Glassford Girl: Boxed Set (Complete Series) (Time Jumper Series)

by Jay J. Falconer

  If she had antagonized them, they might be waiting around the next corner. She needed to be extra careful when she left. They could be anywhere.

  A few minutes later, a glass of ice water slid in front of her, along with a straw still wrapped in paper, a metal fork, and a tall slice of red velvet cake. The dessert was smothered with a half-inch of white frosting and topped with a dash of red sprinkles.

  “Wait, I didn’t order that,” Emily said, worrying she’d have to pay for it.

  “My treat. I hope you like red velvet cake. Our fabulous pastry chef just made it this afternoon.”

  “Are you kidding me? It’s my all-time fave,” Emily said, grabbing the fork. She took turns stuffing her mouth with cake and then washing it down with water. The rich, smooth treat was incredible, especially the generous layer of frosting. It only took seconds for her energy level to pick up, invigorated by the massive sugar rush.

  When she was done, she nearly licked the plate clean, put the fork on it and slid it across the table to Tally. “That was totally amazing. Thank you.”

  “I thought you might have needed something to eat. A beautiful young girl like you needs to keep her strength up.”

  “To tell you the truth, I didn’t think I was hungry until I tasted it. Then I couldn’t stop. Thank you soooo much.”

  Tally smiled, then swung her head around to look at the front window. “Any sign of them?”

  Emily stood up and walked to the front door, her eyes darting up and down the street. “Nope. Looks like they’re gone for good.”

  “If you need me to call 9-1-1 or a cab, I will. Better to be safe than sorry.”

  Emily couldn’t pay for a cab and couldn’t afford for the cops to get involved, either. “No. No need for that. I’m sure it’s safe now.”

  “Are you sure? I don’t mind, really. Only takes a phone call.”

  “I appreciate your concern, but no. I need to get going. Got somewhere I need to be,” Emily said, pushing the door open. “Thanks for the water and the yummy cake,” she said before the door closed behind her.

  The sidewalk greeted her, where she stood to get her bearings and run through a plan of action in her head. She had time to go see Jim before hanging out with Junie. The last time she’d seen him was after the explosion. Her mind flashed to a memory of him lying unconscious on the ground, bleeding.

  His house wasn’t far away. Shouldn’t take long to pop in and say hi, she decided.

  Emily went into stealth mode, planning to stick to the back streets and alleys on her way to Jim’s. She prayed the tweakers weren’t waiting for her around a dark corner.

  CHAPTER FORTY

  Jim Miller opened the folder of Emily notes while sitting in his favorite booth in his restaurant. He looked at Detective Alison sitting across from him.

  “About a year and a half ago, I was up early, watching the news and drinking coffee,” Miller said, lifting his shot glass to take another swill of heaven.

  He pulled out a picture of Emily—the one taken from the overhead security camera at the Italian restaurant. He angled it at Alison. “They were running a piece about the shootout in that Italian joint—you know the one.”

  “How could anyone forget? A lot of blood spilled that day.”

  “I saw this on the news and heard the story about two young girls and some gangbangers. You know me. I’m always looking for a story. It struck me as odd—two teenage girls in a shootout? Especially when I heard the call from the Irish Cultural Center come through over the scanner, tagging the suspect—the redhead. I put two and two together, went over, and took these.”

  Jim fanned out more photos on the table in front of his buddy. They showed Emily in the back of a police car outside the Irish Cultural Center.

  “You took these?” Alison asked, picking the photos up and shuffling through them.

  “Shot some video of one of your officers roughing her up, too. You should be glad I’m the one who captured that little abuse of authority. Otherwise, it would’ve been all over the news. Imagine the backlash.”

  “So far you haven’t told me anything I don’t know.”

  “Sorta my point. But let me finish.” He took the next two photos and tossed them in front of Alison, spinning them like he was dealing cards. The snapshots centered on the hollowed, charred area in the back seat of the police cruiser, taken shortly after Emily disappeared from custody.

  “Where’d you get these?”

  “After the girl was arrested and taken for booking, I decided to take a trip down to County to see if I could gather any more information. On the way, I just so happened to stumble across the very same patrol car and took a look inside. Imagine my surprise when I saw that the girl was gone, the officer was dead, and only a black hole remained.”

  Alison looked like he’d just seen a ghost. “Yeah, forensics came up empty across the board. The captain’s been in a foul mood ever since. Can’t blame him, though. When you lose one of your own, everyone’s hypersensitive until it’s solved.”

  “I doubt you’ll ever solve it.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “Simple, really. What I think actually happened defies logic. Not to mention conventional science. In fact, everything about this girl seems to be tied to a riddle that’s been wrapped inside a smoke screen.”

  “That’s for damn sure.”

  “Anyway—after that point in time, she was a ghost in the wind, right? Nothing for over a year. Then another call goes out over the scanner. A redheaded teenage girl appears naked in the middle of the street. She tangles with a cab driver and steals his ride. Coincidence? I think not. There’s a clear pattern forming.”

  “You’ve done your homework, Millsy. Impressive.”

  “That was the day of the shootout with your men. The day they used me for live target practice.”

  “Yeah. Yeah. Ancient history. Get to the point, already.”

  “I am. Just trying to lay it all out for you.”

  “In a slow crawl. I’ve seen mold grow faster.”

  “Look, I’m trying to tell you that you were right. I lied to you about not knowing her. That day—the day of the shootout—I went and found her. Brought her here. We had a long meet and greet before the Locos jumped us.”

  “You found her? How?”

  “I checked the shelters. Found her at the third one I checked. Simple detective work. You remember what that is, right?”

  “Don’t test me, pal. You’re on thin ice already.”

  “Just trying to explain.”

  “So, which one?”

  “New Hope Mission. Just south of downtown.”

  “Then you didn’t simply stumble into her having an altercation with the West Side Locos?”

  “Nope. Turns out I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. So was she. I’m not sure what the Locos were doing in the neighborhood, since it’s Gatos territory. All I can figure is they must have spotted her standing out in front while she was waiting for me to lock up. Recognized her from the restaurant—wanted payback—that type of thing. When we stepped onto the sidewalk, they came out of nowhere and ambushed us.”

  Before Jim could continue, he heard Alison’s stomach rumble a long, irregular tune. Then Alison burped through a twisted mouth, grimaced, and held a hand to his stomach.

  “Ulcer naggin’ at ya?” Jim asked with concern.

  “Yep. Like an army of ex-wives.”

  “When was the last time you ate?”

  “Don’t remember. Been a busy couple of days.”

  “You gotta eat, Alice. Or that thing’s gonna rip you apart from the inside.”

  “Yeah. Easy for you to say. You don’t have the captain breathing down your neck.”

  “I’ll tell you what. How about we take a break and I throw something together in the kitchen. I’m sure there are some fresh ribeye’s in the walk-in. Maybe hand-cut some curly fries to help calm the beast in your belly.”

  “Works for me,” Alison said, nev
er taking his eyes off the Emily photos. “Just none of that fucking horseradish. Probably kill me right now.”

  * * *

  Emily made it to the alley behind Jim Miller’s house without incident. No chromed-out SUVs, no cops, no creepers, no tweakers, no biker dudes—no street urchins of any kind. A minute later she came across his house. She recognized it instantly, or what was left of it—a shroud of hanging plastic covered the back door and its windows.

  She scaled the fence and walked through the back yard quietly, stopping a few feet past the scorched patch of dirt where the Orange Man had disappeared. She stood in front of the makeshift plastic door. The material was thick, with hanging folds in it, but she could see inside. The house was mostly dark except for a night light in the kitchen. She waited and listened, but didn’t hear anything, nor was there any movement in the shadows.

  Jim was either asleep or not home. But which? Then it hit her: check the driveway.

  Her feet moved on their own, taking her around the first corner of the house and along its side, passing through the squeaky side gate, beyond the fishing boat, and into the front yard. The driveway was empty; only oil stains remained. Jim wasn’t home.

  That left one other option—his café. She went back into stealth mode, and in less than the time it takes to make spaghetti, she was standing behind Miller’s restaurant. This time, she found lights on in the building: both in the back and along the side.

  But who was inside?

  Her friend, or someone else?

  Last time she entered this place at night, Rob the Rapist jumped her, tied her up naked, and was ready to do unspeakable things to her.

  A memory flashed of Derek smashing Rob’s face with the baseball bat. She smiled, thinking of her courageous white knight who appeared just in time to rescue her. Right before the twisted child killer had a chance to forcibly take her virginity.

  Since Derek wasn’t going to be part of the equation this time, she needed to stay alert. She went to the side of the building and snuck along the outside wall to the first window, passing a pile of junk that Jim must have been storing for God knows what.

  Across from the window and along the fence was a wooden trellis covered in a web of dormant vines. There was also a string of metal garbage cans—each with a lid sitting awkwardly on top. Emily could understand the need for the vines—to give customers a nice view of greenery as they enjoyed their meal; but the trash cans? Perhaps someone was in the middle of taking the trash out when they were interrupted. It would explain why they were partially blocking the narrow pathway along the building. She shrugged, then leaned around the edge of the window to take a peek inside the dining room.

  Her heart lit up when her eyes found Jim Miller seated at a table—the very table where she and he had first gotten to know each other. The same table from the night when he tracked her down and bought her dinner, then showed her a spread of photos documenting her life.

  A full smile came over her lips when she realized that her hunch had been right: Jim was at his café, and he looked healthy. Then her smile ran dry when she noticed something else—his lips were moving. A moment later, his hands and arms began to gesture wildly.

  Someone else was in the room—probably sitting across from him.

  However, from her position, she couldn’t see who it was—a half-wall separating the adjacent row of booths was blocking her view. She dropped to her knees and crawled below the window frame to change her position. Fifteen feet later, she was at the far side of the second window, where she stood up and put her back against the wall. Again, she leaned in slowly to take a look, keeping as much of her body hidden as possible.

  The change in angle worked. She could see the face of the other person. Jim was talking to his Marine buddy, Detective Alison. On the table between them were several empty plates, a whiskey bottle, a couple of shot glasses, a folder and . . . several photos. What? Photos?

  Her jaw dropped when Jim picked the snapshots up and put them in the folder. Right then, she knew—the photos were of her. Emily felt a sharp, stabbing pain in her chest. Right before her eyes, Miller was betraying her to the cops. The cops! He must have been telling Alison her entire story—what else could he be doing? How could he? After all they’d been through together?

  She wanted to scream at him and pound on the window for him to stop, but didn’t. Instead, her logic took over, reminding her of something important. Something that she had strayed from: her rules—the concrete set of dos and don’ts that she used to follow like a religion. Rules designed to keep herself out of situations like this.

  Rule Number Seven: Don’t get involved. Nothing good ever comes of it.

  Stupid, stupid, stupid. She had her rules for a reason. This exact reason. How had she let herself get this far off course? This far from her metaphysical center. Yet, despite all her logic and mental training, her emotions were too powerful. The tears came and her logic went, retreating into the darkness.

  “Why, Jim? Why? How could you do this to me?” she whispered through quivering lips. She couldn’t believe what she was seeing. “I trusted you. And now this?”

  She turned and took off running, but her feet caught one of the trash cans sitting in the side yard, sending it toppling over with a loud clang. Its lid went flying, too, smashing into the fence, adding to the noise level. Emily was completely out of stealth mode now, and didn’t care. She increased her speed, crashing through more items stacked in the side yard, knocking down a dilapidated birdbath and a plastic patio set.

  When she rounded the corner of the building, she heard a door opening and it was coming from in front of her. She looked and there he was: Miller—the traitor. Standing there with eyes wide. Staring at her like the bastard he was.

  Their eye contact lasted only a moment, then she crossed the turf and flew out the gate. She thought she heard Jim yell something, but she didn’t care. He could go screw himself.

  She didn’t stop running until she arrived at the side door of the shelter a few blocks away. She was winded and needed Junie—a friendly face and a kind soul—someone who would never betray her. Ever.

  * * *

  A few minutes earlier . . .

  Jim watched Alison finish chewing that last mouthful of steak, take a slug of his whiskey, and put the glass on the table.

  “So that’s it?” Alison asked, spinning the glass around in his fingers.

  “That’s it. That’s all I know,” Jim answered, scooping the photos from the table. He tucked them away in his folder.

  “What about the charred areas left behind after she disappears?”

  Jim threw his hands up and began to emphasize his words with hand gestures. “No clue. I agree; they’re bizarre—but I can’t explain them. Not enough information. Now, if you were to arrange a firsthand look at them for me, I might be able to come up with something.”

  “That’s never going to happen, Millsy. Captain would never grant a civilian that level of access. Especially a reporter. Despite what you may think, there are rules. And some of us try to abide by them. So, what about the Morgan kid?”

  “They must have met on the street somewhere. Got a little teen romance going, I think. It’s totally harmless. They’re just kids. I don’t know what he was doing at my place, though. I thought he was supposed to be in juvie.”

  “Yeah, I checked on him. He got out early. Some kind of new program.”

  Miller cocked his head and furrowed his brow when he heard a strange noise. It was muffled but distinct, and sounded like it was coming from outside. Near the side yard where he’d left the trash cans sitting when Alison showed up earlier.

  “I know that look,” Alison said. “Seen it many times when we were in the shit together.”

  “I thought I heard something. Sounded like metal clanging together.”

  “Probably a rat digging around in your trash.”

  “That was no rat. Someone’s outside!” Miller said, flying out of the booth. He ran to the back doo
r. Just before he got there, he heard the prowler smash through the old patio set outside.

  Miller pushed the door open and caught a blur of movement to his left. He swung his head to investigate. His eyes locked onto the intruder while his brain gathered in the facts: Long red hair. Female. Slender. Pretty. Teenager. Holy shit! It was Emily Heart. She was crying, and obviously angry. She gave him a “how could you” look. Then, in a dash, she disappeared through the back gate and turned left.

  “Wait! It’s not what you think! I can explain!” he yelled, but she never answered.

  He ran to the back gate and went through the opening, but she was gone. He wasn’t surprised. He knew the girl was quick, and skilled at egress and evasion. He’d seen it. Outside the library the day he was gunned down by Alison’s men.

  When he turned to go back inside, his eyes made a momentary sweep of the area to his right, panning across the far end of the alley. The end of the alley opposite from where Emily had darted off to.

  His eyes caught a glistening flash. It took a second to register, but when it did, his mind realized that someone else was there—watching his encounter with the girl. Possibly standing near the neighborhood’s central telephone box. He thought he remembered something in the person’s hand. He stopped his pivot and peered back to double check. This time, he didn’t see anyone. Nor was there any movement.

  Jim stared at the phone company’s control box, taking time to replay the momentary vision and focus on it. He thought it was a man standing in the moonlight—a very large man with a dark complexion. The stranger was wearing a colorful shirt and shorts—yes, shorts in the winter. Jim’s memory saw a pair of legs and knees. Plus, the man was carrying something metallic in his hand—like a briefcase. That’s what must have glistened and caught his attention in the first place.

  The only other time Miller had seen someone similar was when he found such a person creeping around his back yard with an explosive briefcase—the Orange Man.