Temple of Indra's Curse (Time-Traveling Bibliophile Book 2)

by Rachael Stapleton

  As I pulled into the parking spot, my peaceful thoughts dissipated, turning toward Rissa and all she’d said about Ann Switzer, and then to the dream I’d had about Penelope. I picked up my cell and quickly made a call to Garda Connelly. He didn’t answer so I left a voicemail. If Ann had been killed in Ireland then maybe he could look into the records. I needed to know whether I was actually dreaming of her murder and killer or if it was just my subconscious creating what I thought happened. If I was having psychic dreams then I needed to know.

  Nervous energy filled me as I adjusted my shades and scanned the street for any sign of my bouncy blonde friend. I checked my cell. I’d called her twice and sent her a text already, to no avail. Had Penelope forgotten that we changed the meeting place? She was now over forty minutes late. What was I thinking—choosing such a busy place? We were going to be late for lunch with Lucille. I shifted the bag over my shoulder; it was getting heavy. Gigi’s necklace amongst a lot of junk like the letter from Nick was crammed inside. I should throw the letter away. I can’t believe I almost let him under my skin once again.

  My phone pinged with an incoming text. Finally, I thought, expecting Penelope’s response. I smiled as I read Cullen’s message: Missing you already. Can’t wait for our date tonight.

  I would rather have spent the day with him after being in Toronto for the week but he’d had plans with his Da, so I was going to enjoy a nice girls’ day with Lucille and Penelope—that is, if Penelope would ever show up.

  I debated heading back to the Molly Malone statue, our original intended location. Instead, I gave up and ducked inside the jewelry shop. With only a week left before the big day, I had one last thing to take care of.

  “Can I help you, Miss?”

  I handed the girl behind the counter a ticket. “I’m here to drop off the necklace.”

  “These are the jewels being incorporated into the dagger, right?”

  I nodded. I couldn’t wait to surprise Cullen at the rehearsal dinner with an exact replica of his great-great-great-grandfather’s beautifully crafted blade—using the stones from Gigi’s necklace.

  “Great. The dagger's all set for the jewels so it should be ready for pick up by Friday, as promised.”

  “Thank you. My brother-in-law will be picking it up for me.”

  Liam was even going to bless it with holy water prior to the dinner. Cullen and I needed a fresh start and what would be better than turning the cursed Purple Delhi Sapphire into a blessing.

  I arrived at the restaurant a few minutes late. Lucille had messaged me and said she was already inside ordering drinks. Penelope still hadn’t responded. As I walked toward the window front, I noticed a reflection from the other side of the street; it jarred me. Just like the cemetery, there was a stocky, well-built man with a hoodie pulled up around his face. I could see a couple of dark pieces of hair jutting out from under the red hood. Dark sunglasses covered his face. I probably wouldn’t have thought twice about it, but after my half-starved delusional moment at the cemetery… Nick’s closed casket flashed in my head. I wished fervently now that I’d looked inside. What if he was alive and his funeral had only been some elaborate scheme to trick me into letting my guard down? No, I shook it off. I’d seen the picture of his dead body.

  I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to recall the image, to think whether I really recognized it as Nick. The face had been smashed beyond recognition. I opened my eyes back up just as the man turned and walked away, quickly disappearing into the crowd.

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  Letter Be Alive

  Shivering, I started up the stone path to the front door of Cullen’s Tudor-style cottage. I loved his house—it reminded me of Snow White’s cottage with its steeply pitched roof and massive chimney thrusting skyward. My favorite part was the diamond-paned windows, all of which were dark now, except Cullen’s study, which seemed to emit a faint red glow.

  I quickened my pace, focusing on the lighted window. He’s home, I told myself. He must have been dropped off, though, since his Landrover wasn’t in the drive. I wonder why? Still, my stomach tightened the moment I shut the door and called for him. Only silence answered. I took out my cell and quickly shot him a you home? message.

  Eyeballing the bottle of shiraz on the counter, I slipped off my shoes and pulled the French doors open, taking in the scent of sweet vanilla and honeysuckle from the gardens. No more bad thoughts. I was letting my imagination run away with me.

  I needed to get ready for my dinner date—an entire evening alone with Cullen. My heart leapt at the thought.

  I stopped by the study, which was on the way to the bedroom. Cullen loved this room. It was decorated with masculine oil paintings of ships and battle scenes. Bookshelves lined the back wall behind his desk, surrounding a large marble fireplace which shed a dying glow. So that was why it seemed a little brighter than the rest. Cullen must have left in a hurry today.

  I switched on the desk lamp and gazed across the room at his shelf full of books. Vehicles, mechanics, architecture: all things that reminded me of Cullen. All except for one on spirituality. How had Ann’s book gotten here? Had Cullen unpacked my box? I walked over to the shelf and picked it up, running my hand along the cover before opening it. The edges were ear marked and smudged. This wasn’t my copy.

  Why would Cullen have a book written by Ann Switzer? Had he come across it and saved it for me? I tried to think of whether we’d ever talked about Ann. I couldn’t recall the discussion ever happening.

  I put it back and turned away, looking at Cullen’s desk; it was massive and dark, like my feelings at the moment. I hated to invade his privacy, but I just couldn’t ignore my intuition.

  The drawers extended down both sides, almost—but not quite—reaching the clawed feet. The top was clean, unlike the surface of my old desk—which was always piled so high with papers and half-drunk cups of coffee. I grasped the knob on the top left-hand drawer. Locking drawers now are we?

  My eyes darted back to the bookshelf, then wandered along the walls which were painted a pale, buttery yellow. This room which I normally found cheerful and pleasant felt like it was closing in on me. My heart sped up. Maybe it was time to open Nick’s letter. I tried the next drawer down. Inside, there was nothing but a notebook and a few pens. I was stalling. I moved the notebook and—bingo—found a letter opener but as I reached for it, the hair on my arms prickled.

  A familiar address stood out to me, written on a little blue matchbook. Gripping the desk's lip to steady myself, hands shaking, I pulled the memorable little matchbook out. I closed my eyes, banishing the sight of Nick’s flat number from my mind.

  “It’s not possible,” I whispered numbly, shaking my head. I reached into my purse and pulled out Nick’s envelope. I grabbed the opener and tore in. My stomach churned and my hands shook.

  Sophia,

  I know you told me to stay away and you’re probably rolling your eyes right now but please leave Ireland. I swear I’m not writing this to fight with you or to be spiteful. You’re being fooled and if you don’t wake up before it’s too late, you’ll be dead. I realize I’m the last person you want to hear this from but it’s true. I hired a private investigator and this is what he found…

  My tears spilled onto the page as I glanced at the investigators notes scrawled below. I could make out key words like mentally unstable. It was so messy, I could hardly focus. Handwriting was clearly a lost art, but then again I was crying so hard my vision was blurred.

  “Sophia? Ye home?” Cullen’s voice floated up the stairs and down the hall.

  My heart was pounding violently. Desperately I tried to control my tears as I folded the paper quickly in half but not before noticing the words raped and accused of murder. I used my sleeves to dry my tears.

  “Yes,” I called back, trying to make my voice sound as normal as possible. “You didn’t respond to my text.”

  I looked down at my phone, blinking, and felt completely caught off guard.
<
br />   “I’m just on the phone in the study.”

  “It’s almost dinner time. Shouldn’t ye be after gettin’ ready?”

  “Yep, I will in just a moment.”

  Cullen’s footsteps receded. The house was suddenly very still. I let out my breath and reached for the phone. My hand was shaking so much I could scarcely punch in the numbers.

  She answered on the first ring.

  “Penelope. Oh, Penelope, thank God. What happened to you today?” I struggled to keep my voice steady.

  “Sophia! I’m sorry I flaked. I meant to text you back. I’ve just been busy.” The voice at the other end was so quiet it was almost a whisper.

  I heard a muffled sound in the background, followed by her giggle.

  “Doing what?” I said suspiciously.

  “I was dress shopping. I have a date tonight and I needed something to wear.”

  I didn’t bother mentioning that she was supposed to be shopping with me. I doubted she’d done anything other than whoever was making her giggle.

  “A date?” I whined. “I found something. I need to show you. You have to come to dinner with us.”

  “Sorry, I can’t.” She sing-songed out the words.

  “You haven’t even been in Dublin that long. Who is your date?”

  “Does it matter?”

  The phone muffled for a moment and I realized she had cupped the receiver to speak to her mystery hunk.

  The steps creaked and I suddenly wondered where Cullen was.

  “Yes, it matters,” I answered, lowering my voice.

  Penelope sighed. “Why are you whispering?”

  I took a deep breath, trying to calm myself “Why are you changing the subject? Is he married or something? Whatever, we can discuss this later, but you need to cancel.” I lowered my voice even further. “I found the matchbook Nick gave me.”

  “So?”

  “So…it was in Cullen’s desk and I also found a book written by my cousin, it’s a spiritual book that references the Purple Delhi Sapphire. Penelope, I’m wondering if Cullen is my stalker.”

  There was a slight pause, then her voice, very gentle, came again. “Cullen, really?”

  “I don’t want it to be true, but on top of that, Nick hired a private investigator to look into Cullen’s history. He wrote me a letter but it was too upsetting to finish—he’s basically accusing Cullen of being a homicidal maniac.”

  “Oh my goodness, Sophia. Okay, fine, you win. I’ll cancel, but if that’s true then you need to get out of there.”

  I swallowed hard. For a moment I could not speak, then I managed to whisper, “No, I can’t just yet. If he is the one, he’d just find me and anyway Nick could have been just stirring up trouble. I need to dig deeper, but I don’t want him to know anything is wrong. Besides, I don’t know for sure. I hope I’m wrong about this. Oh God, I love him so much.”

  Tears pooled in my eyes once again, threatening to cascade down my cheeks.

  “Still, you shouldn’t be alone with him,” Penelope reasoned. She cupped the phone once again. I could hear soft murmurs but I couldn’t make out the words. “You need to invite somebody else, somebody dependable and safe.”

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  Fatal Overreaction

  The Italian restaurant was located in an old quarter of Dublin, where the street was narrow and cobbled. We were sitting in the corner on seats of red velvet.

  “How romantic,” said Penelope, twirling spaghetti noodles on her fork.

  “What is?" asked Liam, instantly alert.

  “This place, it’s so adorable.”

  She was right. The place was small and although crowded, it came off as quaint, full of lovers sipping espresso and basking in the aroma of garlic and basil.

  Cullen shot me a look and I knew he was still ticked I’d invited Penelope and his brother to tag along on our romantic date.

  “So,” I said, swallowing the wine in my mouth quickly in an effort to change the subject. “How is everyone’s meal?”

  My wine glass was empty again. I was drinking too much, too fast. I hoped my words weren’t slurring.

  “These oysters are to die for. You should try one, Liam,” Penelope said, practically shoving it in his face.

  Liam turned his cheek just in time and narrowly missed getting slimed. Looking annoyed, he quickly tore at the bread he was holding, dipped it into the oil and vinegar, and shoved it in his mouth. He was sitting next to Cullen, across from Penelope, and was now avoiding looking at her. I should have invited Cullen’s cousin Ewan. It was obvious Liam wasn’t a fan of Penelope’s charming personality. I turned my head, whispering playfully in her ear, “Settle down, Jezebel.”

  She grinned. “So what are you boys doing Friday before the rehearsal dinner? You have to be out of the house, right?”

  “Why?” Cullen asked.

  I cut in. “Aedeen, the hair and makeup lady Móraí hired, is doing a trial run. You don’t really have to leave,” I quickly added, thinking the boys seemed oddly quiet tonight, or maybe I was the one acting unusual. I hadn’t drunk this much in a very long time.

  I pushed my plate away. “I’m going to the restroom. Penelope, did you want to come?”

  “No,-” she started and I kicked her under the table. “On second thought, maybe I’ll join you.”

  I stood off to the side, allowing her to slide out of the bench we shared. The room swayed for a second, then I was fine.

  As soon as the bathroom door swung shut behind us, I realized I’d left the letter in my purse at the table.

  “All right, what was so important that you had to give me a contusion on my ankle?”

  “I wanted you to read that letter for me, but I left it at the table.”

  “Why can’t you read it?”

  “I did. I mean I started to—but I cry every time I even open it. It’s a little disturbing, thinking that my fiancé might be my stalker.”

  “It’s sort of hot,” Penelope argued. “That bad boy thing.”

  I tried to look menacing, but I knew she was teasing me. “You’re hopeless. Anyway,” I said, turning back toward the door. “You’re just gonna have to come back to the house with me. You can spend the night.”

  “No way,” she said, reapplying her lipstick in the mirror.

  “Why not?”

  She gave me a long and measured look. “You know why.”

  “You didn’t cancel your date.”

  “Uh-uh.” She smiled. “I just postponed it.”

  “So who is this guy?” I lowered my voice as a woman joined us in the bathroom.

  “Can’t tell.”

  “What, is he married and in politics or something?” I noticed in the mirror that my cheeks had flushed. Dealing with Penelope was like dealing with a teenage girl.

  “He’s a hunk, is what he is. He said I could tell you Saturday.” Penelope smiled. “Think of it as your wedding present.”

  “Oh, lucky me. Why would he say that? Do I know him?” I asked, thinking of Cullen’s family. She had been kind of flirtatious with one or more of Cullen’s cousins.

  “Oh no, I’m done answering your questions,” she said, racing through the door before I could stop her.

  Liam had his napkin unfolded and was mopping his forehead when we returned. His hand was trembling slightly.

  “Everything all right, Liam?”

  “Oh, sure,” he said. “I think dinner is disagreein’ with me, though. Cullen’s payin’ the bill.” He gave me a kiss on the cheek. “I’ll go pull the car around; the fresh air will do me good.”

  I nodded and watched Liam head for the exit, then I dug into my purse and slapped the letter into Penelope’s hand. “Hurry up and read this, before we go.”

  “Right here?” she protested.

  “Yes,” I grunted in a tone that was bordering on hysteria.

  She unfolded the letter and I watched her eyes scan the first page.

  “Now, there’s my lovely Aeval.” Cullen’s voic
e rang out as he rounded the corner of the bench, swirling the ice cubes around in his nearly empty glass. He moved to stand behind me, and, gently resting his hands on my shoulders, began to massage the back of my neck with his thumbs. “We’re all paid up—let’s head home and finish this evenin’ off right.”

  He looked at Penelope, who was scrambling to fold the letter and shove it away.

  “What’s that?” he asked, looking from her to me, and I thought that he must be one of the few people in the world who could look dangerous and extremely innocent all at once.

  “Nothing. Just one of the travel reviews Penelope was working on.”

  “Are we going?” said Penelope, jumping to her feet while quickly pulling on her coat.

  “Penelope has a hot date tonight,” I explained.

  “So it’s just us then. Liam’s under the weather.”

  “I guess so,” I said, nodding. Cullen seemed awfully cheery now, and Penelope looked like she’d swallowed a poison pill.

  We walked outside and Cullen guided me toward a cab.

  “Where are we going? Liam’s car is right there.”

  “Liam’s not feelin’ well, so we’re gonna take a cab home.”

  He pushed me into the cab, pinching my butt as I stumbled into the seat.

  Penelope was right behind us.

  “Oh, Penelope, he’s still gonna drop ye off at the hotel since it’s just around the corner.” He leaned forward, about to pull the car door shut. “Have fun tonight with yer man. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

  “But—” she said.

  “It's okay, Penelope,” I said, waving, realizing she probably wanted to give me back my letter. “I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon. Don’t be late.”

  It was too dark to admire the countryside so I retreated into the interior of the cab, avoiding Cullen’s gaze the best I could. How was it possible to feel so many conflicting emotions for this man? Love. Fury. Misery. And fear, which would not listen to reason. I knew in my heart that Cullen was no killer. The thought was ludicrous. But if he wasn’t, then why did he have that matchbook hidden in his drawer? I shuddered violently.