by Marja McGraw
Choosing One Moment
A Time Travel Mystery
by
Marja McGraw
Other Books by Marja McGraw
The Sandi Webster Mysteries
A Well-Kept Family Secret
Bubba’s Ghost
Prudy’s Back!
The Bogey Man
Old Murders Never Die
Death Comes in Threes
What Are the Odds?
The Bogey Man Mysteries
Bogey Nights
Bogey’s Ace in the Hole
They Call Me Ace
Awkward Moments
How Now Purple Cow
CHOOSING ONE MOMENT – A Time Travel Mystery, Copyright 2016, by Marja McGraw. All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations used in critical articles and reviews. For information, contact Marja McGraw at [email protected].
First Edition, MAY, 2016
Cover by Marja McGraw
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
DEDICATION
In Memory of Alton, who made my life brand new and who kept me laughing. He gave me too many moments to remember just one.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Thank you to Jill Shelton, Dorothy Bodoin, and Judy Blinco. Your critiquing skills kept me on point, and without your support, this book wouldn’t have been as much fun to write.
A special thank you to the readers who keep coming back for more. Even though I’ve never met most of you, you’re a part of my writing life.
Chapter One
If you ever receive an inheritance, you may want to think it over carefully before you begin sorting through antiques and mementos. They aren’t always as they seem.
I learned this the hard way.
~ * ~
Great Aunt Genny died in her sleep. When she was found she had a sweet and, somehow, mysterious grin on her face. I know this because I was the one who found her. Come to think of it, there was always something a little mysterious about her. She made me feel as though she knew things that the rest of us didn’t.
To add to her aura of mystique, she clutched a very old key in her hand at the time of her death.
I raced downstairs and called 9-1-1 before returning to her bedroom. The key was gone. I wasn’t sure why it seemed important, but I looked everywhere for it. It was simply gone.
She was the youngest eighty-eight-year-old woman I knew, not that I know that many seniors. Her attitude was young and healthy, and she loved life. She was strong in mind and body, and yet she was so small she often reminded me of a little China doll. She looked so delicate.
Looks can be deceiving.
She once told me that she welcomed every single day because she knew that when her time came, she’d be ready. That same mysterious grin would surface, and I’d ask her about it. She always changed the subject as deftly as if I’d never asked a question.
She occasionally spoke of death. She’d said, “Carrie, I’d rather people remember me with joy, not sadness. You make sure someone tells a funny story about me. When the time comes, have a party, not a funeral.”
We had a memorial in her honor with just a few special friends and relatives present, and everyone had funny stories. It seemed to be her mission in life to make all of us laugh. I wanted to follow her example, but I’m just not that funny, and when I was humorous, it was quite by accident.
I thought about this as I drove to her… Uh, my house. Aunt Genny had left the old family home and everything in it to me. It turned out that she had more money than we’d thought, and she divided that between my mother and me. Actually, she left me a little extra because the house needed a minimal amount of renovation.
The house had been built in 1896 in Washington state and it passed from family member to family member. Now it was my turn to be a homeowner. No rent to pay and no monthly house payment equaled less angst in my life.
I like to tell people that I’m a mystery writer. The truth is, I’d never had much time for my writing. People say if you write, don’t quit your day job. They’re right. Not many of us become best-selling authors. I worked all day and wrote in the evening, which didn’t leave much time for a social life.
Aunt Genny loved my writing. She pushed me to keep up the good work and told all of her friends about her great-niece, the author. She always bought at least ten copies of my latest book and gave them away as gifts.
My thoughts turned from myself to the house when I pulled into the dirt driveway. Climbing out of the car, I took off my light jacket. It had turned into a warm spring day.
I put my head back and looked up. The home was in good repair. Aunt Genny had hired someone to give it a fresh coat of paint not long before she passed away. She’d had some work done inside, too, almost as though she was preparing it for me. She hadn’t quite finished what she’d set out to do, but most of the remaining work was cosmetic.
It was two stories high with an attic serving as a third level. For some reason, Aunt Genny would never let me paw through the things stored in the attic. She said I’d have to wait until the time was right, whatever that meant.
Now seemed to be the time.
A car pulled up to the curb and I waved at my friend, Patricia, who’d come to help me sort through things. She and my great-aunt had gotten along quite well.
“Patricia? When my time comes, I want you to sort through all of the papers and letters. You’re so good at that type of thing,” Aunt Genny would say.
“I am?” Patricia worked in a library and worked with books and papers all the time. It was her specialty – the paperwork, that is.
“Yes, you are. And I expect Carrie to sort through everything in the attic.” She’d rub her hands together and wink at me. “Oh, you’re going to have a good time. You might even find inspirations for a new book.”
I missed my aunt even more than I thought I would. In my mind’s eye, I could still see her winking at me – and the attic called to me.
Patricia climbed out of her car and set her purse on the hood. “Just a second. I brought some note paper and folders with me. Your aunt said I’d be overwhelmed with paperwork and history. She was such a character. She said she’s been saving old letters, newspaper articles and all kinds of stuff for years, and that there was plenty left from ancestors, too. I kind of felt like she wanted me to find something in particular.”
I raised my eyebrows. “She made me feel the same way about the attic. I can’t wait to get started on it. Let’s go.”
The house key was already held tightly in my right hand.
We entered the house, the first time since Aunt Genny left us, and I simply stood in the doorway and took everything in.
Patricia gave me a nudge. “Well? Are you going to move?”
I stepped inside.
“Let’s get busy. There’s a lot to do and I have to work tomorrow. Some of us still have jobs, you know.” Patricia headed for my aunt’s desk and sat down after setting her paper and folders on the floor. She was mumbling to herself and shook her head in resignation as she began opening drawers. “I don’t think your auntie ever threw anything away.”
My aunt actually left me quite a bit of money, along with a stipulation in her will that I was to quit my job and write full-time. How could I argue with her?
I pulled a second key out of my jeans pocket. “I’m finally going to have my first visit to the attic. If you need anything, holler. I’ll be upstairs.�
�
“Uh huh.” Patricia already had a lap full of papers she was sorting through. “Lots of old letters here.”
Climbing the stairs, I stopped and peeked into my aunt’s bedroom. Someone, probably my mother, had come back and cleaned the room, putting fresh bedding on the old four-poster bed.
In my mind I could still see the little grin on my aunt’s face. She’d had a massive stroke. How on earth could she have smiled at a time like that?
Stepping out of the room, I turned and continued up the next set of stairs. The attic was calling my name, loud and clear, so to speak.
I shoved the key in the lock and tried to turn it. Nothing. It wouldn’t turn. I jiggled it and turned it again. Still nothing. Remembering a faulty door in my apartment, I pulled on the door handle as I turned the key. Ah! It clicked and I turned the doorknob, ready for what was on the other side.
I thought.
There were old trunks, boxes and some wardrobe containers sitting front and center. I’d have to go through a lot to find whatever my aunt thought might inspire a book.
“Okay, Carrie,” I said to myself. “Just do it.”
I opened one of the trunks, which thankfully, wasn’t locked. I was greeted with the faint odor of mothballs. There were old, yellowing white aprons, long skirts and some very old cookbooks in the trunk. It was one of the smaller containers, and it was packed. I had an almost overwhelming urge to pull everything out and look at each item before moving on.
No, I needed to take an inventory of what was in the attic before I became too involved in one area.
I opened one of the wardrobes. There were a few vintage floor-length dresses, the kind they would have worn around 1900 or a little later. Pulling one out, I was surprised to see how tiny it was. Women must have been a lot smaller in those days, unlike my five foot four frame. I probably would have been considered tall.
I replaced the dress and moved on to another trunk. Inside I found several women’s hats, all quite large, with feathers and what-nots decorating them. I picked one up and sneezed when dust floated off the feathers.
Looking around, I realized what a big job I had in front of me. I knew my aunt wanted me to find something, or at least that’s what I assumed. There was too much to take it all in. Didn’t my ancestors ever throw anything away? Apparently not.
I shoved some boxes aside and tried to do a little rearranging so I could get a better look at what lay ahead.
The attic was becoming quite hot by the time I finished moving things around. I wiped sweat from my forehead and stepped between some boxes.
The rear of the attic held old furniture, mostly wooden pieces.
There was an old crank telephone leaning against a trunk that sat by the wall. It caught my attention because it would look great hanging in my old-style kitchen.
There was a vintage dressmaker’s dummy sitting next to the trunk.
Pulling a tissue out of my pocket, I wiped my forehead again. The temperature seemed to be rising quickly.
I reached forward with the intent of picking up the phone, but as I leaned over and put my hand on it, mild dizziness struck.
“I need to go downstairs and get some water,” I said aloud. “It’s too hot up here. Maybe I’d better tackle this attic in the morning.”
I closed my eyes and sat down on the edge of a box for a moment before leaving the attic.
The dizziness went away.
Chapter Two
“Look at this,” Patricia said, glancing toward the stairs. “Your auntie kept some very interesting old letters. I wonder if these were from a boyfriend to a relative. Do you remember someone named Daniel? I know your aunt made a point of filling you in on family history.”
“That’s putting it mildly. She did everything but give me tests when it came to family. She showed me so many old photos, so often, that I recognize people who lived a long time ago. Aunt Genevieve was very family oriented, and she seemed to think I should be, too. Actually, she was quite interesting. She remembered all the stories passed down from generation to generation.”
“Your grandmother’s given name was Genevieve? What a lovely, old-fashioned name.”
“Uh huh. Genevieve Elsbeth McFerrin. It is a pretty name. My mother almost named me Elsbeth, but for some reason she changed her mind. Maybe because it was old-fashioned, too. She said Genevieve was out because as a kid I’d have too much trouble spelling it. So my mom decided on Caroline, which became Carrie. Easy to spell, easy to write.”
“Why didn’t your aunt ever marry? She was beautiful, even as an older woman.”
“Oh, that was one of her many mysteries. She always said her one true love was waiting for her around the corner and down the road. What a disappointment it must have been for her. She never traveled down that road.”
Patricia turned back to the letters. “Did you say her middle name was Elsbeth? These letters are to someone named Elsbeth.”
“Aunt Genny’s middle name came from an ancestor. Her mother thought it was such a pretty name. You can ask me just about anything about my family history and I’ll have an answer.”
“Okay, who’s Daniel?”
“Except that. I have no idea.” I thought for a moment. “Wait! I remember my aunt showing me a photograph of a handsome young man. It wasn’t with the family photos. Come to think of it, she kept it in her desk.”
Patricia turned back toward the desk and started rummaging through what she hadn’t already pulled out. “I don’t see any photos.”
I motioned for her to stand up and let me sit in the chair. Aunt Genny had only shown me the picture once, when I was a teenager, and…
“I remember! There’s a hidden drawer in her desk, or secretary as she called it.” I closed my eyes for a moment and thought back. Opening the pulldown front, I looked closely at the intricate woodwork.
“A hidden drawer? Why would they put one of those in this old desk?” Patricia looked skeptical.
“To hide their money? I don’t know, but I do remember where it is.” I slid out a vertical drawer on the left that looked like part of the design.
It was empty, and I was disappointed.
Patricia reached past me and opened another drawer on the right side. “Duh,” she said. “If there was one drawer then it makes sense that there was another one on the other side.”
“Well, if you’d given me a second, I would have figured that out.”
She lifted out an old photograph and handed it to me. “Is this what you were looking for?”
I studied it for a brief moment. “Yes.”’
My friend looked at it over my shoulder. “Oh, he was good looking even by today’s standards. He has a classic look; a strong face. That straight nose of his reminds me of a Greek statue.”
I turned the photo over. My aunt had written Daniel on the back. She had very distinctive handwriting. Each letter was kind of square, even though the name wasn’t printed, but handwritten.
I wondered what was so special about this man.
“I wrote notes when she shared information with me. I’ll have to sort through them to see if she told me who he was. She showed me his picture once, and talked about him a little, as I recall, but I don’t think she ever mentioned him again. Yeah, I need to check my notes.
“Did I ever tell you that Aunt Genny was once a school teacher?”
“Yes, you did, and you also told me how much she enjoyed it. She taught history, right?”
“Uh huh. She seemed to be all about history. It was her passion.”
Although I hadn’t been back to the house since my aunt passed away, my father had dropped off some boxes for me. I knew my notes were in one of them. I was going to start living in Aunt Genny’s house as of this day. It was furnished and I hadn’t needed to bring too much with me, just my personal belongings.
I stood and turned to Patricia. “Let’s take a break and go get some lunch. While we’re out, we’ll stop at the store and get some groceries.”
&nb
sp; My friend picked up her purse. “Let’s go.”
We stopped at a fast food place and had burgers.
“I needed this break, Patricia. It got so hot in the attic that I felt like I was going to pass out.”
“You should have come downstairs sooner.” She was right.
“I’ll wait and work up there in the morning. I’m anxious to find what she thought might inspire a story.”
“Would you mind if I take some of that paperwork with me and work on it at home? It’ll be easier if I don’t feel so rushed.”
“Be my guest. I’ve got the attic and several closets to go through anyway. By the way, I found some great vintage clothing and hats upstairs. Just for the heck of it we should see if any of the clothes fit us.”
“Yeah. Who knows when we might be invited to a costume party? It might be fun though.” She chuckled. “Maybe we should throw the party.” Even though she was being a little sarcastic, my friend sounded enthused about the dresses.
We finished eating, I bought some groceries, and we returned to the house.
“I’ve got a date with Jimmy tonight, so I’m going to grab some of the papers and ledgers and go home.”
I smiled. “You two seem pretty tight lately.”
“We’re having a good time together. Beyond that, I’m not even going to try to guess where this is heading.”
I walked her out to her car, helping her carry some of the ledgers. “Don’t stay out late. You have to work tomorrow.”
She laughed. “Yes, Mother.”
“Ha ha. You need someone to keep you on the straight and narrow.” I mustered up the most motherly expression I could.
She rolled her eyes at me before leaving.
I grinned and returned to the house.
“Okay, time to get some sorting done.”