Time Search (The Time Counselor Chronicles Book 3)

by Danele J Rotharmel

  Raising his camera, he prepared to take her picture. “Moment of truth, Miss Ableman. Remember, the stone disk is listening, and a violinist can’t afford to lose a hand. Do you want to marry me?”

  Angelina’s thoughts whirled. I’m sure he’s just teasing, but—

  Unsure how to respond, she decided to pass the moment off as a joke. Laughing, she said lightly, “About as much as you want to marry me.”

  Karl snapped the photo.

  Taking her hand from the mouth, she gave him a piercing look. “Your turn?” she challenged. “I wouldn’t mind asking you a few things.”

  Tucking her hand into the crook of his arm, he smiled. “Not on your life. I plan on keeping my secrets a secret.”

  ~*~

  In Montana, while the breakfast dishes were being washed, Poppa decorated the wedding cake. As he carefully piped cornelli lace and placed white frosting roses, people kept visiting his huge bowl of buttercream frosting with spoons.

  As Twinkles took her fifth spoonful, Poppa chuckled. “It’s a good thing I made extra. I know how addictive Zara’s buttercream can be.”

  Nodding, Twinkles licked the mound of frosting from her spoon. “That woman was a marvel in the kitchen.”

  “How is it that you ended up with Aunt Zara’s frosting recipe?” Dan asked, snagging his third spoonful. “She’s mighty protective of it. Did she mellow in her old age?”

  Poppa placed another frosting rose on top of the cake. “Zara held onto her buttercream secret until her dying day. She breathed the recipe into my ear when she was on her deathbed.”

  “That sounds like Aunt Zara.” Gil laughed. “I’m glad she didn’t take her frosting secret to the grave. Will you let me have a copy of the recipe?”

  “Not a chance.” Poppa grinned. “I promised Zara that I would only tell the recipe to one other person. I’ve chosen Alexis.”

  Gil’s forehead wrinkled. “Who is Alexis? A grandchild?”

  “She’s my niece. Alex’s daughter.”

  “Poppa, I don’t think that’s very fair,” Gil said indigently. “Why don’t you leave the recipe to Deleena? I’d think you’d tell the secret to your own daughter rather than your niece.”

  Poppa looked at Twinkles and raised a brow. She laughed.

  “I don’t see what’s funny,” Gil exclaimed in a grumpy voice.

  Twinkles’s eyes were dancing. “Honey, Alexis bakes like a dream, and Deleena couldn’t boil water without burning it. Even with a recipe to follow, Deleena would never manage to make Zara’s frosting. I don’t think our daughter could make instant pudding without screwing it up.”

  Gil’s mouth dropped open. “Why did my daughter never learn to cook? What was I—what were you—what were we thinking?”

  Setting his pastry bag on the counter, Poppa gave Gil’s hand a pat. “Don’t blame Twinkles. She tried her best to get Deleena in the kitchen, but our daughter had a mind of her own. She was far more interested in martial arts than baking cookies. When Twinkles would force her into a cooking lesson, Deleena would always find a way to sneak out a window to play football with the boys.”

  “Was Deleena a tomboy?” Dan asked, snagging another spoonful of frosting.

  Poppa chuckled. “In a manner of speaking. She could out run, out fight, and out play any boy around, but she could also turn right around and be ultrafeminine. Deleena was one little lady who could knock the socks off the boys physically with her fighting skills and emotionally with her beauty. Every boy around was under her spell, but she never gave them the time of day. She figured if she could wallop a boy, he wasn’t worth her time. Our Deleena was something else, and she still is.” Poppa smiled. “But she never did learn how to cook. I think it’s safe to say that our daughter never cooked a meal in her life.”

  Twinkles gave a gasping laugh. “She did cook one meal. Remember?”

  Poppa bent forward and slapped his knee. “I’d forgotten about that.”

  Dan grinned. “Tell us.”

  Twinkles’ lopsided dimples danced. “When Deleena finally fell in love, she tried to impress D…that is, her future husband, with a home-cooked meal. She always managed to do whatever she put her mind to, and she thought she could lay out a spread worthy of Julia Child.”

  As Twinkles collapsed in laughter, Poppa took up the story. “Naturally, it didn’t go as planned. When her fella arrived at her apartment, Deleena’s roast was on fire in the oven, the peas were boiled over and smoking on the stove, and the salad—with its slippery oil dressing—was upside down on the floor. Deleena herself was a complete mess—hot, sweaty, her hair falling down, and her fancy, silk dress covered in drips.”

  Twinkles gurgled. “D…that is, her future husband, did what any sensible man would do. He extinguished the fire in the oven and then kissed her long and hard. If Deleena wasn’t already dead gone on him, that kiss would’ve sure sealed the deal.”

  ~*~

  Hiding behind a high hedge, Drake studied an immaculate townhouse that had fancy gables and bay windows. He smiled as memories invaded his thoughts. Last night had been busy, but it had also been productive. He’d enjoyed watching the agents scurrying like black beetles as they searched the grounds of the Naval Observatory for him.

  “I hope snooty Andrew Hamilton likes the picture of his sister,” he hissed. “Sweet, little Jessica… It’s so nice to know someone’s Achilles heel.”

  After getting away from the Naval Observatory, he’d had fun with someone else. His grin widened. Nothing in life quite compared to tweaking someone’s tail.

  Licking his lips, he murmured, “She’s white-frosted angel cake, and I’m hungry.”

  Closing his eyes, he pictured Crystal in her white nightgown. She had looked lovely, sleeping so calmly with his knife to her throat. If she had opened her eyes, he would have ended things right there. Slit her throat from ear to ear. But she’d slept through his kisses, so he would play with her some more. He’d never tried making someone doubt their own sanity before. It was an interesting idea—killing the mind before killing the body. Eventually, he’d kill the body, too. He was just having too much fun to end things too quickly. He enjoyed playing games. All kinds of games.

  A dog barked as he pushed through the hedge and dashed behind a retaining wall.

  He frowned. He still couldn’t locate Nicole Cunning’s address. She was someone who guarded her privacy fiercely. Until he found her, he couldn’t find Zeke.

  “No worries,” he crooned softly, sliding closer to the townhouse. “There are lots of ways to approach a problem. Patience wins. Slowly wins. Never-but-ever-but-slowly wins.”

  Slipping behind a tree, he muttered, “How fortunate that another Ableman lives in D.C.”

  The dog growled and barked again.

  Drake crept toward the townhouse’s back door. “Angelina,” he purred. “That name has a nice ring to it. I can’t wait to see if she knows where Dan and Gil are hiding.” Sliding his knife from his pocket, he chuckled. “I wonder if she’s pretty. I wonder if she scares easily.”

  ~*~

  Hours were passing quickly, but Zeke still hadn’t arrived at headquarters. Marc was becoming nervous about that fact. He had a knot in his stomach the size of Jupiter, and he kept stealing glances at the clock. After his devotions with Crystal, he’d started working like crazy, hoping to have some sort of progress to show his former friend when he arrived.

  Marc stared at his computer screen. His eyes were so tired that the words were blurring. The silence in the room was deafening. Stretching, he looked over at Crystal’s bent head. She’d finished filling in her wall chart, and darts were stuck next to questions without answers. Now, she was kneeling on a sheet of butcher paper, writing out her thoughts. Periodically, she’d kick the roll of paper behind her, allowing it to unwind as she crawled her way backward. She’d managed to inch her way half the length of the long room, leaving a path of scribbled paper in front of her.

  His eyebrow quirked as he studied her work. Her
paper was divided down the middle. Half of the paper was devoted to wordplay on the name Drake Procerus. The other half was covered in math that was so advanced he had no idea what he was reading.

  Rubbing a kink in his back, Marc decided it was time for a break. He flopped onto his stomach beside Crystal. When she ignored him, he grabbed one of the toy cars she’d placed on the paper and drove it around her hand. When she still ignored him, he began making obnoxious vroom-vroom noises.

  Beside him, Crystal grinned and pushed at her glasses. “I’m thinking,” she said sternly. “Stop bothering me.”

  Smiling, Marc picked up another car and drove it up her arm.

  “Stop messing with my bookmarks,” she exclaimed with good-natured impatience.

  Chuckling, he picked up a third car. “These are bookmarks?”

  Crystal nodded. Taking the cars from his hands, she placed them back on her paper. “I find it’s sometimes easier to work backward rather than forward. And it can be more efficient to work in a circle around the gaps in my information rather than straight through them. If something presents a problem, I mark it and simply work around it.”

  “That works?”

  “It does if you work three-dimensionally rather than linearly, but you need to remember where the holes are. I like tiny, toy cars because they can mark my problem areas and yet be rolled swiftly from place to place while I work.” A corny grin passed over Crystal’s face. “Besides, they’re much more fun to use than paperweights.”

  Marc laughed. “You’ve got that right.” He smiled. “I wondered why you had toy cars in your purse. Is that why you have a troll doll? Is it a bookmark, too?”

  She shook her head. “The troll helps me when I have a bad day.”

  “How so?”

  “Get my purse, and I’ll show you.”

  Scrambling to his feet, Marc retrieved her giant bag. Flopping down beside her, he watched as she rummaged through her purse for the troll.

  “Come here,” she said with a twinkle.

  When he leaned close, she took the troll’s pink hair and rubbed it back and forth beneath his nose. Laughing, he pushed her hand away.

  “See?” she said. “No one can remain unhappy with a troll’s hair tickling their nose, especially if the hair is neon pink. It’s the best instant pick-me-up that I know.”

  He chuckled. “You may be on to something. Think I should invest in a troll?”

  “Don’t bother,” she replied, giving him a cheeky wink. “I’ll buy you one for your birthday.”

  Before he could reply, Crystal resumed writing. As she kicked the paper and sent it rolling behind her, he remembered Zeke saying that if he wanted thrown for a loop, he should ask Crystal about her thoughts.

  “Cris,” he said, watching her rapid scribbling with extreme curiosity. “What are you thinking about at this exact moment?”

  Pausing, she looked up. “You mean other than the obvious things like what the temperature of the room is, what the density of my writing utensil is, and how many candles of light are falling on the paper from the bulbs above us?”

  Marc grinned. “Yep. Besides those extremely obvious things.”

  Rising to her knees, she wound her ponytail around her head. “Well,” she said, securing her bun with two pens and a pencil, “right now, I’m considering your question, and I’m thinking about possible wordplay on the name Drake Procerus. Since Drake means dragon, I’m thinking about various dragons in literature—particularly Smaug in The Hobbit since Drake seems partial to Tolkien. I’m also thinking about the flaw in the Wave Trapper prototype. I’m running through algorithms that may shed light on the problem.”

  Marc opened his mouth to reply, but he shut it with a snap as she continued. “I’m worrying about Zeke and Phoebe. I’m wondering why people sleepwalk. I’m trying to decide whether to use milk chocolate chips or semisweet chocolate chips in the cookies I’m baking after work.”

  He blinked in amazement as she counted more things off on her fingers. “I’m wondering if I can find some online instructions about how to repair a washing machine, and I’m itemizing the tools I have on hand to see if I need to stop at the hardware store on my way home. I’m mentally translating the first forty lines of Beowulf into Mandarin Chinese. I’m trying to decide if I like belly dancing even better than jitterbugging—I think I do. I’m going over the proofs of Hinglly’s eighth formula to occupy my thoughts. And I’m also mentally replaying my favorite I Love Lucy episode just for kicks.” Crystal smiled. “You know the one where Lucy and Ethyl work in the chocolate factory? I love that one. Those are my basic thoughts at the moment.”

  A grin pulled Marc’s lips. Zeke had been right. He did feel thrown for a loop. “That’s all?” he asked.

  Crystal blushed. “Well…I was also trying to decide if I liked your new beard.”

  Marc gave a burst of laughter. “What’s the verdict?”

  She sat back on her heels. “I think it looks nice on you.” A dimple peeped out in her cheek. “And I happen to know it’s soft to the touch.”

  Marc put a hand to his chin. “After yanking it, you would know it’s soft, wouldn’t you?”

  Crystal grinned and resumed writing. “What about you?” she asked. “What are you thinking about right now?”

  “You.”

  Her eyes flew to his face. “That’s all?”

  He gave a chortle of laughter. “That’s enough. Hey, I only have a brain the size of a pea, remember? One major thought is all I can handle.”

  Her dimple danced. “I’m sorry I said that. I’ll admit your brain’s bigger than a pea.”

  “Is it as big as a baseball?”

  Her eyes twinkled at him. “I was thinking more along the size of a plum, but I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt.”

  As she started working again, he sat on his heels and watched her. “Hey, Cris?” he said. “Make the chips milk chocolate and bring some cookies tomorrow, will you? Homemade chocolate chip cookies are my favorite.”

  She continued writing. “I guess I can be persuaded to share. It’ll be nice having something to snack on during the afternoon. I don’t like using vending machines. They have a vendetta against me.”

  Marc studied her bent head. Deliberately, he reached over and straightened the pencil in her bun. “Cris?”

  Looking up, she blew a stray strand of blonde hair out of her face. “What? You know I’m working, don’t you?”

  “Sorry.” He gave an apologetic shrug. “I was just thinking about last semester and wondering why you didn’t give that kid money for another type of candy rather than sticking your hand up the machine. I’m not making fun of you. I just want to know.”

  Looking at him, she said quietly, “Another piece of candy wouldn’t do. He had his heart set on a Zilpo chocolate bar.”

  “Surely, it couldn’t have mattered that much.”

  “It did matter. It mattered more than anything else in the world. That boy was Wade Kingston’s son.”

  Marc’s breath whistled sharply in his throat. “I didn’t know that.”

  “It was the day Wade showed up drunk for work, and Dan called him into his office and threatened to fire him.”

  Marc winced. “I wasn’t there that day, but I heard about it.”

  “It wasn’t pretty. Kenny and his mom were waiting in the hall, and they heard the whole thing. Jill was pretty upset. She sent Kenny to the vending machines to get him out of the way. Later, when I saw him down the hall, Kenny was leaning against the glass of the vending machine staring at the stuck candy bar.” Crystal tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “You remember how Kenny didn’t cry at the TEMCO softball game when he was beaned by the ball?”

  Marc nodded.

  “Kenny was crying at the candy machine. Not in a noisy way. In a hopeless way. Big tears were rolling down his face. I could tell that his world was caving in. I couldn’t give him a sober father, but I could get him that blasted chocolate bar.” She looked down at her hands. �
��I didn’t want to shake the machine. I did that in high school once, and I was nearly flattened when the machine tipped. The candy wasn’t up that high. I was sure I could reach in and grab it.”

  “And you became stuck.”

  “Not before my fingertips brushed the candy and freed it. Kenny got his Zilpo bar.”

  “And you got stuck,” Marc repeated softly.

  “It wasn’t a big deal. Jill came down the hall and saw what was going on. She promised to find the janitor. Before Kenny left, he gave me a big, sloppy kiss on my cheek and put a square of chocolate in my mouth.” Crystal grinned. “Getting stuck was worth it.”

  Marc stared at her, studying her face.

  Shifting uncomfortably, she pushed at her glasses. “No one would have known I was stuck, but classes let out before the janitor came. Students started swarming all around, and I wasn’t exactly inconspicuous.”

  “So you helped little Kenny, and in return, you became the punch line of another joke.”

  She shrugged.

  “I’m sorry, Cris.”

  “Nothing to be sorry about,” she replied gruffly. “I didn’t mind those jokes at all. I knew what was behind my actions even if no one else did. Whenever I heard one of the vending machine jokes, I just thought of Kenny’s chocolate kiss on my cheek and his tiny, little arms around my neck.” She turned back to her paper. “I do silly things all the time. I don’t regret the silly thing I did for Kenny.”

  Marc regarded her as she wrote a string of complicated equations. “Cris?”

  She looked up with an impatient grin. “What? I am trying to work, you know.”

  “I know.” His eyes captured hers. “If Wade were here, I know he’d want to thank you for helping his son. I want to thank you, too.”

  Crystal blushed. “No need for thanks.”

  “I’m saying thank you anyway.” He smiled softly. “You really are one in a million.”

  “Thank you, kind sir.”

  As he sat on his heels staring at her, she put her hand against his chest. His heart jolted. His pulse raced. As he leaned slightly toward her, she pushed him over. “Now, scram. You’re distracting me.”