Happier Days in Time

by Jenna St James

  Happier Days in Time

  Jenna St. James

  Copyright © 2020 by Jenna St. James.

  Published by Jenna St. James

  All Rights Reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced without the written permission of the author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names and characters are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Jenna St. James Books

  Ryli Sinclair Mystery Series (cozy)

  Picture Perfect Murder Bachelorettes and Bodies

  Girls’ Night Out Murder Rings, Veils, and Murder

  Old-Fashioned Murder Next Stop Murder

  Bed, Breakfast & Murder Gold, Frankincense & a Merry Murder

  Veiled in Murder Heartache, Hustle, & Homicide

  Sullivan Sisters Mystery Series (cozy)

  Murder on the Vine Flames, Frames, & Murder

  Burning Hot Murder Playing Tricks on Murder

  PrePEAR to Die Whispering Walls & Murder

  Tea Leaves, Jealousy, & Murder

  Copper Cove Mystery Series (cozy)

  Seaside & Homicide

  Merriment & Murder

  A Witch in Time Series (paranormal)

  Time After Time

  Runaway Bride Time (novella)

  Toy Time Tragedy (novella)

  Happier Days in Time

  A Trinity Falls Series (romantic comedy)

  Blazing Trouble

  Cougar Trouble

  Arrested Trouble

  Chapter 1

  “Lexi!” Mrs. Carmichael’s excited voice rang out from one room over. “Your young man is here to take you to lunch.”

  I stood back from the mannequin and smiled. Perfect timing on Shawn’s part. I’d just finished putting the final touches on the 1950s display at the Clay County Historical museum, where I worked as the assistant curator. It was my second job, but since it allowed me to brush up on events in history, it was a great job to have. Because my main job required me to know history. I worked for the Agency of Paranormal Peculiarities as a time-traveling, cold-case solving witch. Using my magical abilities and an enchanted spell given to me by the Agency, I traveled back in time and solved crimes that were never solved by the police.

  And I loved every minute of it.

  I came from a long line of witches. My too-many-greats-to-count grandmother was tried and convicted for being a witch during the Salem Witch Trials. In fact, all the women in my family have certain abilities that come naturally to them. For me, it was movement. I have the ability to move objects in any direction.

  “Lexi!” Mrs. Carmichael called again. “Did you hear me, dear?”

  “Coming!” I said.

  Usually I felt like my life was perfect. But more and more lately, I’ve struggled with what to do about Shawn, my non-supernatural lawyer boyfriend of eight months. Not only didn’t he know I was a detective—he didn’t even know I was a witch. Something I knew I had to remedy soon if I wanted to take our relationship from where it was now…up to the next level. The last few weeks Shawn had dropped hints about moving in together. In order for me to even think about that, I knew a serious talk was definitely on the horizon. And what scared me was I didn’t know how he would react.

  Grabbing my cardigan sweater off a chair, I quickly thrust my arms through the sleeves and hurried to the front room of the museum where Shawn waited.

  “The judge gave us forty-five minutes for lunch,” Shawn said. “I’m thinking we just go to your place.”

  “Sounds good.”

  With a wave goodbye to Mrs. Carmichael, Shawn and I hurried down the busy sidewalk of the square in River Springs, Missouri, to my tiny eight hundred square foot apartment a couple doors down, above the BoHo Chic Boutique and The Coffee Bean.

  Unlocking the small yellow door, Shawn and I ascended the fifteen steps that led to my apartment—my sanctuary. At the top of the stairs, a narrow hallway led straight back to the kitchen. Immediately to the right of the stairs was my living room/bedroom, with the bathroom centered in the hallway just before you reached the kitchen.

  “I’ll start making sandwiches,” I said. “You find something on the television.”

  “On it.” Shawn veered off and stepped into the living room.

  I jogged down the hallway, looked over my shoulder to make sure I was alone, and waved my hand in the air. I heard the refrigerator open before I even entered the kitchen. Grabbing the meat, cheese, veggies, and condiments, I closed the refrigerator with my hip, set everything on the small island, untwisted the bread tie, and proceeded to make the sandwiches.

  Thump!

  Creak!

  “Oh crap,” I muttered. “Not now!”

  I knew that unmistakable sound. It was the sound of a package being dropped onto my rickety balcony—a balcony that was suspended twelve feet in the air. No way should a package be able to be delivered there, but as I opened the door and stepped out onto the balcony, I couldn’t help but smile. Sitting in the middle of the rusted-out metal ledge was the same box that always came from the Agency.

  With a sigh, I snatched up the box, ran back inside, and hurled it into the bathroom. The box landed with a thud against the clawfoot tub.

  “Everything okay?” Shawn hollered out. “You need any help?”

  “I’ve got it handled,” I lied, as I sprinted back into the kitchen. “You want chips with your sandwich?”

  “You bet,” he said.

  Slinging a handful of barbeque chips onto his plate—and ignoring the six or seven that fell to the floor—I snatched up the plate and a bottled water, then speed walked to the living room.

  “Here you are,” I said.

  “Where’s yours?” he asked as he took the plate from me.

  “I need to go grab it. Why don’t you start whatever you have paused, and I’ll be right back.”

  He frowned and set the sandwich down. “I’ll wait for you, Lexi.”

  “Give me a few minutes,” I said.

  “Take your time, babe. I might close my eyes and catch a quick nap, if that’s okay?”

  “Perfect. I’ll be back before you know it!”

  And I would be. The great thing about my jumps through time was that even if four days went by in the time I traveled to, when I traveled back to my own time, only a second would have passed.

  Feeling a little more composed, I walked into the bathroom, sat down on the rim of my tub, and opened the box. The first item I pulled out was a teal 1950s swing dress, complete with petticoats for fullness. I recognized the style from the display I’d been working on the last few days. This was a different style dress than the typical day dress, or housewife dress, most women wore to do their cooking, cleaning, and childrearing in. The swing dress was the type of dress the wife would change into before her husband arrived home.

  “Oh boy,” I muttered, “this is gonna be a difficult jump.”

  The hardest part of traveling back too far in time was the “ism” factor. The sexism, racism, and every other ism word there was. Just organizing the display at the museum this week had my blood pressure spiking. The advertisements and articles in the women’s magazines were enough to make me want to bounce my head off the nearest wall.

  I reached inside the box again and groaned. “Seriously? I have to wear the cone bra?” I think it was technically called a bullet bra, but whatever it was called, it didn’t do flattering things like my pushup bra did. A beautiful pair of teal and white kitten heels was next—because didn’t everyone vacuum in heels? The last items were a teal pillbox hat, white gloves, a short-handled teal and white boxy purse,
and a pearl necklace.

  Shucking my modern clothes, I quickly donned the outfit then looked in the mirror. I couldn’t deny the cut of the dress was flattering—a “v” collar, capped sleeves, cinched in waist. The teal was flattering with my long blonde hair.

  It had taken me a couple tries to get the hat just right, but when I finally did, it brought everything together. Experience had taught me when I traveled to the time I was going, my hair would miraculously transform to a contemporary look for that era, then a little glamour spell could keep me looking that way so I didn’t draw attention to myself.

  One thing for sure, dressed like this, I didn’t look like a twenty-five-year-old modern witch.

  Strolling back over to the box, I picked up the file folder on the bottom and quickly flipped through. Suzanne “Sissy” Ivanova, age thirty-two, was found dead of what police say was an apparent suicide on June 24, 1955. County coroner and family doctor, Hugh Sterling, suspected foul play due to unexplained bruising on Sissy’s temple and back. Doctor Sterling ruled the case a homicide. However, local police were convinced it was a suicide after speaking to neighbors. No arrests were ever made and the case went unsolved.

  On every cold case assigned to me so far, I’d received a handful of tools. Things that might aide me in my investigation. Lifting the plastic bag, I examined the items: identification card for one Alexa Ivanova, miniature infrared binoculars, and a palm-sized alarm clock. I dropped the items into the purse and began final preparations.

  Walking over to a cabinet, I withdrew a midnight blue velvet pouch and settled back down onto the floor. I’d gotten the bag—and the crystal inside—as a gift from my mother when I started my job with the Agency of Paranormal Peculiarities. I carefully withdrew the black tourmaline necklace from inside. Black tourmaline was said to be one of the most powerful protection stones around. I slipped it over my head and dropped it down the front of my dress so it couldn’t be seen.

  Closing my eyes, I drew in a deep breath before slowly letting it out. I knew the spell I needed to say by heart. I was free to write it down and then burn the paper as I said it, but I preferred to picture the words in my head as I said the spell aloud. To visually see the words I’d need to not only propel myself through time, but to also make sure I didn’t cause a ripple of any kind. I pushed out all the chaos around me, closed my eyes, and focused on my job at hand.

  When I felt the time was right, I started the spell:

  “Crimes are unpunished

  The world’s not right.

  Cosmos guide me into the time-travel light.

  To the past I’ll travel

  Absent of any time ripple.

  Nineteen fifty-five is my time

  To solve this heinous crime.”

  Chapter 2

  I slowly blinked my eyes open, focusing on the ground and waiting for the nausea to pass. I often felt queasy right after my jumps. When I was sure I could move without yacking everywhere, I lifted my eyes to take in my surroundings.

  I stood at the entrance of a massive subdivision—Oakdale Estates. The road broke off into three streets, one veering right, one veering left but that eventually curved toward the back of the subdivision, and one continuing straight. I could make out beautiful houses on each side of the street farther ahead. If I had to guess, taking in all three streets, I’d say there were close to fifty houses in the large subdivision. And they weren’t the tiny, squat houses with no yard of the Levittown communities I’d read about while studying up on the 1950s in the museum…no, these were sprawling stone ranch houses, or “ramblers” as they were sometimes called. Also present were two-story majestic houses comprised of stone and white lap siding.

  At the juncture of the curve, the street to my left housed a large swimming pool with screaming kids, making it the first thing you saw when entering the subdivision.

  The street veering right continued out as far as I could see. About fifty yards up ahead, buildings flanked either side of the road, like a mini version of a downtown. I saw the Oakdale Library, Arnold’s Grocery, and an ice cream parlor. There were a few other stores, but I couldn’t make out their signs from where I stood.

  Turning around, a black-top road stretched out before me, seeming to go nowhere. There wasn’t another house, building, or structure anywhere. I shaded my eyes, and to the left of the subdivision, I could just make out the outline of a town in the distance—maybe five miles away. To the right of the entrance, the road seemed to stretch on forever.

  A cat whistle split the air, and I whirled around.

  “Hubba! Hubba!” Rex said. “That’s some dress, Lexi.”

  Laughing, I bent down to pick up my familiar, Rex the Rat. Rex had been assigned permanently to me after our first job together when we traveled back to 1988. He’d been a huge help on that assignment, even risking his life to save me. The Agency decided we worked well together and ever since then, he’d been my crime-solving partner. He tended to talk like he had ADHD, but I suspected that was normal for a rat.

  “Don’t let your wife hear you talking like that,” I chided. “She’ll skin you alive for looking at another woman.”

  Rex grinned, exposing his two huge front teeth. “Don’t worry, Lexi. She knows I’m both a lover and a fighter!”

  I snorted.

  “Did some snoopin’ already,” Rex said. “Looks like a cult thing going on here. Yeah, yeah. A cult thing! All the houses are perfectly manicured. Women in fancy dresses like you got on standin’ in their front yard watchin’ dapperly dressed men play catch with their kids. Kids are laughing and having a good time. It’s freaky, I tell ya! Not natural, I say! Not natural!”

  Laughing at his description, I stepped through the entrance of Oakdale Estates and headed toward the middle street of houses. I had no idea which of the streets Sissy had lived on, but I was almost positive someone could tell me.

  “Let’s go find us a killer.” I pulled back on the top knob that held my fancy designer purse closed. “Jump inside.”

  Rex leaped down from my shoulder. “Hey! Nice and roomy in here, even with the binoculars and stuff.”

  Up ahead, a little girl on a red bicycle sat hunched over the handlebars and peddled full speed my way. Her dress and hair billowed out behind her. When she got within three feet of me, she sat up straight, took her feet off the pedals, and coasted to me.

  “I can almost ride my bike now without training wheels,” she declared superiorly. “I’ve been practicing on my brother’s bike. I get these off next week. Not many girls my age can ride a bike without training wheels. My mommy says it’s because I’m the smartest, most beautifulest girl in the whole wide world.”

  “That so?” I mused, still walking forward.

  The little girl whipped her bike around and hurried to catch up with me, her lopsided training wheels making a clanking sound against the street.

  “Uh-huh. That’s so.” Her blonde curls bobbed with every emphatic nod of her head. “Can you ride a bike without training wheels? I bet you can’t.”

  I couldn’t help but laugh at her audacity…she was one part snotty and one part sassy. “I’m pretty sure I can. Listen, which house do you belong to? Is your mommy or daddy home?”

  “Yes.”

  When she didn’t say anything more, I sighed and turned to her.

  “Can you tell me which people had the pleasure of breeding you?”

  She tilted her head and frowned. “You talk funny.”

  “Who are your mommy and daddy?” I tried again.

  “I live over there.” She lifted her hand and pointed. “Mommy’s inside cleaning the kitchen because we just had dinner, and Daddy’s in the backyard teaching my older brother how to throw a baseball. My older brother is a dummy.”

  I laughed. “Is that so?”

  “Yep.”

  I veered to the left to go meet the people who created this whirlwind. They had a two-story house on the left-hand side of the street with tan bricks, an orange door, and matching
orange shutters.

  “Where’s your husband?” the girl suddenly asked.

  “I don’t have one,” I said.

  “Mommy says every girl needs a man to dote over,” the little girl stated matter-of-factly. “It’s their job. What’s wrong with you that you don’t have one?”

  I bristled. “Nothing’s wrong with me! What’s your name anyway?”

  “Rosie. Rosie Ann Belmont, and I’m six years old.”

  “My name’s Le—” I broke off and remembered I had a different name for this assignment. “Alexa Ivanova.”

  The little girl hopped off her bike. “You’re like those ladies across the street.” She frowned. “Well, only one lives there now. I don’t know what happened to the other one, but she don’t live there no more.”

  “Do you remember her name?” I asked. “The lady that used to live across the street but doesn’t anymore?”

  The little girl rolled her eyes. “Of course I remember her name! I told you before, I’m really smart. I know everything.”

  “I gotta see this kid,” Rex said.

  “What did you say?” Rosie demanded.

  I blinked in surprise. Usually when Rex spoke, I was the only one to hear him because it was in my head.

  “I didn’t say anything,” I said.

  Rosie narrowed her eyes. “Are you here to cause trouble?”

  “What?” I asked incredulously. “No.”

  “You got no husband,” Sassy Rosie pointed out, “so you don’t got no kids either. And you can make your voice sound weird.” She looked me up and down and nodded. “Yep. I bet you’re gonna be trouble. My mommy says girls like you don’t belong here in this neighborhood.”

  “Really?” I was more worried she’d heard Rex speak, than I was worried about what this spitfire and her snooty mom thought about me.

  “That’s so,” Rosie said emphatically. “I’ll tell my mommy you want to talk to her. You wait right here and don’t leave.”