Out of Time: A Time Travel Mystery

by Martin, Monique

Oh, this was a dangerous train of thought. Derail. Derail.

  Simon moaned again, more softly than before and rolled onto his side facing her. His arm fell across her hip. Her stomach dropped, and she froze.

  His eyes opened, and he smiled sleepily.

  She hoped her voice didn’t squeak. “Morning.”

  Simon grinned, but then his expression changed with dawning realization. “Elizabeth,” he said. “Miss West?”

  “Right on both counts.”

  He blinked back at her. “What the devil is...” he said and then noticed his hand resting on her hip. He yanked it back and cleared his throat, moving to his side of the bed. Hastily, he sat up and tried to look as if nothing had happened. “Sorry.” “It’s okay,” she said with a blush.

  Simon cleared his throat again, putting his hands in his lap. She had to hide her smile. He was absolutely adorable when he was befuddled, but she decided to take pity on him. “I’m going to use the bathroom, unless you want to go first?”

  “No,” Simon said. “You go ahead. I’ll...You go ahead.”

  Stifling a giggle, she escaped into the bathroom. When she caught sight of herself in the mirror, her laughter stopped.

  An appalling case of bed head and raccoon eyes stared back. She combed her fingers through her hair, but it stayed poking up like a bouffant gone terribly wrong.

  My kingdom for a hairbrush.

  She tested her breath. Strong enough to kill a wildebeest. How humiliating. She’d actually sat there grinning like an idiot at him. Looking like this.

  She searched the tiny bath. No toothpaste, no hairbrush, no nothing. What a way to make a debut in the twenties, looking like a day passer from an asylum. She did the best she could with the absolute nothing she had. A quick bird bath and finger brushing later, she felt marginally human and slipped on the dress they’d bought yesterday.

  First stop, a pharmacy, she thought. Her stomach rumbled in protest. Breakfast first, pharmacy second. She took one last look in the mirror and sighed.

  You can do this, she told herself. A city was a city. It’s not like they were in the middle ages. How different could it be?

  * * *

  “I’m tellin’ ya that ump was blind. Fletch oughta get him some cheaters. The Babe was robbed. That was a two bagger!” a man growled loudly and thumped his hand on the counter.

  “Don’t see what you’re gripin’ about. Yanks won, didn’t they?” his companion said.

  “It’s the principle of the thing. Ain’t right.”

  Simon glared at them, but their argument continued. It seemed everyone in the diner felt the compulsion to converse loudly enough to wake the dead. He turned back to Elizabeth, who’d been listening to the conversation with glee.

  “Can you imagine getting to see Babe Ruth play?” she said. “If we have time, we are so going to a game.”

  “This isn’t a vacation, Miss West,” he said, picking up his menu.

  “It isn’t a prison sentence either. Think of the opportunity we have. We get to see what it was really like. Not some revisionist history from a book, but the real deal. And I’ve always wanted to go to Yankee Stadium,” she added with a grin.

  “Miss West—”

  “I’m kidding. Mostly. And it’s Elizabeth, remember?” she said, wiggling her ring finger.

  He hadn’t forgotten, but after the incident in bed he felt more compelled than ever to keep his distance. It wasn’t bad enough that he’d dreamt of her and that the dream had coalesced, in a frighteningly smooth way, into reality. But if he was going to wake up every morning with a raging morning erection, this was going to be impossible.

  “First thing we should do is visit the local library,” he said. “We need to know the exact time of the next eclipse.”

  “Wouldn’t want to be caught with our pants down.”

  Simon cleared his throat. “No,” he said and quickly went back to his menu. The prices were absurdly inexpensive. Steak and eggs for a quarter. Coffee and a donut for a dime. Blue plate special only fifteen cents. Remarkable really, or would have been if he had more than twenty dollars to his name.

  He heard someone snapping gum and looked up to see their waitress impatiently tapping her stubby pencil on a pad. “What’ll it be?”

  “You don’t have Wheatina.”

  Snap. Pop. Snap. “Nope.”

  He stared down at the menu looking for something that didn’t sound positively dreadful.

  “We’ll have two specials,” Elizabeth said. “And two coffees, unless you want tea?”

  Simon was about to say something about being able to order for himself, but the idea of some tea in his future blocked out everything else. “Do you have Chinese Gun Powder?”

  “This look like an armory to you, buddy?”

  Elizabeth handed her menu to the waitress. “Two coffees will be fine.”

  Simon pursed his lips and gave up, handing his menu to the waitress. He watched her walk away and looked around the diner. Steam billowed from behind the cook’s counter. A corpulent man with a sour face and a grease-stained T-shirt tossed ridiculously large slabs of meat on the grill behind the long curved counter. There wasn’t even an empty stool, so Simon was pleased they’d managed to get a booth. At least here, they had a modicum of privacy.

  “We won’t be having tea at the Ritz any time soon,”

  Elizabeth said. “Better get used to it.”

  Simon wiped the tabletop in front of him with his napkin and set it aside. “That much is clear.”

  “So, how’d you sleep?”

  “Well enough, thank you,” he said uncomfortably. But she smiled back innocently, and he felt his tensions ease a little. “Did I snore?”

  Elizabeth grinned. “Nope.”

  “You did,” he said.

  “I do not snore.”

  “Like a locomotive,” he teased, thoroughly enjoying her look of embarrassment.

  “That’s not a very nice thing to say.”

  “The truth is often ugly,” he said, trying not to smile.

  She blushed. Beautifully. “Did I really snore?”

  “It was more of a gurgling sound really.”

  “Oh, really? Well, better a gurgler than a bed-hog.”

  “I beg your pardon.”

  “You practically pushed me off the side.”

  “I did? I’m sorry. I...” Who knows what he’d done in his sleep. If it was anything like what he dreamt of...

  “I was joking. Mostly. You did bogart the middle a little, but it is a small bed and well, by size rights you should have two thirds anyway. It’s only fair.”

  Simon was about to argue the point when the waitress arrived with the coffee.

  Elizabeth took a sip and let out a contented sigh. “Oh, I needed that. So, after the library, what’s next on the hit parade?”

  Simon tried the coffee. It was too strong and too bitter, but he forced it down. “That depends on how long we have to stay here. I had considered trying to contact my grandfather.”

  She seemed surprised at that.

  “He was living in London at this time, I believe. Although, aside from the difficulty of tracking him down, I’m not sure we should. There’s no guarantee he knows anything about the watch at this point in time. We have no idea when it came into his possession, and if I were to tell him something about the future, the consequences could be disastrous.”

  He took another sip of coffee. It didn’t taste any better than the first. And his beard was beginning to itch. “We have to do everything we can to ensure the integrity of the timeline.”

  “I’ve been thinking about that. Your grandfather seemed to get pretty involved in the times he visited. Brunch with the death eaters and all.”

  “No doubt he embellished his adventures for my benefit.” Although at this point, the line between fact and fiction seemed blurred beyond recognition.

  “Could be. But then again, maybe not,” she said, her brow furrowing in thought. “The Heisenberg Principle s
ays that we change what we study by the very act of studying it. Maybe he was telling the truth.”

  “Perhaps.” Regardless, he thought, the less they were involved in the unknown here the easier it would be to keep an eye on her. There were far too many factors as it was, in a city and a time he was unfamiliar with. Adding in more could only spell disaster. She was far too open and accepting, but she wasn’t a fool. She had a good head on her shoulders, and he decided to appeal to her logic. “But, you must admit, reason dictates, the less we interfere here the better.”

  Elizabeth nodded grudgingly. “Well, we’re going to have to do a little interfering. If the eclipse is more than a day or two away, and judging from our luck, my money’s on months, we’re going to have to find a way to earn money. Even at these prices twenty dollars won’t last much more than a week. We’re going to have to get jobs.”

  She was right, of course. How did she manage such calm, even enthusiasm in the face of this gaping maw of uncertainty? Didn’t the prospect of spending months, perhaps a lifetime here unsettle her in the least? Simon sighed and forced his mind back to the issue at hand. Money had to be a priority. It was a rather daunting prospect. He had never wanted for money in his life and he sincerely doubted there was a great call here for professors of the occult. “I don’t think it’s quite that simple.”

  “Two specials,” the waitress said, putting down plates laden with eggs, hash browns, bacon and toast. “Anything else?”

  “Know where we might find some jobs?” Elizabeth asked. “We’re new in town and really don’t have any idea where to start.”

  The waitress raked her eyes over Simon and arched a thinly plucked eyebrow, before turning back to Elizabeth. “There’s a chalk board over on Fourth and Broadway. Lists all sorts of jobs, but I don’t think they’re exactly your type.”

  Elizabeth grinned. “You never know. Thanks.”

  The waitress snapped her gum and ripped their bill off her pad. “Good luck, honey.”

  Elizabeth smiled triumphantly. “That wasn’t so hard. Library, job boards. Looks like it’s going to be a busy day,” she said and dug into her food with relish. “Better eat yours before it gets cold.”

  Simon poked a fork into his runny eggs. Busy indeed.

  * * *

  Elizabeth had never ridden a subway before. The cars bumped along, jigging from side to side, as they clattered through the dark tunnels. She felt like a native, bouncing in her seat like the rest of the passengers. If they only knew.

  The train’s brakes squealed as it ground to a halt at the 42nd Street station. She and Simon fell in with the press of people hurrying out the doors and up the steps. She could see the library looming down the block.

  It was enormous and oddly comforting. Inside, it looked like every other public library in a big city. Same vaulting architecture and marble floors. It felt like a little bit of home.

  They found a book on eclipses easily and settled into one of the long tables in the main reference hall. Elizabeth watched Simon skim through the pages until he hit the one they’d been searching for. His face was unreadable as he closed the book.

  “Well?” Elizabeth prompted. “You going to tell me or what?”

  “It could have been worse.”

  It was an annoying habit of his, withholding information just for the privilege of watching someone squirm in anticipation. “And?”

  “The next lunar eclipse will occur September 3rd of this year.”

  “Six weeks?”

  “So it would seem,” he said.

  September third. That was a month and a half before the stock market crash. She hated to admit it, but Simon was right—they should limit their involvement in the culture. She’d read enough science fiction to know that, but it was so tempting. To be able to avert one of the darkest periods in American history. Not that she really could. What was she going to do? Walk the streets wearing a sandwich board that said, “Sell your stocks! Black Tuesday approaches!” They’d lock her up and throw away the key. Still, it was an enticing idea. But there were definitely more pressing matters to think about. Six weeks was a long time. And even then, there was no guarantee the watch would work. They might be trapped there forever.

  “Are you all right, Miss West?”

  “Just thinking.”

  “Indeed,” he said with a sigh. “Since we seem to be stuck here for an extended period, I suppose we should look into employment.”

  The way he said employment nearly made her laugh, as if he were being asked to live in a basket of snakes. Her own fears about what may or may not come fell away. Why was it facing adversity was easier when someone else needed you? “It’s not that bad.”

  “You almost sound as though you’re pleased with this turn of events.”

  “Like you said, it could have been worse. Now that we know, it’s not so bad really. It’s kind of an adventure.”

  He frowned, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Your definition of adventure is deeply skewed.”

  * * *

  After they’d finished at the library, they started back to lower Manhattan. Fifth Avenue was a far cry from their neighborhood, at least the little she’d seen. Huge buildings stretched toward the sky, except for one huge hole in the ground. A large, elaborate sign stood at the rim—“Future Site of the Empire State Building - Starrett Bros. & Eken”. The Empire State Building, something that seemed so old in her mind, hadn’t even been built yet.

  Everything about the city seemed about to happen. As if every person, every thing were on the verge of something better. She always thought New York would feel oppressive, impersonal, but it was just the opposite. Energizing and inspiring, where the only limit was your own imagination.

  Reality, however, came back with a swift vengeance when they reached the job boards on Broadway. Most of the offerings had already been erased, leaving only dishwashing for fifty cents a day. So much for getting a job easily.

  But, as she always told herself back home, if you can’t make money, spend money. Simon had balked at first, until she pointed out that he could simply never shave again. Off they went to F. W. Woolworth Co. 5 and 10 Cent Store.

  The Woolworth’s back home had been nothing like this. Complete with a soda fountain, which Simon wouldn’t let her try, the store had everything a person could want. Clothes, canned goods, jewelry, personal items.

  For someone who’d never lived on a fixed budget, Simon was absolutely miserly. She managed to finagle a few items anyway. Toiletries were a must. The sales woman suggested a new product—Charmin bath tissue. What in God’s name did they use before? The soap smelled more like lye than lilacs, but at least it was something. They bought all the necessities: toothpaste, hairbrushes and a safety razor looked anything but. They purchased towels and undergarments (Simon had delicately disappeared for that one), and one pair of pajamas. Simon hadn’t thought her suggestion that he be tops and she be bottoms was all that funny. But with less than ten dollars left, they couldn’t afford a second pair.

  * * *

  It was early afternoon when they dropped off their packages at the apartment and hit the pavement again. For such a big city, there were precious few jobs to be had. It certainly didn’t help not having the faintest idea where to look.

  They wandered aimlessly for a few hours before Simon suggested they work on a grid. Walking the business districts block by block, east to west. By late afternoon, they’d traveled from Columbia Street on the East to Bowery on the West. Still no jobs, not even a nibble.

  As the day wore on, Simon grew more and more quiet. She knew he held himself responsible for them being there. She also knew that no amount of talking would make him feel otherwise. Screwing on her best smile, she suggested they get an early dinner.

  They walked a few more blocks when the unmistakable smell of garlic cooking in olive oil caught her attention. She sniffed the air like a bloodhound on the scent and led them further down Delancy. Even before she saw the street sign, she knew wh
ere she was—Mulberry Street, the heart of Little Italy.

  “Just like in ‘The Godfather’,” she said in awe.

  Simon was unimpressed. “Quaint.”

  “Oh, come on, look at it,” she said, tugging on his sleeve and pulling him into the fray.

  The street was small, barely wide enough for two cars, and bursting with life. Sidewalk cafes crowded with men playing cards and dominoes. Groceries with large wooden boxes displayed fresh fruits and vegetables on the sidewalk. Push carts selling every food imaginable clogged the streets. A few cars trying to weave through the mass crawled along more slowly than the people on foot. Green and white awnings jutted from the brick facades. Lace curtains covered the lower half of etched glass windows. And the smells. Garlic and oregano. Basil and simmering olive oil.

  Three men in black pants with crisp white shirts leaned against a light pole smoking cigarettes. “Ah, bambina. Molto bella. Venga averci una bevanda con.”

  Elizabeth giggled. “Hello.”

  Simon grunted and moved between the men and her, taking her arm and hurrying her past.

  “Isn’t this great?” she asked.

  Simon let go of her arm. “Charming.”

  He could be a spoilsport all he wanted to. She’d wanted to come to Mulberry Street since she was a little girl. A friend of her father’s, Tony Funnico, used to tell her stories about growing up there. Fun Tony, that’s what the other men called him, was always ready with a story. She’d spent many nights sitting with him, after he’d lost all he had to lose. As she looked at the young boys running down the street in their caps and knickers, she wondered if he might be one of them.

  They had a quick dinner, eaten standing on the sidewalk, of sausages and onions wrapped in flat bread. She really wanted a canoli for desert. Fun Tony said Mulberry Street had the best in the world. However, with their money so tight, a canoli was a luxury item they couldn’t afford. Later, when they had money, she’d come back and eat one of every kind.

  After dinner, on their way home, they zigged when they should have zagged and found themselves off the beaten path. The street was deserted and eerily quiet. Elizabeth hummed a Cole Porter tune she’d heard playing in a music store. It was a nervous habit she’d picked up from her father. She glanced over at Simon and could tell from the way his back was ramrod straight and his eyes were narrowed that he was tense.