She looked out over the foyer to see that the front door was open, letting in the fresh pine scent of an Oregon summer. As she cautiously made her way downstairs, a maid in black with a white apron saw her, then quickly scurried away.
Great. She was a ghoul of a guest. She continued walking until she heard a voice from above. She looked up to see Constance Andrews coming out of the room Josie had just been in.
“There you are,” said Constance. “I was just checking on you. I see you found the clothes I lent you. I figured we might be a similar size, except for the...” She delicately pointed to the bust area. “It’s a little roomier on you.”
Though it was difficult to tell with the loose, dropped-waist style, it did appear that Constance Andrews’s chest was larger than Josie’s. And how kind of her to point that out. “Thank you for the loan of your dress.”
“You said your name was Josie. Is that short for something?”
“Josephine, but no one ever calls me that.”
“Well, Josephine, I’m glad you’re doing better. We’re all dying of curiosity as to how you came to be here at the party. David hasn’t said much. But isn’t that just like him?”
“Quite,” said Josie, thinking the less said the better about how she’d come to be there, especially since she had no idea how it had happened.
Constance continued. “Why don’t we find David? Maybe he can clear this up.”
* * *
Mikey Corrigan was on the edge of a forest in Oregon. It was pretty enough, but being in the country gave him the creeps. He much preferred his own town where he knew where all the danger was. Here, a guy could get killed and not ever expect it.
The woods next to David’s property were so dark it looked like night when you were in them, and he was only standing on the very edge. He still had the feeling someone was watching. Someone who wanted to do him a great deal of harm.
“I’m bored.”
Mikey looked over to where Lucy was staring out at the trees, wearing her favorite fox stole, even though it was the middle of summer and for all they knew, some live foxes could charge out of the woods, mad as hell that Lucy was wearing some of their dead relatives.
“If you’re bored, go play one of them fancy lawn games like croquet.”
“I don’t want to play a lawn game, Mikey. I want civilization.”
“I thought you’d like spending some time in the country. You’re always complainin’ that I don’t take you nowhere.”
“I meant you should take me somewhere interestin’. Not to the land of big trees and no cities.”
“Maybe Paul Bunyan will come out of them woods.”
“Who?”
“Never mind.”
“When are you gonna tell me what’s got you spooked?” asked Lucy as she took a long look at a caterpillar, then slowly backed away.
“What makes you think I’m spooked?”
“Because I know you better than you know yourself.”
Mikey hugged Lucy, then gently kissed her. He had a fearsome reputation in Chicago and even tough guys rarely crossed him. They’d all be surprised to see just how much he loved his girl. Sometimes it even surprised him. “It’s true that I wanted to see Remington and I don’t even mind seeing Barker, in limited doses. But the truth is, I also got a bit of business to take care of.”
Lucy narrowed her eyes. “I knew it! I knew there was some reason we had to sit on a train through state after state of big vast nothin’ to get here. You coulda met David Remington back home or in New York. But somethin’ brought you out here and it ain’t just the woods. Are you gonna tell me what it is?”
“No. And before you start jawin’ at me, it’s for your own good. Now give me another kiss.”
She kissed him, then looked over his shoulder. “I still can’t believe that’s Kurt Franklin in the flesh.”
Mikey turned back to where the handsome silent picture star was talking with some of the other guests near the porch. Several maids stood nearby, star struck.
“I still don’t know what’s so special about that guy,” grumbled Mikey.
“That’s okay,” said Lucy, giving him another kiss, “I know enough for the both of us.”
* * *
Josie’s first glimpse of David Remington was from the back, as he stared into the woods from his lush green lawn. To be more accurate, it was her first glimpse since bumping into him, then gracelessly falling down and hitting her head. Last night he’d been in a tuxedo, just like the pictures in the news articles. But today, he was dressed informally, but not like the shorts and flip-flops of the Twenty-First Century. This was casual by 1920s standards, which meant classy.
He was wearing fitted tan trousers, a white button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and a vest. And his body was just as lean and strong as she remembered from bumping into it. Granted, she didn’t have much contact between bumping and getting knocked out, but it was an exceedingly pleasant memory.
She shook her head to clear it. This was the Tycoon Murderer, the ultimate bad boy, and she really had no business thinking he was hot.
“David,” said Constance, who had all but dragged Josie across the lawn to see him. “Look who’s finally awake.”
David Remington turned to face her and Josie realized the newspaper photos hadn’t done him justice. His eyes were an odd – but appealing – combination of brown and green, in contrast to his dark brown hair. As he studied her, Josie felt his gaze go right through her. He had an odd look on his face as if he were trying to put together a puzzle. Then he smiled, revealing one dimple which made him look like he should be someone’s dessert. “I’m glad to see you up and about,” he said.
“Thank you,” said Josie, as she shook his hand. His grasp was firm but gentle, and wholly unnerving.
“Constance,” he said, slowly letting go of Josie’s hand. “Can you please speak to the cook about tonight’s dinner? She has some questions for you.”
“You mean, now?”
“Yes, if you please.”
It looked like Constance wasn’t pleased in the least to be asked to leave, even if it had been done so politely. But she took the hint with the smallest modicum of grace and departed.
Then David turned the full force of those odd eyes on Josie. “Who are you? And why shouldn’t I have you arrested?”
Josie wouldn’t have thought that someone with murder on his mind would be all that interested in contacting the police. But not much of anything was making sense at the moment. “On what grounds do you think you could have me arrested?”
“Trespassing, for one thing. I didn’t invite you to this party. I don’t even know you.”
“How can you be sure you haven’t met me but simply forgot?”
“Because, somehow, I don’t think I’d ever forget you,” he said quietly.
Damn. The Tycoon Murderer was a smooth talker. “If you’re sure we haven’t met, why haven’t you had me arrested?”
“It seemed ungentlemanly to have you arrested while you were passed out.”
“Passed out makes it sound like I was drunk. I hit my head.”
“After arriving here uninvited.”
“You don’t think it’s ungentlemanly to keep pointing that out?”
He smothered a laugh, while keeping up his stern demeanor. “I’m not known for allowing people to crash my parties.”
“Then why’d you make an exception for me?” Josie probably would have called the police if someone had suddenly appeared in her ballroom.
He looked out at the woods for a moment as he considered the question, before turning back to her. It was difficult to read his expression, but he looked concerned. “I guess I thought you might be in trouble. You did hit your head pretty hard. How do you feel now?”
“It still hurts a little, but I don’t have any permanent damage, as far as I know. But it’s not like I’ve had an MRI to confirm that.”
“A what?”
“Never mind.”
/>
“Why are you here?” He was studying her with an unnerving intensity.
“I’m not here to cause trouble.”
“I hardly think you’d admit to it if that was your goal. How did you get here? I didn’t hear a vehicle arrive and there’s no sign of one now.”
Those were all excellent questions with a total lack of good answers. “I’m not sure how I got here.”
He frowned. “How can you not know?”
“It’s complicated.”
“I’m relatively intelligent. Why don’t you try to explain it?”
Josie didn’t know how to even begin. “You wouldn’t believe me if I did. I’m not sure I believe it, and it happened to me.”
“Try me.” When she still didn’t answer, he continued. “Let’s start with an easier question. Where are your things?”
“I don’t know.”
“How can you not know?”
“Didn’t I just say I hit my head pretty hard?”
“Hard enough to dislodge your luggage?”
Josie couldn’t very well blame him for distrusting her after she’d appeared from nowhere. But it had been a rather confusing twelve hours and her head still ached. She wasn’t purposely trying to hold anything back. She just had no idea what was going on. “Look, if you want me to leave, I will. But I honestly don’t have any answers for you. Not right now, at any rate.”
It looked like he was considering asking her to leave, which was alarming since she had nowhere to go. At least here she had a place to sleep and some borrowed clothes. Out there she had nothing.
Finally he said, “Where would you go if you left here? You don’t even have any luggage.”
“Why are you obsessed with my luggage?”
“Do you live around here? Is that why you don’t have any luggage with you?”
She didn’t know how to tell him she lived here, but almost a hundred years in the future. “I’d say this is like living in the Twilight Zone, but you wouldn’t know what that is.”
“You talk...strangely. And don’t blame it on your head injury.”
“Do you want me to leave, or not?” Josie hoped he didn’t because she had nowhere else to go.
He thought about it for so long that Josie was thinking of begging him to let her remain. “You can stay.”
Josie’s relief was immense, despite the fact two murders were about to occur and, for all she knew, she might be a third victim. But it was better than the alternative of leaving with no money or clothes. She didn’t know how she’d get back to the Twenty-First Century, but she had a feeling she needed to be near this house for it to happen.
Her relief might be short-lived, because he was now staring at her with his unnerving gaze. “You can stay here until you feel better, but sooner or later I’m going to want some answers.”
Not as much as she wanted them. She didn’t know what was going on, but she needed to figure it out soon.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Josie began her search to get back home in her bedroom. She had no idea what she was looking for, but didn’t think she’d find the solution to her dilemma at a garden party, especially since the guests – and the host – would have more questions she couldn’t answer. Maybe there was a panel which was a portal to another time. Or, perhaps, she’d take another nap and wake up in her own bed in her own time, though that felt like wishful thinking right now.
Josie knocked on all the walls to see if one might be hollow. She even knocked on the paneling of her cedar wardrobe. Perhaps C.S. Lewis had been on to something.
“Miss?”
Josie turned to see the maid who’d scurried away earlier, looking like she might bolt again. She was carrying a dozen dresses, which she placed in the wardrobe – after warily walking as far away from Josie as possible. “What are those?” asked Josie.
“Mr. Remington thought these might fit you, miss, and that you’d be in need of them, having misplaced your luggage.” Now the maid placed several changes of undergarments into the dresser. They were silk from the look of it, and expensive.
“Where did Mr. Remington get these clothes?”
“He’s been coming to this house for several years and has a lot of parties, miss. Some clothes get left behind.” The maid blushed as she said it, making Josie wonder just what kind of parties David Remington had.
Josie examined the dresses, all expensive, all well-made. There was a variety, ranging from linen dresses suitable for a summer’s day, to evening wear similar to her sequined gown. There was even a pair of silk palazzo pants, Josie was dying to try on. She reminded herself she was there for answers, not fashion. “How did Mr. Remington know my size? Pardon me, what’s your name?”
“Betsy, miss,” said the maid as she bobbed a curtsy. “Mr. Remington has a way with women, miss.” Then she blushed bright red and Josie hoped Mr. Remington hadn’t been hitting on his staff.
“Betsy, how long have Mr. Remington and Miss Andrews been together?”
“I don’t know exactly, since I’m not one to gossip. But when Mr. Remington came out here for the summer, they met when Miss Andrews’s tire went flat. She drives her own automobile, if you can imagine!”
“How modern of her. Go on.”
“So he went to her aid and they began stepping out shortly after. Between you and me, I think they’re about to become engaged.”
“That would be a mistake.”
Betsy blinked. “Why, miss?”
“Never mind. I’ll talk to Miss Andrews, myself. In the meantime...” A strong tremor shook the room, which reminded Josie of the one she’d felt the night she’d gone downstairs into another century. Maybe this was the way to go back. Perhaps this whole thing was tied to seismic activity. She closed her eyes, thought about home, then opened her eyes again.
Betsy was still there, though she’d backed away from Josie by several feet.
“Are you feeling poorly again, miss?”
“Not any more than I was earlier, but thank you for your concern. Have you had other earthquakes like that?”
“Yes, miss, for several months now. I think it’s the End of Days and the devil is about to bring us all to hell, especially with what goes on at these parties. Not that I would gossip about that, of course.”
“Of course. But what does go on at these parties?”
Betsy leaned close – but not too close – to whisper, “The only thing I can say is that the ladies all leave with smiles.”
* * *
After knocking on her bedroom walls until her knuckles ached, Josie went outside again, hoping the cool breeze of late afternoon might clear her head, which still ached from the fall. The lack of Advil in the 1920s was particularly vexing. One of the first people she ran into was Constance Andrews. Perhaps now would be a good time to warn her that her soon-to-be fiancé was also a soon-to-be-murderer. She also had to find a way to warn Mikey Corrigan, if he was there.
Constance was walking with a woman who had platinum blonde hair. “There you are, Josephine, I was worried the side effects of the concussion had begun. How do you feel?”
“Better, thank you, though still a bit confused.”
“Speaking of confused, let me introduce you to Mikey Corrigan’s girlfriend, Lucy.”
The other woman looked Josie up and down. “That was quite a fall you took last night. I was surprised your noggin didn’t split open like a watermelon.”
Constance stepped back to usher a tall handsome man into the group. “And I’m sure I don’t need to tell you who this is.”
Josie recognized him from the newspaper photo but couldn’t remember his name. “I’m afraid you might.”
Lucy gasped and Constance was shocked.
“Surely, you must go to the pictures,” said Constance.
“Not as often as I’d like,” said Josie apologetically. She knew this was the actor who’d been killed, the one who made Valentino’s funeral look ill-attended. But she couldn’t remember his name, which must look odd to eve
ryone else, since he was one of the most famous actors in the world. She had to figure out a way to warn him, as well as Mikey Corrigan, but it wasn’t going to be easy. How could she make them believe her when she couldn’t explain how she knew what was going to happen? Hell, she couldn’t even explain how she’d arrived at the party. This was going to require some serious thought.
Too bad it still hurt to think.
“I’m Kurt Franklin, miss,” said the actor in a pronounced southern drawl which was so thick Josie was afraid she’d need a translator. Then she remembered how many silent movie stars never made the transition to sound because their voices were so unrefined. Even if this guy hadn’t been killed, his future success in Hollywood would have been a longshot. Perhaps she should warn him his life was in danger and give him advice on finding another line of work.
A maid handed Constance a note. She read it, then nodded at Josie and the others, “If you’ll excuse me, I must take care of something.”
Lucy turned to the handsome actor. “We didn’t get a chance to talk much last night on account of because Mikey don’t like me talkin’ to good-lookin’ men. Especially good-lookin’ actor types. Especially good-lookin’ actor types who star in movies like ‘The Archer’ and ‘Captain Voyage’ and ‘Tafarr, the Jungle Man’ – that was a particular favorite of mine – and ‘The King of Wolves.’ I didn’t even know wolves had royalty. I also like all your shorts, as well. Especially the ones where you’re a cowboy. Each of those short films was the best five minutes I ever spent with my clothes on. Can you show us how you rescued poor Lillian Gish when she was in quicksand in ‘Jungles of the Night?’ I was afraid you’d both sink to your deaths. Though, of course, I was much more concerned about you than her because, frankly, she seems like a bitch.”
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