She bounded to her feet and gave him another quick kiss. “I gotta go.” She ducked under his arm, fixing her dress as she headed for the exit. There was a jolly bounce to her step, revealing a pair of bizarre white shoes. “Not that it hasn’t been fun, but I have a job to do here.” She shot him a stern frown over one shoulder and she grabbed her fallen hat. “And I know you’re going to ignore my advice, but you really should get out of town.”
“Wha…? Wait.” Jamie was trying to remember how to breathe and she was already out the door. “Shit! Grace, get back here!” He charged after her, terrified she’d disappear again. “Where the hell are you going?” He thudded up onto the deck, scanning for her dark head.
“I told you, I have to find Anabel Maxwell.” She called back, starting down the gangplank and fixing the slightly-wrong looking bonnet on her head. “You probably don’t want to follow me until that potion kicks in. You’ll only make yourself a suspect, if she winds up murdered tomorrow. Also, you’re still stark naked.”
Jamie stood in the open air, passersby gawking at his nude body, and swore in frustration.
Bloody hell.
Chapter Thirteen
June 26, 1789- I swear, Anabel Maxwell’s wig gets uglier by the day! Did squirrels sew it together? I’ve no idea how she manages to show her face in public with that flea-bitten mop on her head. I’d sooner go around town bald!
From the Journal of Miss Lucinda Wentworth
The marvelous thing about being a Rivera was you could introduce yourself to your ancestors as a time traveling relation and they’d welcome you with open arms.
Lucinda’s funeral had been a sad affair. For most people, anyway. Her Puritanical parents had sat stoically in the front pew, not shedding a tear. If anything, they looked as if they disapproved of the spectacle she’d caused with her grisly murder. It seemed like Lucinda hadn’t been exaggerating when she complained about their contempt for her in that diary, because Grace had been more broken up over canceled TV shows than they were over the death of their oldest child.
On the other hand, her sister Eugenia sobbed as if her heart was breaking. The girl was clearly in mourning. In fact, most of the town was distraught at Lucinda’s passing. It made Grace more determined than ever to find the killer.
She’d watched everyone who came and went from the church, but no one seemed intent on harming Anabel Maxwell. Truthfully, nobody had gone near her, at all. The girl had a long horsey face and a tendency to itch at her head every twenty seconds or so. Maybe Jamie was right and not everyone in this era wore wigs, but most people did. …And clearly they weren’t very comfortable on an un-air-conditioned July afternoon.
Grace was clueless about who might want the poor wilted Anabel dead. No one in town looked particular suspicious or evil. She did learn that the governor’s ball was still scheduled for that night, so odds seemed good that Anabel remained on course to die in the hedge maze. How was Grace supposed to stop that from happening, when she wasn’t even sure who to warn Anabel to avoid? And why would Anabel listen to her anyway?
All in all, it was much easier to solve crimes after the happened.
Not exactly sure of her next step, Grace had decided to turn to magic. For someone who spent so long trying to avoid her family’s gifts, it was little disconcerting to now be relying on the supernatural now. Sadly, she was running low on “normal” options.
Grace sat in the very same parlor she’d been in with Serenity earlier that day (give or take two hundred years) and smiled at her seventh-ish great-grandfather, Loyal. “So, you see my problem.” She summed up. “I need a bit of help catching this killer.”
“Seems that way.” Loyal took her century-spanning tale in stride. “We get a lot of time travelers around here. The wife and kid love ‘em. They’re out of town for the solstice or they’d be in here asking you about what’s new in Narbotics-Evolution.”
“I have no idea what that is.”
“Oh.” He frowned. “Maybe it hasn’t happened in your time, yet. We get visitors from so many centuries, I lose track. Riveras always seem to want to come back and see the shop during its ‘golden age.’” He added air quotes to the word. Was the Revolutionary era supposed to have air quotes? “Most of them just want to find the recipe for troll powder… but none of ‘em ever give me any useful investment tips in return. Afraid to mess up the future or some shit.” He gave her a pointed look. “So, I always tell ‘em to forget it.”
“Well, I want to change the future and I have no interest in troll powder.”
Loyal gave a skeptical “humph.” “Had a Recompense Rivera visit us from 1979, a few months back. You heard of him?”
“Just today, as a matter of fact.” Grace was still pissed that Serenity hadn’t mentioned that guy before. “Apparently, he settled in the Crusades and saved some serfs from a fire. It was a whole big thing.”
“That a fact?” Loyal chewed on his corncob pipe and made a considering face. “Man could dance one hell of a Virginia reel.” He wore a banyan robe, pattered with spooky black cats, and a lopsided negligé cap. It was the eighteen century version of leisure wear. In the modern world, he probably would’ve been decked out in a t-shirt from some failed truck stop and boxer shorts.
Grace made a vague sound of agreement. “So what kind of potion will stop someone from killing Anabel Maxwell tonight?” She prompted, trying to get the conversation back on track. “There has to be a potion, right?”
When magic was needed, potions were always Grace’s first choice.
It was why she was willing to use one to transfer Jamie’s memories. In high school, she’d only passed Geometry by drinking Serenity’s noxious mixture of rosewater, cabbage leaves, and catfish scales. Hell, if she knew how it worked, but she’d somehow gotten a B in that class and she could barely tell a triangle from an oval. Potions were the most kinda-normal type of magic and not even she could argue with their success rate.
“I’m sure I can whip something up.” Loyal assured her nonchalantly. He was a pudgy, bespectacled man who bore an uncanny resemblance to younger Benjamin Franklin. …Except for the fact that his cap was embroidered with the words “Suck it, bitches.” “Is Agatha alive or dead? If she’s dead, we’ll need different ingredients and whatever.”
“Anabel is alive and I’m trying to keep her that way.” Grace had explained that about ten times now. Loyal had a focusing issue. He couldn’t even keep Anabel’s name straight.
Although if Anabel Maxwell didn’t die, Grace would be a crime scene investigator with no crime scene to investigate. Also, she was pretty sure she’d be stuck in 1789 unless she found a drop of Anabel’s blood to touch. That could be awkward, since she had no money and already missed indoor plumbing.
“Alrighty then, let me check the ol’ books.” Loyal hauled himself to his feet and headed over the bookcase. “Maybe we can do a protection spell for ya.”
It occurred to Grace that his speech patterns had definitely been effected by his time traveling visitors. No one of this era should be using modern slang. With good reason. History would have been so different if Patrick Henry’s speech had been something like, “Alrighty then, give me liberty, death or whatever, bitches.”
She sighed and hoped for the best. Luckily, half of the ancient tomes on the shelf were the same ones in the shop back home and she knew those worked. In fact, everything in the Crystal Ball looked exactly the same. The wood was less worn and the creepy knickknacks were different creepy knickknacks, but the essence of the place remained unchanged. There was something kind of awesome about that. As much as her relatives aggravated her sometimes and as God-awful as they were at running their business, Grace was proud of the fact that they had owned their shop longer than America had even been a nation. It said so much about their skills and intelligence.
All evidence to the contrary.
“A spell?” She repeated, thinking over his suggestion. “Isn’t there a potion? Spells always seem to go wrong.”
&nb
sp; Loyal ignored that. “Here we go.” He dropped a thick volume onto the table, sending up a wave of dust. “Not a protection spell, but it’ll do for ya. This one reveals bad intentions.”
“That does sound promising.” Grace admitted and hurried over to join him at the table. “It’ll show us who the murderer is?”
“No, but it’ll ferret out anybody with a grudge against Agatha.”
“Anabel.”
“Anabel. Right. Right.” He pushed his glasses up his nose. “You can get a bead on who hates the girl.”
“Good.” Grace would take what she could get. “Cast it. I’m going to spy on her and…” Her words stopped short, as the door to the shop slammed open and a pissed off pirate stalked in.
Jamie.
“There you are.” He snapped, his eyes settling on her.
Grace’s heart leapt happily at the sight of him. “Do you remember me yet?” She asked excitedly.
“I remember that this is your family’s shop, so I assumed this is where you would turn up. And I sure as hell remember that you left me standing bloody naked on the deck on my bloody ship!”
“Oh.” Grace struggled to hide her disappointment. The memory potion hadn’t kicked in yet. Or maybe Serenity’s magic didn’t work in this century. Who knew how time travel crap worked?
Loyal squinted at Jamie over the top of his half-lens. “Friend of yours, Gracie?”
“I’m going to be her husband.” Jamie answered, as if that was even remotely true. Apparently he hadn’t been kidding about pirates refusing to ask for a girl’s hand, because his idea of a proposal was more like a command. He ignored the glare Grace sent his way and arched a brow at Loyal. “Are you her kin?”
“Somehow or other.” Loyal seesawed his hand back and forth, a serious expression on his face. “It’s a bit of a fluid situation, but I’m sure we share some DNA.”
“Right.” Jamie clearly didn’t care to hear any details about their family tree or ask what in the world DNA was. The pirate had bigger fish to fry. “Who do I see about permission to marry her, then?”
“We can’t get married, Jamie.” If she was actually from this century, though, she’d be a lot less certain of that denial. Obviously he’d have to cough up one heck of a diamond, but what other guy could ever live up to this one?
He shot her a fuming look. It seemed that leaving him naked on the ship really had hurt his feelings. “Are you promised to another?”
“No, of course not. That’s not the point.”
“Good. One less man I have to kill.” He nodded like it was exactly the point and now it was all settled. “I’m trying to be a gentleman and do this properly for you. So stop making it difficult and fetch your father out here.”
“Her father’s not exactly born yet.” Loyal put in with a sigh. “Which isn’t to say that he isn’t also long dead. Cousin Recompense is presently in the Crusades and I know for a fact he won’t be born until 1941.” He made a tsk sound. “The Good Lord only knows when her parents might be.”
Grace and Jamie ignored him.
“I’ve seen you being a gentleman, Jamie Riordan.” She informed him with a sniff. “This is not it.”
“This is me trying to be a gentleman. It goes against my nature, but I’m not picking you up and carrying you out of here on my shoulder, so I deserve some credit for my restraint.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “Since I’m a wee bit perturbed that you left me again, though, I donea suggest you push me, lass.”
Yep. She’d definitely hurt his feelings. “I’m sorry you’re upset, but I didn’t really leave you. You need to trust me on this, because I’m doing it for you.” She gave an earnest nod. “I’m right in the middle of something very important for your future.”
“So were we!”
The man was impossible sometimes. “I told you, I’m not sleeping with you today!” Grace threw up her hands. “This mission is life and death, okay? You’re just going to have to believe that and let me work.”
“Wish the damn future-folks would start staying at an inn.” Loyal said to no one in particular. “Every damn time one of them comes to visit, it just gets weirder. And louder.”
Grace resisted the urge to punch her sort-of-grandfather. It was a miracle she was holding it together half as well as she was and he was seriously not helping. “You shut up. …Actually no. You need to keep talking.” Every crazy thing that could happen to a person had happened to her recently and Jamie was not going to distract her now with his stunning aliveness. She turned back at Loyal, determined to stay focused. “Ignore Jamie and let’s get back to business. Do you know anyone with the initials H.C.?”
“No.” Loyal paused. “Well, there’s Hunnicutt, I suppose.”
Her eyes widened. “Edward Hunnicutt?”
“Sure.” Loyal nodded. “Some of the boys at The Raven call him H.C. Hunni-Cutt.”
Grace stared at him for a beat. “Are you kidding me?” Her head whipped around, her gaze narrowing in Jamie’s direction. “H.C. is Edward frigging Hunnicutt and you never bothered to mention it?!”
“Why the hell would I mention that? I donea even think I knew it. Who cares about Ned Hunnicutt enough to recall his blasted nickname?” Jamie shook his head in annoyance. “Jackass makes bloody terrible maps and waters down his ale.”
“Well, he was apparently also having an affair with Lucinda!”
Jamie’s eyebrows soared. “Ned killed Lucinda?” He actually looked perversely pleased by that news. “You know, I’ve never liked that wanker. It will give me great fucking pleasure to run him through with a sword.”
“Hold on.” Grace held up her palms before he went off to challenge Ned to a duel or something. Pirates weren’t known for their thoughtful and measured responses. “We don’t know he actually did it. I told you, I’m still investigating. He’s just our new person of interest.”
“So I’ll stab him, just to be sure, and then you can investigate. It’ll be far safer for you.”
“Stop helping.” Grace ordered and turned back to Loyal. “Cast the bad intentions spell for Anabel.” She reiterated and headed for the door.
“Are you going to pay for this magic?” He called. “Because it seems like time travelers never pay.” There was a pause. “Actually, it seems like no one ever pays.”
Grace scoffed at that very typical Rivera complaint. Money baffled all of them, which is why they never had any. “I’ll give you an investment tip, the next time I visit. Cross my heart.”
“The next time you visit? What century will that be?”
Grace pretended not to hear that. “Jamie, if you’re coming with me, you’d better behave. I mean it.”
He made an aggravated sound and fell into step beside her. “No version of me has ever mistaken you for timid, love.”
She shot him a sideways look as they stepped out onto the (smelly) street. “Remind yourself you said that in about two hundred and thirtyish years. It’ll be good for a laugh.”
“Two hundred and thirty years? How the hell am I still alive two hundred and thirty years from now?”
“You’re not.”
“Then how am I ‘sort of’ your lover?” His volume had several people looking their way.
“I told you, it’s complicated!” She shouted back. “Just wait until the memory potion kicks in, okay? You’re not going to believe me otherwise.”
He ran a hand over his face. “You’re probably right. In fact, it would be best not to discuss your ideas about time travel, a t’all. They cause my head to pound.”
“You’d prefer I lie to you?”
“I’d prefer you say things that make a damn bit of sense.”
In Grace’s opinion, she was dealing with time travel just about as well as anyone could expect. Being in Harrisonburg, when it was all sparkly and new, still kinda freaked her out. It was the year the frigging Constitution took effect, for God’s sake! Everywhere she looked there were horses and buckle shoes. It was darn unsettling. Jamie really c
ould be a little more supportive.
“Maybe you should have thought about all this before you showed up, wanting to ask my father for my loony hand.” She told him archly.
“Why?” He didn’t seem very concerned over the possibility of wedded bliss with a basket case. “I’ve seen enough to accept there are many things I’ve never seen. Much as it annoys me, time travel could well be one of them.”
“You’ve really seen magic before?” He’d talked of seeing the “fay” back in Scotland, but, at the time, she’d been half-convinced he was just being his whimsical self.
Or drunk.
“I’ve seen fairies dance and mermaids swim. I’ve got a twinkle of knowing in me, lass.”
Grace wasn’t surprised that he’d believed in the supernatural even before he became a ghost. All iterations of Jamie seemed to accept that abnormal happenings were just a normal part of the world. “You’ve seen actual mermaids?”
She had always been inexplicably fascinated with mermaids. They were the one type of magical being she wished were real, but not even a Rivera had ever seen one. If they had, her crypto-taxidermist Uncle Devotion would’ve had it stuffed above the mantle by now.
“Aye. Off the coast of Jamaica, playing in the waves.” Jamie shrugged, like it was no big deal. “So I know what it feels like when you’re staring at something beyond our mortal understanding. I have that feeling when I look at you. But I donea like entertaining the idea of you slipping back to some time period that I cannot reach.”
“Technically, I’m slipping forward.”
Jamie shot her sideways glance. “When I look at you, I know you’re made of pure magic and I know you’re mine. That’s my point. So, maybe you’re a mad woman and maybe you’re not… But either way, I donea feel the need to explain it. I’m certain we belong together. Now and forever. That’s all that matters to me.”
Crap.
The man always disarmed her when he said things like that. His words weren’t exactly the stuff of Hallmark cards, but it was impossible not to be touched by his faith in their bond. Grace gave up being irritated and sighed. “We belong together.” She agreed quietly. “I know that, too.”
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