn’t agree with him. In slow motion, his eyes ping-ponged between my spot next to the window and the top of the stairs.
“Philippe is at the front door. With a gun,” he warned. He dashed past me and covered the upstairs with footsteps and the sound of jiggling windows. I prayed to everyone I could think of that they would direct him away from my literal lifeline.
He came back down the stairs and I felt him push me for answers before he even opened his mouth. Carolena had been right when she said he was the best and the most dangerously gifted man she’d ever known.
A lifetime with Lexie, who pushed me for anything and everything, left me nothing if not prepared to handle at least something akin to this kind of thing. I stared out the framed round window that overlooked the park, and bolstered myself energetically against Otto. Awareness was the best protection.
Otto towered in front of me and pushed hard for the truth. “What were you doing upstairs?”
My awareness felt like a cardboard shield a
gainst the fiery breath of a dragon. “I’m just looking out the window,” I said. “Better than staring at a wall.”
Otto held his glare and pushed so hard my internal organs leaned away from him. “You want to tell me what you were doing upstairs.”
I waited until the compelling desire to tell the truth passed. Though with his evil prying at me so intently, it felt like a short lifetime, even though it was only a second or two. “I wasn’t upstairs.”
“Go downstairs and stay there,” he ordered me, and extended his hand to help me up.
I stood without the offered assistance and walked back to the library, rattling a little with each step.
Otto brought Philippe in from the hallway. “Watch her and don’t let her wander around. I don’t think she could get out one of those windows upstairs, but I don’t want her testing it.”
He walked to the half bath and shut the door with a loud ka-chunk. A metal click followed when he turned the lock.
I hoped he was sick. Deathly ill. Or having a heart attack.
Philippe stood in the foyer, pushed his jacket back, placed his hands on his hips to show off the gun in his front waistband.
I rolled my eyes and walked back into the library. The little girl stood quietly next to the right side of the bookshelf. She wore black tights and a crisp red dress that had a peter pan collar and four pearl-colored buttons just beneath it.
“I’m sorry,” she said with worry-filled blue eyes. “I need to find my brothers. I was caring for them and now they’re gone. So, I wrote this letter for them.” She held a piece of folded stationery and clutched it to her chest.
“Of course, sweetheart,” I whispered. “Do you want me to give it to them?” I extended my hand to take the letter but she walked toward the kitchen.
“I’ll give it to them,” she said.
The letter.
I gave a cautious glance behind me to make sure Philippe or Otto weren’t stalking me too closely, then scanned the bookshelves for the F. Scott Fitzgerald book that Grace said had been in the house at one time.
My fingers flew over the antique spines that were nestled together on the shelves, and searched for the familiar book I’d seen at my grandmother’s home. I had inspected all of the art in my grandfather’s town home over the years, but I’d never spent any time going through his books. Today all the navy blue covers appeared the same.
Until I caught the scent. Singed paper. I followed it to the right side of the bookcase and reached for the book as a tiny white sparkle illuminated for just one second. The gold lettering on the spine had faded beyond recognition, but the front cover showed the title clearly. This Side of Paradise.
I tried to appear casual. If I were being watched I didn’t want to share any clues as to what I was doing. Especially with Otto.
The cover crackled when I opened it, and several letters slipped from the pages. My heart fluttered with a mix of anxiety and hope.
My Dearest Ellen, the first letter began. Please do send more pictures of Nathan, and especially from graduation. I can hardly believe this handsome man is the same precious child who slept like an angel in my arms so many years ago.
One by one, I opened the letters and read the first few lines of each. They all began in the same way.
Philippe cleared his throat and I hastily peeked at the last three letters, My Dearest Ellen. My eyes moved over the words slowly, in prolonged helplessness, and my heart tumbled down an endless slope of disappointment.
We’ve had the most peculiar visitor. I thank you for warning me that Otto might send someone our way. He stumbled into our townhouse, shot through the arm of all things, and suffering with shock and a fever. We’ve taken him to the hospital and they’re caring for him. The wound sites are quite infected, and unfortunately, these are still the days before antibiotics. The doctors are using serum therapy and comfrey poultices to heal the infection, though they are doubtful. Pray for him. It appears he is quite fond of our dear Addie.
I turned in all four directions, knew that no matter where I searched for him on this earth, I wouldn’t find him. He was gone. Taken from me again.
The safety I’d wanted for us had escaped from my grasp. The threats that I had tried to outrun—the loss of Blake, being used for my gifts, the excruciating pain of being alone and haunted again—had found me.
I leaned on the bookshelf to hold myself up, shock and grief knocking me into half-consciousness.
The bathroom door opened, and with a jolt I haphazardly folded the letter and pushed it into my bra, against the side of my breast.
“Go get her,” I heard Otto say to Philippe.
Chapter 47
The good news, I tried to assure myself, was that Blake wasn’t tied to a pole in a rat-infested, New York City basement, half-starved and beaten to death. The bad news was that Blake was shot, suffering and infected, tucked deep into the past where medical care wasn’t at its best and no one but Otto knew how to reach him. And I wasn’t in any position to find Otto’s Wentworth.
The winter air in the empty back of the van left me chilled to the core and visibly shaking, but under the dark hood my breath was too warm and smothering. The van pitched to the side as we turned a corner.
“I’m going to be sick,” I said through the darkness and torment.
I knew Philippe sat across from me. He ignored me.
I’d never worn a hood over my face before. Even as a child I hated having any sort of cover placed on my face and I would pull shirts over my head as quickly as possible.
It was also the first time I’d worn handcuffs. They stayed cold on my skin and pressed hard at my wrists to the point where I thought the bones might snap. “They’re too tight,” I’d said when Nicholas put them on.
“I don’t care,” he said and turned away from my face.
The van slowed to a stop, and a languid, metal squeak filled the quiet. Then the van lurched and we moved again, albeit slowly. When we finally stopped, the back doors to the van opened and Philippe jerked me off the metal bench and onto the pavement.
Wherever we were it was vacant. The traffic sounds of the city had faded into the distance. The sound of water lapped against a hard surface and the occasional seagull cried out as if they had seen me and thought I was headed for my execution. I knew Otto wouldn’t do away with me, yet. He still needed me.
A heavy metal door rattled as it slid open on its rails, and Philippe ushered me inside. I’d come to recognize his clean soap smell, which differed from Nicholas’ too-heavy cologne.
Our heels clicked against the bare cement floor until the sound of Otto’s shoes echoed ahead of us. There were six beeps, as though someone punched the buttons on a keypad. Then a pause before the pressure release of a sealed door when it opened. Philippe moved me forward.
“Pleasure to see you again, Ad-die,” Frank said mockingly while I was still under cover. I leaned away when the liquor on his breath permeated the cotton hood. Philippe pushed me upright again and yanked off the hood.
I gasped.
The inside of the small room resembled a miniature museum with its gray walls, wooden floors, and gallery lighting. There were mostly frameless canvases of recognizable pieces from the Gardner theft that were propped against all four walls. It was disturbing to see several exact images of the same paintings in one room. There was only one reason such a scenario would happen.
“Just as you did when you were little, Addie,” Otto began. “We’re going to play a game.” Otto placed his hands on my shoulders and gestured across the room. I fought the need to shrug his hands off my body.
“You touch each one, then tell me which is real and which are forgeries.”
It suddenly occurred to me that when my job was done, he’d have no more use for me. “This might take some time.”
Otto walked around the room with his hands clasped behind his back and surveyed several pieces from his one-of-a-kind, world-famous collection. “I doubt that,” he said. “I watched you d
o this as a child, and it took you less than a minute to do ten or so.”
“Well, it’s just that you have a lot of pieces here and—”
“I’ve seen you work, Addie,” he said. “You’re almost as fast as Carole—” He closed his lips slowly, the fury of rejection brewed behind his eyes.
I swallowed hard. There was something evil in the air when Otto had Carolena’s name on his lips. The anger he felt over her departure still lived strong in his heart.
“You’re fast. You’re quite good. Better than I would have anticipated, actually,” he said. “The more you do, the better you’ll get. That’s the way it was with someone I once knew. Practice makes perfect and that sort of thing. And if you do a good job with these items there’s no end to the work we can do together. I’ve waited a long time,” he said. He dragged the backside of his knuckles down my cheek and gazed at me as though he saw someone else.
I tried to swallow the fury that rose up within. Without much success. “I’ll tell you what,” I said and moved out of his reach. “I’ll tell you which of these pieces are original, and I’ll even work with you on other pieces. When you bring Blake back. Healthy and unharmed.”
When his fist hit my jaw the pain shot through my face and visceral hatred burned throughout my body.
“Now you’re gettin’ a taste of him,” Frank said. I glared at him. I pushed off of the floor and wetness landed in bright red circles on the polished hardwoods.
Otto knelt on one knee and shook a white handkerchief. “Look at me,” he said gently, as if someone else had just hit me. He lifted my chin with his hand and dabbed the blood from my face.
Hatred oozed from every ounce of my soul.
“After all I’ve gone through to bring you here. To give you this special work…” Otto gestured to the Gardner pieces around the room. His tone cruel and masked in sweet. “…and this is how you act.”
He grabbed my upper arm too hard and yanked me to my feet. I stood awkwardly where he left me, holding the handkerchief to my bleeding nose and lip.
Somewhere in Time Page 23