Time Spell

by T. A. Foster

  An older gentleman sat next to me, scratching out notes in pencil. My eyes and head were beginning to ache from the constant scrolling of the dark screen in front of me when I saw a newspaper headline.

  Starlight prepares for diamond gala

  I stopped on the article written in 1968 about the premiere the Starlight hosted for the diamond collection. A reporter for the Sun News had written a brief entertainment piece on the Chadsworths and Helen’s ties to the collection. Hollywood celebrities, musicians, and politicians were invited to the private event. The reporter focused more on the impending celebrity ambush than the Chadsworths, but he did interview Helen and quoted her:

  “Holden and I could not be more thrilled to share the VonRue diamonds with the rest of the world. We’ll start with a private showing for our closest friends here at the Starlight and then launch a world tour. The diamonds have been in my family for years, and as the largest private collection in the world, we know there is no other way for other people to see this gorgeous, masterful assembly of jewels. It is our gift to give, and we’re so proud to start the tour right here in Las Vegas.”

  Next to the article was a picture of Holden and Helen, besmirched with smiles, looking down at a glass-enclosed case filled with exquisite bracelets, necklaces, and rings.

  I swiveled my chair around to the computer in the station directly behind the microfilm machine and typed in the search engine “1953 marriage property laws.” Helen’s pleas to Holden in the argument I had witnessed revealed the couple was in a fifteen-year marriage, and my instincts already told me what to expect from 1953, but I wanted to confirm my suspicions.

  A list of marriage law links popped up on the screen. It looked like the laws evolved in the 1950s, and a variety of common property laws varied from state to state. However, 1953 wasn’t progressive enough to keep the VonRue diamonds in Helen’s hands. I saw law after law, which stated assets before marriage were subject to the terms of the marriage. I had to assume Helen had lost her rights to the diamonds when she married Holden, and that was how he was able to leverage them against the construction debt of the casino and hotel.

  I erased my online search, cleared my area at the microfilm station, and smiled at the older gentleman still taking notes. I needed to make one more stop before heading back to the Starlight.

  I eased my rental car into the back of the gas station and pulled to an open pump. I chose the one at the end of the stations, facing the mountains in the distance. People were filling up, paying, and driving back into the city. I pushed the unleaded button and left the car to fill up while I made some calls.

  Two payphones hung on the exterior of the building. A handwritten sign draped over one, indicating it was out of order. I pulled a tissue out of my pocket and wiped the sticky receiver for the other seemingly functioning phone. Ick! I needed the phone, but definitely not what was caked on the handle. I punched in the number for the Las Vegas police department. The numbered buttons kept sticking but the call went through.

  “Police department, is this an emergency?”

  “No, ma’am, I need to speak to someone in your cold case division.” I waited while the operator patched me through.

  I was on hold just long enough to get nervous. I had never done anything like this before.

  “Hobbs.” I heard scanners and beeping devices in the background, and the voice that answered sounded annoyed, as if he was in the middle of something.

  “Um, yes, I would like to give you some information on a cold case.” I inhaled and bit my lower lip. This was harder to do than I thought.

  “Who is this? Can I get a name?” Hobbs still sounded irritated. More clicking keys and alarms beeped in the background.

  “I’d rather not mention my name, but I wanted to give you information about a missing person.”

  A guy with a ragged baseball cap stopped to light a cigarette near the convenience store entrance, and I wanted to make sure he passed by before I continued. He threw a match on the pavement and walked toward a pickup truck.

  “Ok, go ahead.” Hobbs paused as if he was focused on what I had to say.

  I put one hand close to my nose to cover my mouth in case someone was listening. I had to do this. It was the right thing. I closed my eyes.

  “There’s a body at the bottom of the River Run Canyon about thirty miles from town. It’s probably a skeleton now; he’s been there awhile. It’s Holden Chadsworth.”

  Before Hobbs could embark on the next question, I placed the sticky receiver on the phone cradle and listened for the clink, clink as my quarters funneled through the phone. I hoped Detective Hobbs would look into the call, and maybe at least part of the Holden Chadsworth mystery would be solved.

  I reloaded the phone with more quarters for my second call and tried the sticky buttons again. I wasn’t finished.

  “Dallas Museum of Art. How may I direct your call?” The woman on the other end of the phone had a proper British accent, and I pictured her answering a long-handled phone and sipping tea.

  “Benjamin Withey, please.”

  I had researched the name of the museum’s special collections director and hoped the website’s information was up-to-date on Mr. Withey.

  “One moment.” The operator had transferred my call without even obtaining my name or reason for calling.

  “Hello. This is Benjamin Withey.”

  In contrast to the British accent of the operator, a man with a long Texas drawl answered the phone. I had expected the receptionist to deposit my call right into his voicemail. I was caught off guard when he answered.

  I cleared my throat. “Mr. Withey, thank you for taking my call. I’d rather not give you my name, but I have some important information regarding the VonRue diamond collection that’s on tour at your museum.”

  “Ok. Is this a sales pitch? We don’t take solicitor calls, Miss.”

  “No, no certainly not.” My stomach churned. This was as nerve-wracking as talking to Hobbs.

  “Well then, go ahead, Miss.” He waited for me to reveal the reason for my unscheduled call.

  “Mr. Withey, I’m not sure how to say this to you, but the collection you have at the museum isn’t real. The diamonds are fakes. They were swapped out many years ago.” I realized how insane my accusation sounded.

  Silence filtered through the phone. “Now, young lady, I think you need to tell me who you are if you’re going to call with an accusation like that. Where did you hear this rumor?” The slow Texas drawl had picked up the pace.

  “I really can’t say. Just have the diamonds checked. They are fakes.” I returned the receiver and walked to my car. Glad the anonymous calls had been placed, I drove back to the Starlight.

  The next morning I ordered room service and my usual extra large pot of coffee. I tipped the server, and before I had closed the door behind him, I reached for the morning paper. Beneath the fold on the front page of the Star News was the bold headline:

  Holden Chadsworth found after 45 years

  I was pleased Detective Hobbs had acted on my lead and even more pleased they had been able to identify Holden so quickly. According to the article, the Holden Chadsworth case was no longer a missing person’s case but an active murder investigation. It was unlikely the police would make much headway with a forty-five-year-old murder case, especially since both Helen and Simone were dead. I didn’t know what kind of justice could be served, but I felt good knowing someone was working on it.

  I tucked the paper into my suitcase, and pulled out a pair of jeans and a sweater before heading to the shower. I turned the handle to the hottest setting and flipped on the other two showerheads strategically located for a perfect back massage. There was even a speaker system built into the shower walls. I fiddled with the blue lights of the touch screen until I found something to listen to. I settled on a new song and belted out a few bars. This was my last morning in Las Vegas. I was ready to go home and start writing my novel, but first, I was going to enjoy a little more Ve
gas luxury.

  After the shower, I pulled my hair back and wrapped the towel around me twice. I sat on the bed with my laptop to search for the update in Dallas on the VonRue diamonds. There it was, the first link on the page:

  VonRue Diamond Hoax: Dallas authorities work with museum curator to solve diamond mystery

  I skimmed the stories and learned not all of the diamonds in the collection were fakes. Mr. Withey brought in a certified diamond expert, and they discovered almost every other diamond was real. Some of the larger pieces were left intact and were authentic, while the smaller ones had been swapped for fake stones.

  Helen and Simone were even smarter than I realized. They had probably known which pieces were most often verified and left those diamonds for the tour. There was a picture of Helen, looking stunning in a long evening gown, displaying some of the diamonds in a high neck choker and bracelets draped along her elbow-length gloves. The caption read:

  VonRue diamond heiress Helen VonRue Chadsworth in 1965 casino resort grand opening.

  By the time Dallas authorities finished their investigation of the diamonds, I would be well on my way to completing my novel and ready for Jack to start the editing process. I would definitely have a jump on any would-be diamond-stealing writing enthusiasts.

  Even though I used my Time Spell to inspire my writing and to give me the clever material that set my stories apart from the rest of the herd, I always felt it was my obligation to do the right thing first. I couldn’t sit on information about a murder or a jewel heist just to have an advantage; I wanted my Time Spell to do some kind of good. Anonymous tips were the only way I could keep my secret and still do the right thing.

  I had found everything I needed in Vegas. I was ready for home, ready to start writing, and ready to share this story with the rest of the world.

  Sullen’s Grove, Present Day

  I re-sorted the information with Jack, and the columns on the legal pad were empty. I glanced at the clock hanging over his mantle and saw both hands pointing to two. I rubbed my eyes and yawned. Jack and I had been going over the information for hours and made little headway.

  “So, let me get this straight.” Jack stood and rolled his shoulders. We were both stiff from our perched positions. “You called the Las Vegas PD and tipped them off about Holden Chadsworth and you called the Dallas museum to tell them about the diamonds?”

  “Yes, yes, I had to. I couldn’t keep that kind of information to myself.” My eyelids were growing heavier.

  “Ivy, those things aren’t in the book though.” He looked at me through bloodshot eyes. “Obviously, it’s someone involved in the murder and the diamond heist. Someone who knows the same backstory you do. Are you forgetting someone? Is there anyone at all you saw in 1968 you forgot to mention?”

  “It doesn’t matter who I forgot. They’re all dead!” I blurted out. “I think we need to call it a night. We aren’t getting anywhere. We keep rehashing the same things. I’ll come back in the morning and we’ll start again. We have time until our flight tomorrow at noon.”

  I headed toward the door and slid one arm into my leather jacket. I regretted snapping at him.

  Jack followed me, carefully yanked the sleeve down my arm, and tossed my jacket on the chair. “I think you need to stay here tonight.”

  The words sent chills across my shoulders and tingles down my back, the good kind, the kind I wanted from Jack. Even in my sleepy fog, my body started waking up. Did he just ask me to spend the night?

  “I’ll sleep on the couch and you can have my room. We can get a lot more accomplished if you just stay,” he urged.

  My runaway daydreaming started as I thought about us making breakfast together and me walking around his kitchen in one of his white button-up shirts, but barely buttoned. He would slowly unbutton the last one as I stirred pancake batter, and then he’d slip the shirt down to the floor, pull me in his arms, and kiss me. Ugh! I was tired and exhausted enough to concoct a crazy fantasy at 2 a.m.

  Jack was right. We could get more done if I stayed, but I had left Cooper long enough. I needed to sort through my thoughts, away from Jack, away from those eyes, and those arms and that body.

  “Come on. You need to stay.” He was starting to convince me.

  However, I knew one way to dissuade him. “Look, I have an idea. I can do something to help your sister before we leave tomorrow. She needs a protection spell. I know someone who can cast one for her that should last a few days, at least until we get back. Why don’t I go work on that? I’ll let Cooper out, pack my bag, and I’ll meet you back here. Deal?”

  “Protection spell? How does that work exactly?” I could hear the sliver of hope rising in his voice.

  “I can’t get into it, but it’s a good one. Do we have a deal?” I handed the notepad to him. “Just write her address down and I’ll make sure Emily is ok.”

  He took the paper, but paused before he filled in the street number. “If I let you go, you’re not going to run are you? You’ll come back?”

  The entire night I had felt as if I were Jack’s prisoner in the house, a prisoner to the contents of that letter, and a prisoner to all of the questions he had, but looking in his eyes, I realized he was really the prisoner. He was trapped in a new world he didn’t understand, with no way to navigate through to the safety of his only family.

  I wanted to reach for him and let the back of my hand touch his cheek, but I powered through the impulse. “I promise I’ll be here in the morning.” I picked up my jacket and bag and walked out the door.

  I INHALED the cool night air and regained my thoughts. The nearness of Jack and my lack of sleep were definitely clouding my judgment. I pulled out my phone and put my car in reverse. This call wasn’t going to go well, but I needed that protection spell done tonight. Instead, I decided to send a text. Texting was easier. I’d hear enough about my mistakes later.

  Emergency. Meet me a.s.a.p. Same spot.

  My phone vibrated back.

  Ok

  I steered toward Oaks Park through the vacant streets. It was well after 2:30 a.m., and most bar patrons had already found their way home by now. In this sleepy city, there wasn’t much happening after two. Except for a lone abandoned car in the parking lot, the park was empty. The swings swayed back and forth.

  On hot, sunny days, it was the perfect place to find shade. Cooper loved to catch the Frisbee or tennis ball and the poor guy got hot so fast. Towering oaks bordered the edge of the park like guards, and long limbs reached together to form a thick canopy. We often found refuge in the shady park and played here on those hot days with the moms and joggers of Sullen’s Grove.

  I clutched the paper in my pocket with Jack’s sister’s address written on it. Emily Coleman, 2122 Birch Ave., Atlanta. I scanned the street behind me in the rearview mirror, peering for headlights that would drive through the iron gates. I looked at his text. He said, ok. Where was he? I stepped out of the car to wait.

  I heard the revolving swish, swish, swish as he landed with a slight thud behind one of the oaks. My stomach turned in knots and my heart raced. I tucked my hair behind my ear, tilted my head, trying to muster my best Ivy smile.

  “Hey, gorgeous, you need me?” the smooth voice called from behind the oak, and in my mind I could picture his face in the shadows—half smirking, half unconcerned, but with crystal blue eyes and the longest eyelashes I had ever seen.

  As if pulled by a magnet, I ran toward the shadows, toward Finn, toward my only chance to help Jack.

  Sullen’s Grove, Three Years Ago

  Finn had won my heart, soul, and most dangerously, my body the first time I met him. Ian’s department hosted a swanky fundraiser at the Children’s Museum to help fund missing children’s cases. My parents were in attendance, and my mother had helped organize the entire event from the themed invitations, to the flower displays, to the elegant food selections. She opted for a masked ball. The night’s patrons donned masks, and the largest donors were signified with a re
d rosebud fastened to their lapels or waists.

  One room displayed rows of silent auction items. I wavered between placing a bid on a pair of Jimmy Choo shoes or a spa package—both were much needed. Ian insisted I attend, and Mama wouldn’t take no for an answer. Admittedly, I’m not the type of girl who likes to turn down the chance to wear an evening gown or spend a night in a room full of hot detectives in tuxedos.

  I chose a black gown with a plunging V-neck that was rivaled by an even deeper plunge in the back. My five-inch sparkling shoes peeped past the hem when I walked. My mother was happily looped on my father’s arm, chatting with their friends. Ian traded jokes with his buddies on the force, so I stepped to the bar to refill my champagne glass. I turned to take in the scene, admire my mother’s handiwork, and absently nodded a “thank you” as an icy glass was placed in my hand.

  “Really, that’s all you have to say?” The voice was calm.

  Shocked a server at such a high-dollar event would be so reproachful, I turned to cast a stern eye. I caught my breath.

  Through the mask, brilliant blue eyes drank in my dress, my face, and my breasts. He had dark blond hair that was styled with an edgy cut. He was taller than I was in my stilts for shoes. I could tell he was lean and fit underneath all of those tux layers.

  I giggled. “So, sorry. I thought you were a waiter and you sounded just a tad bit upset.” I made a little pinching gesture with my thumb and finger.

  “No, not a waiter. Just a detective.” He held out his hand. “Detective Delano. But I’m ok with you calling me Finn.”