Past Tense

by Samantha Hunter

  “Yeah, okay,” she said, knowing that she wouldn’t.

  He left, and the hollow feeling she’d had before when he left didn’t come back. Even though she’d lost a friend and a fiancé in just a few days time, she’d also found Claire, Gabe, and she’d seen her family. She had her store back, or what remained of it, and her gift to keep discovering.

  She loved Roger. How could she not? She couldn’t imagine ever not loving him. But that didn’t mean they were meant to be together. She had things to do, things she couldn’t ignore because her world made him uncomfortable. Until then, she’d have a lot to keep her busy. Like rebuilding her entire life.

  It was uncomfortable to realize that she’d been using Roger, too. If his part of their relationship had been being rescuer and protector, and keeping her in a comfortable box, she had been part of that. She’d liked the comfort, and had used it to fill in the huge cracks in her life. Maybe they could still be friends, after some time had passed. Maybe that’s all they had ever really been?

  Her hand moved to her knee to rub it as she worried, and she stopped. No more of that. It was time to leave that past behind.

  Chapter Sixteen

  It was a sunny, gorgeous day. A day for making things right, but the tawdry the picture that emerged after Stewart’s arrest still cast a shadowover it.

  As Roger predicted, Stewart dragged his lover, Alan Bledsoe, down with him, admitting freely to the blackmail and the affair. Alan equally attacked Stewart, the two providing more than enough evidence to put each other behind bars for a long time.

  Alan was one of those men who married a woman for the status and appearances, but had carried on numerous affairs with both men and women. Two other students had come forward to speak up after he’d been arrested, afraid of repercussions if they had complained before. Who knew how many had gone before those?

  Poor Patrice.

  Sophie’s heart was heavy, still, thinking about her. If only she had divorced Alansooner, before Stewart. It left Stewart with two charges of murder, and one attempt—pending investigations into suspected earlier crimes as they dug into his record, aliases, and previous dealings—and Alan charged as an accessory, with sexual harassment cases hanging in the air. It was the best Sophie could hope for.

  “So explain to me about the necklaces,” Gabe said as he walked beside her, breaking her train of thought as they made their way through the pretty streets of Cambridge.

  “Stewart seduced Alan, and after doing so, threatened to tell Patrice and make their affair public if Alan didn’t pay him off. Alan found the most undetectable way of doing so that he could figure out, assuming that Patrice would miss the money if he took it from regular accounts. Instead, he had her vintage diamond necklaces replicated, and then sold the real ones. He knew she never wore them—they were her mothers, and there were no happy memories there--and he figured she’d never notice. Then, when he learned that she was going to divorce him, and that she’d taken the necklaces for appraisal, he was sure he’d be caught.”

  “Ah, and I take it Stewart wasn’t about to allow that?”

  “Nope. According to Bledsoe, anyway, they never planned to kill her, but it had the double benefit of paying off in terms of the insurance, so that’s hard to believe. Roger says that Stewart slipped and admitted he had never bothered disguising his face, so the prosecution is using that fact to argue that he intended to kill her all along.”

  “They’re probably right. Why settle for the price of the jewelry when they could have so much more?”

  “Exactly. And Stewart wanted a big score. He saw his chance to get her alone when I passed out at the table, because of seeing David, and no one else was in the store. It never hit me that when I heard the bell, there was no way it could have been David. It was Stewart.” She grimaced, shaking her head.

  “Stewart was brilliant in his opportunism, setting you up. What about the tarot card he left on the table?”

  Sophie shrugged. “It was just a random thing. He thought it would either further incriminate me or lead the police astray somehow. Which it did, actually. I guess I was an easy mark.”

  “Stop beating yourself up. If not for you, and David Masters, he might have gotten away with it. A double murder—much like Eloise Winslow, Percy’s wife, committed. At least until you discovered the truth.”

  “All the elements were there—the gay lovers, the betrayed wife, the double murder, but they were shifted around.”

  “Good to know it’s never a one-to-one correlation for the next time,” Gabe said and Sophie rolled her eyes.

  “Please, I hope there is not a ‘next time’ for some while. After this is over, I want to spend a while resting and getting my bearings, you know, enjoy life for a while.”

  “You’re not giving up?”

  “No, but I need a break. I need to get the store back on its feet, and just. . .start again.”

  Life as a single woman, no wedding to plan. She might finish her degree, since she’d come so far, but the store was her career now.

  “I think this is it,” he said as they stopped in front of a lovely if slightly deteriorated old manse, the brick work covered with ivy that didn’t diminish its beauty. The effect of the ornate iron work below the windows was softened by the hundreds of tulips and daffodils that filled the front yard below them.

  “You have a special gift, Sophie,” Gabe said warmly, plucking one red tulip and handing it to her. “But the spirits attracted to you have dark pasts and can be dangerous. I don’t ever want to see you go through what you went through the other night. Also, you should be prepared for the fact that while you have remembered a lot about your past, it may not be all – there could still be memories or associations you’ve buried.”

  She sighed, holding the flower up to the sun, letting its bright scarlet energy inspire her. “Yes, I know. We’ll deal with it. But not today.”

  “No, not today,” Gabe agreed.

  “I guess we should do this, huh? ”

  “Let’s go. She’s expecting us.”

  “Did you tell her who you were?”

  “Just that we were researchers. She didn’t seem to recognize our names. People don’t pay as close attention as we think they do sometimes.”

  Percy Winslow’s great-great-niece, Janet Winslow, lived in the house now, a woman in her forties who had been trying to sell the place for quite a while, with no luck, from what Sophie gathered on the phone when she’d called to ask if they could stop by.

  “How do we explain this? We can’t possibly tell her that we know what we know from the ghost of her great-great uncle.”

  “We’ll just keep it simple,” Gabe said, lifting the heavy knocker as Sophie admired the Greek revival columns.

  “No wonder Eloise didn’t want to lose this place,” she said.

  “Hello?”

  A youthful fifty-something woman in a simple blue dress answered the door, and Sophie could see a strong resemblance between Janet and her ancestor.

  “Ms. Winslow, we’re researchers from Northeastern, Sophie Turner and Dr. Gabriel Mason. We called about stopping by?”

  Her eyes widened in recognition. “Oh yes. Come in,” she said, stepping back to let them in.

  The inside was as gorgeous as the outside, meticulously updated with attention to historical detail to the original woodwork, antique rugs and furnishings making Sophie feel a little bit like she had stepped back in time. They sat on a beautiful divan, and turned down Janet Winslow’s offer of coffee.

  “So, then, how can I help you?”

  “We have some news of your family background that we though you should be aware of.”

  Janet looked surprised. “My family?”

  “Yes. Percy Winslow was your great-great uncle?”

  “Yes.” A shadow passed over her eyes. “He lived in this house, but met with a tragic end, I’m afraid.”

  “Do you know what happened to him?”

  “Only that he was dismissed from Harva
rd, and entangled in a scandal and had legal troubles, a murder charge, and killed himself.”

  “We’ve been doing some research on the Harvard Secret Court. Are you familiar with the story?”

  “I think I heard something about it, but I can’t tell you anything particular.”

  Gabe filled her in, and Sophie waited for her response.

  “What does this have to do with my uncle?”

  “We have reason to believe, through archival research, that Percy Winslow didn’t commit suicide at all.”

  A heavy portrait on the wall suddenly slid, falling to the floor with a crash that made them all jump and catch their breath. Janet stood up, picking up the portrait and setting against the wall with a sigh.

  “This portrait is of his wife, Eloise, actually. I can’t keep this picture on the wall for anything. It falls constantly. I should probably find a different spot for it.”

  Gabe and Sophie shared a knowing look. “After what we tell you, you might not want to keep it at all,” Sophie said and went on to explain about David and Percy, and what they suspected actually happened. Janet looked more astounded, and more relieved, by the moment.

  “You mean he was innocent? He didn’t kill anyone?”

  “No. There’s not much evidence, of course, but our research shows Percy’s connection to students persecuted by the Secret Court. We found one letter in his files that seemed to indicate that he’d planned to leave his wife. We think one of the students was about to be interrogated by the Court, and that he had been having an affair with Percy. That student was killed – and then Percy was accused.”

  “However, we managed to find a few, well,” Gabe shared a look with Sophie before continuing, “. . .what can only be described as love letters between the student and Percy. I don’t think Percy would have killed his lover. The police and newspaper reports were sketchy about the details of his suicide, but we ran it by some people in the forensics department at Northeastern, they believe there are some grounds for doubt that Percy committed suicide.”

  “Oh my,” Janet said.

  “We’ve spoken with a student reporter with The Crimson, the Harvard paper, and they’ll be running an article with the alternative story, pretty much clearing your uncle’s name. We also took the liberty, which we hope you don’t mind, of having his portrait in Perkins Hall moved to the main lobby with the other respected members who are memorialized there.”

  Janet put a hand to her chest and paused, obviously moved. “Oh, thank you. While it happened so long ago, it was always a dark spot on our family’s past. My son wanted to go to Harvard, but his application was denied, which we assumed had to do with their uncle’s questionable legacy.”

  “That’s unfortunate. Maybe he can still apply?” Sophie suggested, amazed that something that far back in a family could affect members now.

  “Oh, no, he’s at Princeton now. He loves it there.”

  “Well, that’s good.”

  She looked around the great room with a sigh. “Do you know we’ve tried to sell this place over and over? We’ve lived in Florida for some years, and have held on to this because it simply wouldn’t sell. Realtors said it was the down market, but prospective buyers said it had a cold atmosphere that made it hard to imagine living here no matter what I did with the decor. Then, this morning I got calls from two realtors! I figured Spring and all of the flowers might have been responsible, but maybe some spirits have been laid to rest.”

  Gabe cleared his throat, and Sophie just smiled.

  “The Crimson reporter may come to interview you as well before the article goes to print.”

  “Well, I appreciate it very much. And that won’t be going back on the wall, I can tell you,” she said of the portrait setting against the wall. “I think it’s cracked, anyway.”

  Sophie had to hide a smile. Cracked was definitely a good word for Eloise Winslow. Gone was a better one.

  “We really do wish you well,” Sophie said, standing.

  They said goodbyes and once out on the walk, Gabe said, “I’m betting the darker energy that attacked you the night you met David and Percy was Eloise. She had probably holed up here, not wanting to give up the house, and you drew her out.”

  “And then some,” Sophie said, still holding her flower. “Listen, I hate to run off, but I have an appointment in an hour, and then have to get back to the store to meet an insurance agent. Catch up later?”

  Gabe reached out, tucked a wayward curl behind her ear, his eyes warm. Warmer than a friend’s. Warmer than a colleague’s. Sophie smiled and let herself enjoy the moment, even though it was strange, feeling another man’s touch.

  “Yes, I’ll see you tonight,” he said, the words taking on a husky intimacy she knew she wasn’t imagining. She’d told him she had given Roger his ring back, and her heart beat a little harder as she nodded andturned toward the train station. She smiled all the way back downtown.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Luckily, most of the construction in and around Talisman’s was brick, and while scorched and stinking, gutted from the center, the walls were there, the floors, and even some of the upstairs rooms toward the back, though Sophie was heavily considering having the entire thing demolished to rebuild a new store with a new second level, just like Claire’s.

  She could afford to do it now. The news she’d received that afternoon was still fresh in her mind, the shock not quite having worn off.

  Her appointment had been with Patrice’s lawyer, and it turned out there was another, bigger reason Alan and Stewart would want Sophie out of the way, had they known: she was listed as Patrice’s main insurance beneficiary. The lawyer had told Sophie how much Patrice had cared for her, and how she’d been clear about wanting to make sure that Sophie never had to worry about money again. Alan denied knowing, but how could anyone be sure.

  Sophie couldn’t quite digest it, and had spent the afternoon picking through the rubble of the store that was her life, thinking. She could run off to Tahiti or buy a condo in Beacon Hill or on the Cape. But all she really wanted was to rebuild her family’s legacy. She knew in her heart that’s what Patrice would want as well.

  She’d retrieved some bits and pieces of her life from before, though the box in which she’d kept all of the things about her family’s murder was gone. Ashes now, she figured.

  Spring was quickly turning into summer, and a contractor assured her they would have her new store up and running by Halloween. She had plans to make, designs to approve, and while daunting, it was also exciting. Talismans would carry on, better than ever. She would make sure of that.

  “What a mess! My store still stinks from smoke, and my customers hate it,” Theo complained loudly from the spot that had once been her doorway. Now it was boarded up with make-shift plywood walls and a boarded door, which would hopefully keep looters and the curious out until construction began. Though it obviously wasn’t working, she thought snarkily.

  “Theo, the insurance is taking care of washing and deodorizing to kill the smoke odor in your store, but it won’t all be gone until I can get this place cleaned out. I have some sifting to do first. I appreciate your patience,” she said sweetly.

  Sugar works better than vinegar, Aunt Doris whispered in her ear, with a soft chuckle.

  “It draws more flies, too,” Sophie answered, under her breath, with a smile.

  She heard her aunt’s voice a lot these days, though she wasn’t sure if it was just memories, or her aunt, somehow staying here with her, as she told Sophie she always had been. She wanted to believe it, to have that comfort, but she also wanted Aunt Doris and her father to be able to move on. She was okay to handle things on her own, now. But, like Gabe reminded her, ghosts kind of did what they wanted to do, and if her Aunt was happy hanging out with her, Sophie was okay with that.

  He grunted in reply. “I told your partner that her stars were not good and that this venture would end badly.”

  “I guess you were right,” she said absen
tly. “But not as bad as it could have been. We’ll be back. Better than ever.”

  Margaret had been thrilled, to Sophie’s relief, to make the store a partnership. Fifty-fifty, right down the middle.

  Sophie knew that Mags had been entirely capable of running the place on her own, but it was nice to think of going into business with a friend. It took some of the pressure off of Sophie so she could pay attention to other things, like developing her talent and remembering her past.

  The older man turned away, but she called to him again. “Theo, would you run my charts? You know, just so I have some guidance for this reconstruction?”

  He looked surprised, and she smiled to herself. She needed all the help she could get, and since she’d be here for a good long while, she needed to make nice with her neighbor.

  “I suppose. Not for free, though, you understand,” he said, peering at her over those stupid glasses.

  “I wouldn’t think so,” she said with a chuckle, turning back to her pile of blackened goods to decide what was savable and what wasn’t. Mags would be by tomorrow, but Sophie wanted to deal with some of this herself, first, privately. She glanced over to what remained of the counter, the red flower Gabe had given her standing in a vase she had retrieved from the upstairs, stark against the charred background.

  “Forget about me?” a voice asked from behind, and she turned, startled, and saw Gabe surveying the scene.

  Her hand flew to her lips—they had made plans for dinner—and she had forgotten, engrossed in her searching through the rubble.

  “I’m so sorry. I did,” she confessed, and saw he held several white bags.

  “I figured you’d be busy, so I brought dinner along. Someplace to sit?” he asked, and she smelled the garlicky aroma that signaled her favorite Chinese dish wafting across the air.

  They cleared off a spot on the steps and balanced full plates on their knees as they ate and chatted, and Sophie relaxed for the first time all day. Something about Gabe settled her and excited her at the same time. They both pushed their plates into the bag together, their hands touching, and there it was again, that zap of awareness.