Hearts Through Time

by Unknown

  “How lovely. Do you know, while I was strolling through my memories of yesteryear a few minutes ago, I remembered the get-together we had after my father’s funeral. I mourned him, of course, but I wondered how I could take care of everything. I was suddenly an heiress, and I didn’t know what to do. All my life people had taken care of me, and there I was, ready to begin a new phase, not knowing how to start.”

  “If you had lived, do you know what would you have done?” Nick asked.

  “I didn’t give myself enough time to think about it. I was too heartbroken. When my father died, I was hopelessly lost.”

  “Exactly how did your father die?”

  “Doctors said it was a heart attack. I didn’t believe them. My father was very healthy.”

  “Do you think he was murdered?”

  She shrugged. “If he was, I don’t know how they could have killed him and made it look like a heart attack.”

  “Very true. Back then it couldn’t have happened easily, but nowadays there are ways to do just that.”

  “Why does that not surprise me?”

  “If someone killed your father, it was the same person who killed you—I’m sure of it. And I’m quite sure it was over your inheritance.”

  “Yes, I believe you’re correct,” Abigail replied. “Why else would anyone want me dead? I wasn’t a mean person in the least. People liked me and enjoyed my company. That’s what they told me, anyway.”

  “It’s good to know you haven’t changed.” He winked at her. “What I’d like you to do tonight is to think back to the day you were killed. I want you to try to remember any detail you can about the people around you—everyone you talked to that day. There has to be something that will lead us to the killer.”

  “I hope I can remember something of importance. After my father died, there were times I thought I was going insane.”

  Nick glanced at her before returning his attention to the road. “Why? Because of your mourning?”

  Abigail shook her head. “No. It was because some things in my house came up missing.”

  “Someone was stealing from you?”

  “That’s what I first suspected, but then the items would mysteriously show up again in a different place.”

  “What kind of things?” Nick asked.

  “Personal items. Jewelry, gowns, even some paintings my father had bought for me while he was in Paris.”

  “But they always showed up again?”

  “Yes. That’s why I thought I was going insane. Lily assured me it was because I was devastated over the loss of my father. She even hinted a few times that I could have been the one who put the items there and had forgotten.”

  “So she thought you were the one misplacing these things?”

  Abigail shrugged. “That’s the way I understood it. But I was devastated, Nick, so perhaps Lily was correct in assuming I had lost my mind.”

  “Sorry, Abby, I don’t buy it,” he said. “But we can look at that matter tomorrow. Tonight, I want you to remember every little detail you can about that day you were killed.”

  “As you wish.”

  Nick drove them back to the building and parked the car. He turned in his seat and touched her shoulder. “I hope you don’t hate me for ending our evening, but I have a big day tomorrow and need to get some rest.”

  “I understand. You have other clients, and they pay.”

  He chuckled. “I don’t mind that you’re not a paying client. Your charming presence makes up for that.”

  Laughing, she swatted his arm, although nothing made contact. “I have heard about lawyers—that their storytelling is almost as big as their paychecks.”

  Somber eyes stared back at her as he swept his fingers across her cheek. “The truth is, Abby, I enjoy every second I’m with you, and when we’re apart, I count the minutes until I see you again.”

  She sighed. “That’s exactly how I feel with you.”

  Nick’s fingers trailed over her skin, across her chin, then touched her lips. Then he pulled away abruptly and climbed out of the car. After he opened her door, she got out and stood in front of him. Once again his gaze dropped to her lips, but he simply smiled and escorted her back to the building.

  Nick had spent the whole night tossing and turning. He couldn’t get Abby off his mind—being so close to her did that to him. He finally knew how she felt about him. Why had he let the attraction grow? Then again, it was hard not to when she looked so happy every time he touched her. Thinking back about their drive to her house, and the time they spent sitting out front talking, made him smile. Getting to know her better made him want to know her that much more, but he knew it was impossible for them to have a relationship.

  The morning had passed slowly, and after two meetings with clients, Nick thought he was going to pass out from weariness. However, he perked up when he saw his next visitor. Mr. Moore had returned.

  “Please, come in,” Nick said, motioning his hand toward the chairs opposite his desk.

  Mr. Moore looked around warily as he approached. He held rosary beads with a cross and lifted it in the air as if trying to ward off bad spirits.

  Nick rolled his eyes. “Mr. Moore, I know what you’re thinking, but I don’t have ghosts in here.”

  “I don’t know, Mr. Marshal. I think you do.” The man’s wide eyes met Nick’s. “I talked with my priest the other day, and he believes as I do.”

  Oh, good grief! “Mr. Moore, please don’t trouble yourself. Even if I did have ghosts—and I’m not saying I do—who’s to say they’re not friendly?” Nick winked at the man.

  “I know someone who could come and check for you.” Mr. Moore walked to the desk, his eyes still carefully scanning the room. “She performs séances all the time. She’ll definitely chase away the spirit that remains here.”

  “No!” Nick almost shouted, then quickly stopped himself. He chuckled to soothe over the awkward moment. “What I meant to say was no, I don’t need your friend. Believe me, there are no ghosts here.”

  “How do you explain the chair moving?” Mr. Moore asked.

  “Um, well, the wheel got caught on that extension cord.” Nick shrugged. “After you left that day, I checked, and when I’d tripped on the cord, it pulled on the chair.”

  The client arched an eyebrow. “If you say so.”

  “I do. Now should we get to business?”

  The next hour passed slowly. Nick could tell Mr. Moore didn’t believe his story about the chair, because the man kept glancing warily around the room. Every time the floor in the hallway creaked, or the elevator down the hall chimed, the older man jumped. It wasn’t until he left that Nick could breathe easier.

  In between appointments, he searched the Internet for more information about Alexander Carlisle. That man was the numberone suspect on Nick’s list. He knew Abby’s uncle had a lot of reasons to want her inheritance, but would he kill for it?

  Finally, Nick found the obituary for Alexander Carlisle. The date of death grabbed Nick’s attention: the man had died two months after Abby’s murder. That couldn’t be right! Nick dug deeper. According to the article, Alexander and his wife were in an automobile accident. He had died immediately from his injuries, and his wife was in critical condition at St. Mary’s Hospital for seven days before she passed away.

  Nick’s fingers flew across the keyboard as he searched until he found a newspaper article about the accident. The brakes in the Carlisles’ vehicle had failed as they were driving home from vacation, and the car had rolled down a mountain.

  With Alexander out of the picture, that meant his wife, Julia, had inherited the Carlisle fortune. But when she died just a week after the accident, the money had been passed to her son Anthony, Abby’s cousin.

  Edward Carlisle had been a powerful society figure in his day, and Nick guessed that many people had wanted the Carlisle fortune. He just needed to figure out who would’ve been willing to kill for it.

  As Nick researched the newspaper Edward had o
wned, he stopped on an article called “The Rise and Fall of the Sacramento Journal.” The piece told how Edward Carlisle started the paper as a young man, and how he built it over the years into a thriving company. At the death of his daughter, the company was turned over to Alexander Carlisle, but within one month, the investors pulled out. Edward Carlisle’s vice president, Harry Westland, arranged to buy the company from Alexander exactly two weeks before the car accident.

  Westland? The same Westland that had married Cassandra, Vanessa’s grandmother? Nick tapped his pencil on the desktop, mentally piecing everything together.

  Soon it was the end of the day, and Abby still hadn’t shown up. Nick locked his office, then took the elevator to the top floor. The lights were on in several offices, so he knew people were still there, but he hoped nobody would notice him sneaking into the attic.

  The door opened with ease this time. He turned on the light and looked around but couldn’t see Abby. “Abby, are you here?”

  Expecting to see her materialize, he waited. But after a few minutes with no sign of her, he began to worry that something had happened.

  “Abby?” he said in a louder voice.

  Nothing.

  Where can she be? he wondered. She couldn’t leave the building without him, so that was out of the question. Perhaps she was just asleep. She’d told him once that sometimes she’d sleep and wouldn’t awaken for days, weeks, or even months. Nick inhaled sharply at the thought, knowing he’d go insane if he didn’t see her soon.

  He shook his head. Maybe he was already insane. He’d never acted this way over a woman! Yet Abby was no ordinary woman. He’d finally gotten to know what made a woman tick before the relationship turned physical. He’d finally fallen in love with the woman inside, and not just her outward appearance.

  Now the question was, would Abby ever become real? When he’d first met her, his hand had passed right through her, but now he was getting closer to actually touching her. She was real to him in so many ways, but Nick longed to hold her, to kiss her.

  “Abby, honey, where are you?”

  Silence answered him, and unease filled his chest. Had she somehow crossed over? Was she gone for good? No—he wouldn’t accept that answer. She would have at least said goodbye to him.

  Finally, Nick left the attic, took the elevator to the ground floor, and walked to the parking lot. His chest felt tight, and emptiness consumed his soul. What had happened to Abby?

  Ten

  Abigail awoke suddenly, horrible memories crowding her mind. She’d gone to sleep thinking of the day she was killed and the events that happened right before she died.

  Groaning, she rubbed her forehead. She remembered that day well. She’d stayed in her bedroom most of the morning, turning away visitors and friends. Even her maid wasn’t her cheerful self. Now Abigail suspected she knew why, since Lily had probably been her father’s secret mistress.

  After a late lunch, Abigail had taken a walk and ended up at the newspaper office. Her father’s best friend, Harry, had tried to cheer her up, but it hadn’t worked. She had locked herself in her father’s office and sat in his chair, pondering her seemingly bleak future. That’s when her uncle Alexander came to see her, demanding that she make him her legal guardian so he could assist her with her inheritance. He even threatened to prove her unfit or insane, just so he would get her father’s money. Her uncle had picked the wrong time to broach that subject, so Abigail had Harry throw him out just like he’d done when her uncle had come to visit her a few days previously.

  She had been so exhausted after her uncle left that she’d fallen asleep at her father’s desk. When she awoke, it was dark. She thought about turning on a light, but her throbbing headache made her think better of it. Suddenly, the floor creaked and Abigail heard the click of a pistol, then noticed the pungent odor of gunpowder.

  Then a dream took over, not having anything to do with her murder. Instead, the light in her father’s office turned on, and Nick swept her in his arms and carried her out of the room. He kissed her so deeply it made her heart sing. He told her he’d been waiting for a woman like her all of his life. He said he loved her and always wanted to be with her.

  Abigail smiled now as she stretched her arms above her head. How she prayed that dream would come true. More than anything, she wanted to be in Nick’s arms forever.

  She glanced at the digital clock someone had left in the attic a few years back, and it read six thirty p m. But it wasn’t Monday as she’d thought. It was Tuesday!

  She shrieked and rushed out of the attic. Nick was going to see Cassandra Brown today. Had he left already? When she reached his brightly lit office, she sighed and hurried inside.

  Nick was just slipping on his pinstriped gray suit jacket, and he spun to face her. “It’s about time. Where have you been?”

  At least he seemed relieved to see her. “Please forgive me, Nick. I fell asleep and lost track of time.”

  He walked closer and stopped only inches in front of her. “My dear, you slept almost forty-eight hours.”

  She shrugged. “I know. Sometimes that happens.”

  “Well, I’m on my way to see Cassandra Brown. Do you want to come?”

  “Oh, yes! I hoped I hadn’t missed it.”

  He turned out the light and locked the door. They hurried to his convertible, and although Nick was a tall man, Abigail managed to match his stride. Maybe she was more excited about meeting Cassandra than she cared to admit.

  On the drive to the nursing home, Abigail told Nick all she could remember about the day she was murdered. She didn’t dare tell him about her dream about him. Even if she were brazen enough to tell him, it could never come true.

  “I didn’t remember anything out of the ordinary. Everything happened just as I’d told you.”

  “What about smells? When you awoke in the dark room and heard someone, did you smell anything?” Nick asked. “Was the person wearing cologne or perfume? Did the person smell like printer’s ink?”

  Closing her eyes, Abigail tried to recall everything about those last few minutes. But as hard as she tried, nothing new came to mind. “No. I don’t remember any smell, except of course for the Bourbon and the gun powder.”

  Nick glanced at her. “Bourbon?”

  “Yes. My father used to drink that. The scent lingered in his room even after he died.”

  Nick chuckled. “That was my drink of choice for several years. Every time I socialized, I ordered bourbon. But I stopped drinking when I realized I couldn’t drink away my problems.”

  “You were wise to think that.” She grinned. “But I find it a coincidence that you and my father liked the same drink.”

  “Is it a coincidence?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “There have been a lot of things happening between us lately that aren’t so coincidental.” He smiled. “At least that’s what I’ve discovered.”

  Nick had left the convertible top down, and Abigail rested her head back to look up at the night sky. “My grandmother told me about you. The first time she mentioned you, I had just turned eighteen. She said she’d had a dream about the man who would help her granddaughter. Her next dream was a week before my father died. After that dream, she told me your initials. Funny how she knew things back then without really knowing.”

  “Do you want to hear something else strange?” Nick asked.

  “What?”

  “My mother was considered a crazy woman when I was young. She conjured up potions to heal people, but mainly she liked to read their minds, or tell them about their loved ones who’d passed on. She read people’s palms and told them about their future.”

  Nick was silent for a few minutes as they drove through town. Then he continued, “One day she came to see me. This was when I lived in Hollywood. My mother told me my lifestyle would eventually ruin my career. Before she left, she told me that looking for women in the clubs I frequented was not where I’d find my true love. She said my soul mate was
out there, but she’d be a woman who traveled a long distance to see me.”

  Chills ran up Abigail’s arms. “Are you jesting?”

  He glanced at her and nodded before returning his attention to the road. “I’m dead serious, Abby. Of course, I didn’t believe her then, either. It wasn’t until the day after I met you that I recalled that conversation with her.” He shook his head. “Very strange.”

  “Do you think she was talking about me?”

  “I’m really starting to think that.”

  “That reminds me of the birthday present my grandmother gave me. It was a locket.” On impulse, Abigail placed her hand on her neck, on the very spot where she’d worn the piece of jewelry. “Apparently, it had been in the family for many generations. She told me it would bring my heart’s deepest desire, if I only believed.” She sighed and shook her head. “I wish I knew what happened to it. When I realized I was dead, I wasn’t wearing the locket.”

  Nick looked at her again, this time grinning. “So, what is your heart’s deepest desire?”

  Heat crept up Abigail’s cheeks as she thought of her dream. As much as she wanted to confess, she couldn’t. “At the time, my heart’s desire was to find a man who would love me, for me and not my father’s money.”

  “So do you think I’m your soul mate?” Nick asked with a chuckle.

  “I don’t know, Nick. All of this is so hard for me to understand.” She leaned toward him. “If we are soul mates, then why am I a ghost, and why were we born a century apart?”

  He frowned. “I haven’t figured that one out yet.”

  As he pulled into the parking lot of the nursing home, he groaned and pointed to the mint green Jaguar parked in the visitor parking.

  “What’s amiss, Nick?”

  “Our dear Vanessa is here.”

  Abigail gasped and looked around. “Where?”

  “That’s her car over there.”

  “Do you want me to get rid of her like I did the last time she came to your office?”