Christopher’s stomach churned. No longer amusing, Father’s narration had turned deadly. How many lives had been taken at Benjamin Somerset’s hands? The thought soured in his stomach like curdled cream. Equally alarming to his father’s blatant disregard for human life was his thirst for blood. It was as if he relished in his crimes. Why else would he write it all down? And in such morbid detail.
He pushed the page away, needing a break from Father’s madness. Flipping through the channels on the television, he searched for a distraction, but found no solace. His mind constantly returned to the words on the ledger. Eventually curiosity summoned him back to the table.
A whistle sounded. I considered waiting for the reinforcements—two bodies were not enough. But greed is not characteristic of a gentleman—or so I was taught. I located my traveling device before more guards arrived and loaded the bin with my newly acquired treasures. Once again, the padded compartment I’d built specifically for art worked out splendidly. The new pieces will fit well in the parlor. Beatrice will thank me.
Note: along with tightening the time-travel parameters, I really must fix the loud vibrations this machine generates upon departure—it does cause such a ruckus.
Blood rushed through Christopher’s veins. This was the proof he needed; his father’s confession to his most recent crime. And if he went back to the house, he’d certainly find the purloined art in the safe he’d discovered earlier.
Keys in hand, he headed out the door, but common sense stopped him before he reached his car. He had the ledger, he could get the art, but the crime took place one hundred fifty years ago. Who, in their right mind, would believe his father had traveled back in time to commit the crime?
As he turned the narration over and over in his mind, any possibility of nailing his father for his crimes faded. Without more evidence, this paper was nothing but fiction. He must find the device.
Chapter Forty-Four
As she arrived at her apartment, Arianna’s heart still thudded rapidly, threatening to crack her ribs. She pulled her laptop onto her trembling legs and began a Google search. If Christopher wouldn’t tell her what Mr. Somers had done, maybe she could find it online. Entering key words: Denver, Benjamin Somers and Criminal, she pushed the search button. Nothing.
She changed the location to England. Many sites popped up, but none looked as if it could be what she searched for. His name was just too common.
As she stared at her computer screen, pondering what to do next, her phone rang. “Hi, Ari, I haven’t talked to you in a while. How are you?”
“Maggie. It’s so good to hear your voice. I have so much to tell you.” She pushed her laptop aside, along with thoughts of Mr. Somers. Maggie’s voice helped calm her.
“Can’t wait to hear.” A baby cooed in the background.
“Ooh, is that Ryder? He sounds adorable.” Ari could hear Maggie jabbering baby talk.
“Yes, I have you on speaker so I can dual-task. I’m getting good at that nowadays.”
“I love the pictures you’ve texted me. I can’t believe how much he’s changed already.”
After chatting about Ryder, and motherhood in general, Ari glanced at her computer. An idea sprang to mind. “Maggie, you know how you are always digging into your roots, or, you know, doing ancestry stuff?”
“Yeah, why?”
Arianna went on to explain the unusual happenings at the Somers’ house and Christopher’s suspicions. “I’ve looked Mr. Somers up on the Internet but haven’t found anything.”
“You’re looking under the name Somers?” Maggie asked.
“Uh-huh, why?”
“Somers might be too common, and if he really is a criminal, I’m sure he’s using an alias. What you need to do is an image search.”
“How do I do that?” She ripped a piece of paper from her spare notepad to take notes.
“Well, first you need a picture of him. Can you get one?”
Ari frowned as her excitement ebbed. “No way. I don’t know how I could possibly get a picture of him. The camera on my phone works at the house, but can you imagine what he’d do if he ever caught me taking his picture?” Just the thought of it made her shiver. She paused. “Oh, wait, there’s a portrait of him and his family in their home. It’s old and more of an artist’s rendering. Do you think that will work?”
“It won’t hurt to try. And Ari, it sounds like this guy is dangerous. Maybe you should call the police.”
“Christopher is the police.” She huffed. “He said there wasn’t enough evidence to convict him of anything and that his crimes were only rumors that may or may not be real.” She waited while Maggie seemed to process it all.
“Well, promise me you’ll be careful. And call me if you find anything.”
Maggie proceeded to give detailed instructions on doing an image search if Ari could obtain a picture. Ari took careful notes.
After they said their goodbyes, Arianna found a book to read for a distraction. Helpless. Until she could get her hands on that portrait, she was helpless. Her shoulders slumped.
****
On Monday morning she took a calming breath before unlocking the door to the Somers’ residence. Just act as if it’s any other day, she repeated to still her jittery nerves. At least she had lots of deliveries and installations scheduled today, so she wouldn’t be alone. The first item of business, however, had to be locating her notebook. It didn’t take long. It innocently sat on the kitchen counter, right where she’d left it on Friday. She snatched it up.
The formal rooms gradually filled with Victorian furniture. She ran her hand over an antique, carved, cameo-tufted sofa. She wouldn’t dare sit on something so decadently cream colored, for fear of smudging it. The side chairs complemented the sofa perfectly, with matching rosewood frames. A soft floral design woven into the fabric of the chairs added a subtle hint of color. She let go of a wistful sigh.
The last of the deliveries had arrived by four o’clock. Arianna watched as two men carefully tightened bolts on the legs of a walnut table. As anxious as she was for them to be finished and gone, she also felt protective of each meticulously selected piece. The workmen seemed to be extra precise when she watched them work. She had to give them credit; no one had been careless with the expensive furniture. Furnishings of this quality begged for reverence.
“We’re finished, ma’am. If you’d sign here, we’ll be on our way.” A workman handed her a clipboard and a pen. She signed, and the men gathered their tools and left the premises. She locked the door behind them.
Finally, she could look for the picture. She knew where it had been when the Somers first brought the crate over, but they’d since emptied the boxes.
She searched all the logical places—fireplace mantels and tables—and even peeked into the study—but no portrait. Maybe in a bedroom. She ascended the stairs and continued her exploration. This felt invasive now that so many of their personal items were there. She shook off the feeling and reminded herself of her determination to solve the mystery that was Mr. Somers.
Entering Joshua’s room was difficult, she’d avoided it all day. She rubbed the goosebumps on her arms and took a deep breath. There the small portrait sat on his nightstand. Interesting. That’s pretty much the last place she’d expected it to be. She snapped a picture of it, then made sure nothing looked disturbed before she left.
Hurrying through her nightly inspection so she could be on her way, she paused in the doorway of the study. She had the fleeting thought to peek through the trapdoor to see what lurked down there, then decided she’d rather get a head start on the image search. This room officially spooked her after her experience on Saturday. She turned to leave when a streak of red caught her eye. Apprehensive to enter, she switched on the light, hoping to see it was nothing to worry about. The scarlet color brightened beneath the beam. Her legs felt wooden—frozen in place. Forcing herself in, she examined the wall. It was only a smudge, perhaps paint. She peered closer. Or maybe, her pulse
quickened, blood. Her flesh prickled as her eyes traveled down to the floor. Sure enough, there were droplets of the same crimson red that stained the wall. The hair on her arms stood on end. She needed to call the police. She reached for her phone, then remembered the lack of cellular service in the area.
Her imagination ran wild about what went on below her. It could involve torture or maybe a drug deal gone bad. If Mr. Somers were a drug lord, that would explain why he’d had the house built so far from civilization. There could even be a dead body down there. She hopped backward. The thought sent a shiver to her toes.
Between the blood and everything Christopher had shared with her, she sensed a terrible secret loomed beneath that trap door, and she needed to get out. She sprinted to her car and stepped on the gas.
****
“9-1-1. What’s your emergency?”
Ari realized she hadn’t thought it through before dialing. “Uh, I’m calling about a possible crime scene. There’s a bloodstain on the wall of a house I’m decorating.”
“Is it an emergency?”
“I—I don’t know. There could be a body, or something.” She sounded ridiculous.
“There are many reasons for blood that don’t involve a dead body.” The operator said.
“Can you just check it out? I have to work there, and I’m more than a little freaked out right now.”
The operator clearly heard the urgency in Ari’s voice. “Okay, ma’am, I’ll send someone over. Are you there now?”
“No way! If you saw blood on the wall, would you hang around?” Her voice hit a fever pitch. “And I’m not going back there tonight. Can’t you get in without me?”
“Only if you feel someone’s life is in immediate danger. Will you be there tomorrow?”
Ari swallowed down her fear. She never wanted to return to that house, but she had to. “Yes.” Her voice cracked.
“I’ll send an officer out first thing.”
Ari hung up the phone and let out a breath. “She’d be scared, too, if she worked for Mr. Somers.”
The microwave beeped, sending Ari several inches off the ground. She had to calm down. She retrieved her scanty meal and grabbed a soda from the fridge. With her TV dinner next to her laptop, she forced herself to eat a few bites, then signed onto the computer. She’d waited all day for this. Her nerves jangled out of excitement—or fear—she didn’t know which. Probably both. Then followed Maggie’s careful instructions to search for an image.
“And enter.” No hits. She frowned. Then, a passage Sarah had written in one of her journal entries replayed in her mind—something about wanting to go back to her own time. What if I’m looking for him in the wrong era? She shook her head, thinking it sounded crazy, but decided she had nothing to lose by trying. She might at least find a relative.
She broadened her search to include the last decade. Nothing. Two decades, five decades, then a century. This is just getting silly, but I’ll go back to Adam and Eve if I must. Two centuries, then another decade—bingo. Just as she calculated how much time she’d wasted on something that couldn’t possibly be, there it was on the screen—a drawing of Mr. Somers staring back at her. Oh my, this couldn’t be true.
She read the name under the picture, Benjamin Somerset. Somerset, that’s him! Her heartbeat accelerated until reality set in. It couldn’t possibly be him, it would make him over two hundred and fifty years old. She continued scrutinizing the picture. If it wasn’t him, it had to be an ancestor. They could be twins.
Ari decided to Google him again, armed with this new information. She entered: Notorious crimes of the nineteenth century, London, and Benjamin Somerset. It paid off. Several articles popped up about a jewelry heist in London in the year 1814.
Although it was nearing ten o’clock, Ari had an adrenaline rush that kept her reading for hours.
As far as she could tell, no one had been arrested after the heist, but there were a lot of suspicions about who’d done it. Every clue pointed to a man named Benjamin Somerset, son of the notable Earl William Edwin Somerset. “Whoa!” she nearly yelped. “He’s the son of an earl?” That must have caused a scandal.
Bold headlines read “Suspect in the London Diamond Emporium Jewelry heist, Benjamin Somerset, disappears without a trace.” And “Somerset name ruined as son of the Earl of Hemington, Lord William Edwin Somerset, is suspected of killing one man and injuring two guards in jewelry heist, then fleeing with his family.”
Arianna rubbed her eyes and read each article again. This would make sense if it’d happened recently, instead of hundreds of years ago. There was just no way; it couldn’t be him—unless, she swallowed, she had to see what was under the trapdoor in the study. Maybe that was the missing piece.
Tuesday morning Ari entered the house. Although the summer sun shined through the windows, the house took on a surreal, eerie look. The beautiful furnishings, although new, seemed soiled. A knock at the door startled her.
“I’m Officer Wright. I’m here about a possible crime scene.”
“Oh yes.” Ari stifled a frown. Deep down she’d hoped Christopher would respond to the call. “This way.” She led Officer Wright to the study. “It’s right over—” The stain was gone. She dropped to her knees and examined the floor. No blood.
Officer Wright peered at the wall, then back to Ari.
He must have thought she was crazy. She scowled. Maybe she was. She pointed. “It was there on the wall, and on the floor.”
“It looks like someone cleaned it up.”
“That’s just it. No one lives here yet, and I was the last one to leave last night.”
“You’re the decorator, right?”
Ari nodded.
“I assume the owners come and go as they please.” He tapped his foot and arched his brows.
Ari felt like a kindergartener listening to the officer explain common sense to her. Before she could think of an appropriate response, Officer Wright disappeared. “He didn’t even take my statement. And who cleaned up the blood?” She shivered and closed the door to the study. It had to be Mr. Somers, but she had no idea when or how. The eyes of every portrait in the home seemed to follow her. She shook her head. Ridiculous. Now she was imagining things.
****
For the rest of the week Ari couldn’t get the blood or what she’d read on the Internet out of her mind. Her thoughts continually warred with each other. All logic told her everything she’d learned had just been a coincidence—there was no such thing as time travel, which this certainly would have been—that, or reincarnation, which was equally unbelievable. But then, if, by some highly implausible chance the Somers had traveled through time, everything she’d discovered made sense—especially Sarah’s journal entry. Then there was the blood. She couldn’t think about that without spooking herself.
It was distracting her from her work. She needed to focus. And she had to find an opportunity to look through that trapdoor, although every particle of her being screamed at her to stay away from it. Her skin broke into serious goosebumps each time she passed the study.
She did her best to ignore thoughts of the Somers, or Somersets—whoever they were—and put her energy into the last few rooms. There weren’t many, but they needed her undivided attention.
The week crept on at a turtle’s pace.
Tossing and turning Thursday night, sleep eluded Ari. Her apartment had no air conditioner, so she had to keep the windows open to allow a breeze to pass through. Noises from outside spooked her. She knew it was because she’d have to see the Somers tomorrow—more specifically, Mr. Somers—that caused her anxiety, but she needed to sleep.
The one time she did manage to doze off, she dreamt of Mr. Somers breaking down her door and storming into her room, an evil smirk on his face. Beady eyes bored into her while blood dripped from his hands.
She startled herself awake. Cold sweat moistened her pillow. How could she face him in the morning and act as if nothing was wrong? She just couldn’t make sense of it. T
urning her pillow over, she gave it a punch.
Mustering all her courage Friday morning, she headed to work. Despite her fears, she wanted to discover the mysteries of the house, and she ached to help Sarah.
She nearly cried tears of joy when the whole Somers family arrived, instead of just Mr. Somers—the devil himself. They went straight to work unloading and locating places for the boxes of items they’d brought with them.
Having them all there, especially Sarah, helped Ari relax and focus on her job.
At the end of the day, she crept upstairs to Sarah’s room. Retrieving the journal, she sat down on her bed to read the latest entry. Something crinkled beneath her. Odd. This was the softest bedding ever. She stood and pulled the beautiful Barclay Butera bedding back. I wish I could afford even one pillowcase from this designer. She caressed the comforter.
Under the plush spread lay a note to Sarah. Arianna knew that reading it would be an invasion of the girl’s privacy, but, she shrugged, when had that stopped her before? She scowled at the thought of what this project, this house, this family and even Christopher had transformed her into. No one had ever accused her of being a paranoid busy-body before, but that’s what she’d become.
She spread out the paper. Perhaps Sarah had an admirer. Maybe one of the workers. She brightened at the thought.
She began to read.
My Dearest Sarah.
Definitely a love-letter or at least a like-letter. Continuing, she read to the end. Different phrases darted out, raising a platoon of red flags. “I need your help if I am ever to find the device. I have searched this house from top to bottom.” And, “Never let anyone know what you are about. Yours, C.”
Ari’s hands shook, and a dull ache grew in her chest. She thought back to the birthday card left on her doorstep the previous week. The unusually elegant script—script no longer used by anyone she knew—caught her attention. Nowadays no one, especially men, wrote like that. This note was from Christopher.
Time Twist Page 20
