by Ami Diane
“Also,” she added, warming to the topic, “Chester gets more agitated as opposed to when we’re in town during a flash.”
Ella’s partially-eaten dessert sat forgotten as she churned over this new information. The town’s jumping came to two possibilities: either a natural phenomenon or human orchestration.
All this time, she’d been leaning on the former, but what if it was the latter? If the jumps were intentional, then it was a strong possibility that the epicenter had something to do with them. It was a big supposition, but it’s all she had to go on. Logical leaps.
Sure the west hill had multiple houses on it, but only two were at the top and in the center of the circle. And only one resident had the know-how. She’d bet her cell phone that Wink didn’t know the first thing about time travel which left one person.
But hadn’t he led the charge to try to figure out the jumps, to try to stop them? Why lie?
One thing was clear, she needed to find out all she could about Dr. Kaufman.
By the time she returned to the inn, it was nearing ten o’clock in the evening. She’d stayed at Wink’s for a while, playing cards and defending the merits of having a microwave.
Before going upstairs, she stopped at the front desk, leaning on the mahogany top while picking up the antique phone. Using the rotary dial, she called up Will’s number, hoping to catch him before bed.
While the other end of the line rang in her ear, whispering footsteps shuffled past her as Jimmy walked from the north hallway, across the cavernous entrance hall, to the south hallway. He clutched his stomach, burping, and smelling of something fierce. Clearly, he’d lost the meatloaf standoff.
As he disappeared in the direction of his bedroom, Will’s rich voice came on the line. She quickly told him about her dinner with Wink and asked him what he knew about the professor.
“You’re friends with him, right?” she asked.
“In the broadest sense of the term, yes. Perhaps his only one besides Wink, but I think their friendship’s based on proximity and being on the same ‘Save the Hills’ committee.” He breathed into the phone. “Back in the early days, we’d meet at his house to discuss the jumps, work out math and theories about how it might have started.”
“You mentioned once that his ginormous power consumption might be accounted for by all of his equipment. What kind of equipment?”
“Just general stuff to test his theories since there’s no applied physicist in town. His lab’s in his cellar, but he never let me go down there.”
Ella chewed the inside of her cheek, remembering the time she’d played Nancy Drew and had put her ear to the professor’s cellar door. There’d been a strange humming and vibrating emanating from within.
“Will, we need to know if he’s got anything to do with these jumps.”
The line hissed with dead air before he finally sighed. “I know. But why would he? He’s been nothing but helpful.”
“I agree.” She twisted the phone cord around her finger. “Is there any way you can get us invited over for a chat with him?”
Will snorted. “I’d have more luck teaching Fluffy to speak.”
A tinkering noise sounded in the background. She pictured him in his shop, surrounded by partially deconstructed TV sets and tools, hoses and electrical wiring while he worked on his latest invention.
“I’ll see what I can do,” he said finally, his tone implying she shouldn’t hold her breath.
After they hung up, Ella stared across the vast room at nothing in particular, strategizing ways to dig up more information about the professor while also searching for a pirate ghost.
CHAPTER 6
COOL OCEAN SPRAY caressed Ella’s skin. She held in a shiver that was only partially caused by the temperature. The day promised to be warm. And if Sal the barber, acting mayor, and armchair meteorologist was correct, she’d be changing into shorts come lunchtime.
But for now, she burrowed into her sweatshirt and stood in the cool mud at the base of the shipwreck, an ant in the shadow of a giant. How different—and far creepier—did the ship look when alone.
That morning, over a breakfast of scrambled eggs and french toast (courtesy of Rose), she’d decided that the best way to get answers was to return to the scene of the discovery. She couldn’t imagine a better way to spend Sunday morning, her one day off from work than to search for a dead pirate and a possible buried treasure.
Rolling her shoulders back and whispering about how she didn’t believe in ghosts, she marched around the stern. The tattered sails snapped around in the wind. Her brain registered something she’d just passed, so she retraced her steps.
The stern’s weathered wood basked in the morning sun. Up high, at a forty-five-degree angle due to the list of the wrecked vessel, was a nameplate or a cartouche. It looked to be a dull brass, faded by the elements.
When squinting failed to make out the incised letters in faded paint on the plate, she pulled out her trusty phone, zoomed in, and took a picture. She used a filter to sharpen the image before zooming in on her screen.
Her lips moved with silent words as she read, Nuestra Señora de la Concepción. Our Lady of Conception.
Well if that wasn’t a strange name for a ship, she didn’t know what was. She guessed the vessel was Spanish in origin, due in large part because the name was in Spanish. From what period did the ship and the ocean privateer originate?
Did Spain even have many pirates? Her lack of attentiveness during history classes was, once again, rearing its ugly head. Clearly, this called for a trip to the Keystone Library.
After poking around some more outside, she attempted to climb through the opening she found in the deck before immediately backtracking. If scurvy and disease had an odor, she was certain that’s what she was smelling.
Nope. Treasure or not, clues or not, she wasn’t risking it.
When the rest of her search turned up nothing but disappointment, Ella aimed across the fields towards her jeep and glanced at her watch. Will had caught her before she’d left with the surprising news that he’d wrangled a visit to the professor’s for that afternoon.
She still had a couple of hours to kill which she planned on spending in the conservatory, reading, since the town library was closed on Sundays. There was also a loaf of banana bread she’d brought back from Wink’s that had her name on it—literally. After calling Will the night before, she’d taken a pen and written on the loaf Wink had sent back with her, adding death threats specifically aimed at Flo if the blasted woman so much as stole a crumb.
The rumble from a classic marine blue Chevy pickup rolled to a stop in front of the inn. Ella picked up the heavy Maine coon who’d been snoozing on her lap while she’d been waiting on the stoop and gently placed him on the ground as she stood. After scratching him in farewell, she hopped into Will’s vehicle.
She buckled before handing over the last two slices of banana bread.
He accepted them gratefully, albeit with a twinkle of skepticism. “Thanks. You don’t want any?”
“Nah, I ate the rest of it.”
“The rest… you mean, the whole loaf?”
“Yep, and I have no regrets. And you can keep that judgmental look to yourself, mister.”
He held one hand up in defense, the other clutching both the moist bread and the steering wheel.
Shaking his head, he pulled away from the curb, saying, “I’m impressed. If I ate that much banana bread, I’d have digestive issues for days.”
“Me too. I’ll be paying for it later.” She looked out the window, watching the town roll by. “And it’ll still have been worth it.”
Rolling down the window, she let the salty wind play across her face. Turning towards the inventor, she asked, “How’d you manage to get us a visit to the professor’s on such short notice?”
“I told him we needed help with a project. He’s a good man, but he’s got a bit of an ego.”
“Messiah complex?” she guessed with a knowing nod
.
“You know the type?”
“Nope.” Her mouth quirked up. “I’m just kidding. I’ve known a few, and they made for terrible boyfriends. What’s this project he’s supposed to be helping with?”
“I figured we should play to your strength. I’m helping you with the calculations for your thesis research. That way, you can make up the specifics.”
“That’s a good idea. I actually do need help—or at least I did before getting stranded here.”
“There’s no reason you couldn’t continue your research.”
Ella considered this. “True, but my data would be skewed. I’m studying the influence of population density and social networks on phoneme variation.” She lapsed into silence, her brain stewing. “Actually, maybe the town’s the perfect petri dish to study this in. It’s isolated, and with pockets of people from vastly different backgrounds, it will polarize their social networks. Maybe the data wouldn’t be muddied but, in fact, more pronounced.”
She continued to stare out the window, deep in thought. Just thinking about her research for the first time in a long time made her realize how much she missed it. It also made her homesick.
Although Will’s suggestion for her to continue her work was a good one, she didn’t know when she’d be able to fit it in, what with the constant stream of murders, her investigating said murders, work at the diner, and possibly a budding romance. Also, there were her two geriatric friends to contend with. Keeping Flo in line was a full-time job itself.
On top of that, she’d have to start from scratch since her work had been left behind in her apartment in Oregon back in the twenty-first century. Still… it was an idea to entertain.
Before she knew it, the pickup was climbing the west hill, and she was smelling the scent of the wild. Between the shivering silver leaves of quaking aspen, she spotted Wink’s bright blue house, the woman’s car missing. The diner owner was probably just getting out of church, so she wouldn’t be home.
Getting out, they ambled across the postage stamp-sized lawn of weeds to the professor’s house. The porch steps creaked beneath their feet as they climbed.
“You probably shouldn’t have had that banana bread.” She snickered at her own joke, pointing at the protesting boards underfoot.
He glared at her from beneath the brim of his fedora for such an uncomfortably long time that she was forced to cough and avert her gaze.
“I seem to recall someone admitting to eating nearly an entire loaf.”
She looked behind her at the empty air then back at him. “Me? I don’t recall saying that.” Pulling the screen door open, she gestured at the wooden door. “Gentlemen first.”
He rapped his calloused knuckles on the door. “It was less than ten minutes ago.”
“I mean, it’s all so hazy. It’s possible I said that. It sounds like me.”
“You did.”
“Maybe. Oh look,” she said, brooking further discussion over what she may or may not, but most certainly did say. “The door’s opening.”
It had opened, but only a crack. A pair of eyes stared at them from behind thick glasses.
“Afternoon, Professor,” Will greeted the man. “I called earlier, remember?”
“Of course I remember. I’m not senile.”
And yet, the man’s eyes darted back and forth, searching behind Ella and Will as if to be certain they were alone. Finally, he nudged the crack wider and allowed them to slip inside.
The physicist’s living room was dim, and the entire place had that old man fragrance.
“This is… cozy,” she said, finally settling on a word that didn’t insinuate he was a vampire.
“I made tea.” The professor’s hands went from the bottom of his frayed sweater to a sweep of the coffee table and the teapot on top.
They sat, Ella and Will on the sofa with the professor across from them in a rocking chair that creaked with the smallest of movements. His hands returned to the bottom of his sweater and kneaded it. Behind his glasses, his eyes roamed the room, looking anywhere but at them.
Taking the hint that they were on their own as far as serving the tea went, Ella reached out and poured each of them a cup. Since neither sugar nor creamer had been set out, she sipped the liquid as it was.
She choked then sputtered. Good night, it was strong. Will slapped her back until she could take a controlled breath again.
Finally, she rasped, “Mm, delicious. What is it?”
The old man’s mouth turned down. “I’m not really sure. I found it in the cupboard. It was Charlotte’s.”
Ella assumed Charlotte was a significant other’s name. She also assumed that by the way Will hastily replaced his cup on the tray without having tasted the tea that Charlotte had not been living in the house for quite some time.
Clearing her throat helped dislodge the tea that had fused to her throat, but it also served to bring back the vile taste with a vengeance.
“So, do you mind if I ask how long you’ve lived in Keystone?” she croaked out.
Based on the inventor’s uncomfortable fidgeting beside her, she guessed this was a question she shouldn’t have asked. She knew the physicist was private, but he could always just tell her to mind her own business.
The extensive lines in the professor’s face shifted. Like Six’s eyes, his spoke of pain and a past that wouldn’t relinquish its hold. He was haunted.
“Since 1945. It was cold. Winter.”
Ella started. “Wait, you moved here before the town’s first jump?”
The professor dropped his head, staring at the floor. His mass of white hair stood up as if he’d stuck his finger in an electrical socket, and for all she knew, maybe he had. It would certainly explain a few things.
She leaned in, resting her elbows on her thighs. Late 1945 would’ve been just after World War II. She silently congratulated herself for remembering that fact before realizing the implication. This man spoke with a heavy, clipped German accent and had moved here just after the end of the war.
She pressed her lips together to keep from asking more. She would not dredge up old wounds or poke her nose where it didn’t belong. Sometimes, the past was better left in the past.
Standing, she asked abruptly if she could use the restroom. The tension in the room was getting too heavy. After a point in the general direction of the bathroom by the old man, Ella wandered down a hallway. Behind her, Will’s voice faded as he asked the professor about his latest project.
Maybe she wasn’t going to ask Dr. Kaufman about the war, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t going to snoop around his house. Mostly, she wanted to know if she could get into the cellar other than by way of the exterior bulkhead doors she’d seen.
The search didn’t take much time since the long, narrow house consisted of a guest bedroom that smelled musty and disused, a master bedroom that was all a tangle of sheets and dirty clothes, and a bathroom.
She paused in the hall, studying a black and white photograph of the doctor alongside a woman. He was a good twenty years younger than now, and both faces smiled at the camera. Charlotte, she guessed. What had happened to her?
After stealing a peek into a closet just to be sure it didn’t hide a set of stairs, she stood in the hallway, hands on her hips, figuring her next move. She had to get a look in the cellar.
The outside, bulkhead doors had a padlock on them if she remembered correctly. The problem—well, one problem—was that she couldn’t remember the type of padlock. Was it a key or combination? Not that it mattered because any would impede her from entry. Heck, a good-sized spider web would ensure her turning and running the other way.
Still, the first step to getting into the cellar was to get past that lock. And the first step to getting past that was to actually get eyeballs on the sucker to know what she was dealing with.
Pivoting, she slipped into the bathroom and locked the door. Just as she’d hoped, it had a window. Ella put the lid down on the toilet and climbed on top of the
porcelain throne. It was one of those flimsy tops, so she kept her feet near the edges as she wrenched at the window.
It was slow to give, the frame stubbornly inching up with every push and grunt on her part. What was with the ancient windows in this town? At least this one hadn’t been painted shut like the Community Services Office one had been.
A vein throbbed in her forehead, and she was sure her palms were breaking open. With a final shove, the window gave.
And so did the lid on the toilet.
Her feet fell through with a loud crack accompanied by a splash of toilet water sloshing up her legs and onto the floor.
Ella stood frozen in horror, staring down at her jeans currently wicking up the cold water and at her shoes standing in the bowl like it was their own personal swimming pool.
“Crap, crap, crap.”
The irony of that repeated word surfaced somewhere in the back of her mind but was immediately shoved aside for the more urgent matter sloshing around at her feet.
Gingerly, she climbed out. Her feet slid, and she did one of those twirling limb-type maneuvers new ice skaters used. When she was pretty certain she wouldn’t fall, she sloshed across the floor and snapped the hand towel from off the wall.
Her shoes squished and made raspberry sounds all the way back to the toilet. Dropping the towel, she worked it back and forth until it was drenched in toilet juice. She gagged as she wrung the towel out in the sink.
Someone pounded on the door. “El? You okay? I heard a crash.”
She swore under her breath. “Just fine. Had a little… trouble.”
“Oh.” Will’s voice became strained in that one word. “Do you need… help? I can call Wink.”
She winced. “Ew, no. Not that kind of trouble.” In the reflection, the broken toilet lid glared at her. “I’ll be right out.”
Frantically, she used the only other towel she could find—a bath towel—to mop up the rest of the soup currently making a river across the uneven floor.
She stared at the cheaply made toilet lid and sighed. After closing the window, she marched out of the bathroom.