The Topaz Brooch: Time Travel Romance (The Celtic Brooch Book 10)

by Katherine Lowry Logan

  “A lot older than that. It feels old.”

  Morgan laughed a short bark. “What makes a piece of jewelry feel old? Feel heavy, yes, but feel old?”

  “There’s a connection. It’s an extrasensory kind of thing.”

  “Are you psychic?”

  “No,” Billie said. “But I do have a highly tuned sixth sense. I just wish I knew more about it.”

  Morgan pointed over her shoulder. “Go back inside and ask Clovis if he’s got any information. You have a few more minutes before the car gets here.”

  “Good idea. I’ll be right back.” Billie put the brooch in the box, slipped it into her purse, and reentered the house, pushing her sunglasses back on top of her head. She wandered through the ground floor looking for Clovis and found him in the kitchen.

  When he saw her, he smiled, capped his bottle of water, and walked toward her. “Ms. Malone. Did you come back to buy the silver service?”

  She shook her head, smiling. “Not unless you’re reducing the price a few thousand.”

  “Not today.”

  “Well, call me when you do. But I came back in to see if you have any information regarding the brooch I bought. If not, is there a way I can contact the sellers?”

  “We don’t have any information.”

  “What about their homeowners’ insurance? Is there a jewelry rider that mentions the value or age of the brooch?” Billie had been to dozens of estate sales and had an appreciation for art, jewelry, china, and silver, and based on her experience, a jewelry rider should have listed this piece. She opened the contacts app on her phone. “Do you have phone numbers for Mr. and Mrs. Fontenot? I want to call them.”

  Clovis’s face went slack, paling slightly. “The brooch isn’t listed on the rider, and I wish I could give you phone numbers, but no one knows where they are. They disappeared seven years ago.”

  Billie was used to people dying unexpectedly. That was the only sad part of her business—to lose a client to sudden death from a stroke, a heart attack, or a slip and fall. But so far, no one had disappeared.

  “Like…vanished without a trace?” She asked.

  “The police never found a clue.”

  “Nothing?”

  “Nada. I’ve known Philippe and Rhona for years. They never had children and traveled a lot, but they weren’t the kind of people to just up and go without notifying someone.”

  “So you think they were…what? Kidnapped? Or killed and their bodies dumped in a nearby swamp?”

  “It’s a mystery that may never be solved,” Clovis said.

  Whatever happened to the Fontenots wasn’t any of Billie’s concern, but her experience with police officers told her they probably had more information than they were willing to share with the public. “So why sell everything now? What’s the impetus?”

  “Philippe’s family started a shipping and cargo company a hundred years ago, and he was the president and majority owner. When he disappeared, the board of directors managed the business. When another shipping company offered to buy it, the members of the board decided it was time to press the court to pronounce the Fontenots legally dead. Once that was done, a receiver was appointed to sell all the property. After the receiver has liquidated all the assets, the proceeds will go to the Louisiana Historical Society.”

  “Aren’t they lucky?” Billie said.

  “They’re happy about the windfall, but they’d rather have Philippe. He was an expert in New Orleans history and often gave lectures at the Historical Society. It makes sense that he wanted his friends there to be able to continue offering interesting programs to the community.”

  Something about the Fontenots’ disappearance didn’t sound right, but she couldn’t put her finger on what exactly was bugging her. Maybe it would come to her later. “Thanks for the info. I have an antique dealer friend in San Francisco who might be able to track down the history.”

  “Billie,” Morgan called from the front of the house. “Our ride’s here.”

  Billie could see the front door from where she stood. She waved. “On my way.” Then she turned back to Clovis. “I have your business card. If I have any other questions—”

  “Or change your mind about the silver service?”

  She grinned. “As soon as you come down on the price, I’ll reconsider.”

  Clovis chuckled. “I have a feeling I’ll hear from you again…unless you vanish too.”

  “I’m going back to Napa tomorrow, so in a way, I am vanishing. Have a great day, Mr. Thompson.”

  Clovis gave her a quick salute. “Have a good day.”

  Billie gave him a curious look. “How’d you know I was a soldier?”

  He knocked his ring on the counter.

  Her face heated. “I’m really off my game, Clovis. I completely missed your West Point ring.” She saluted him back then gently knocked her ring on the counter too. “Have a good day.”

  She hurried out of the house toward the curb, where Morgan was getting into the back of a small SUV.

  “What’d you find out?” Morgan asked as Billie slid in beside her.

  “The owners disappeared without a trace seven years ago, but their administrator is just now probating their estates. The proceeds from the sale go to the Louisiana Historical Society.”

  “No children? No, nieces or nephews?”

  “Just the Historical Society.”

  “That’s odd. Don’t you think?” Morgan handed over her scarf. “Here, put this on and pin that gorgeous brooch across the knot.”

  Billie did as instructed, glancing in the driver’s rearview mirror. “How’s that?”

  “It looks like you strolled out of your hotel room this morning wearing it.” Morgan tapped her fingers on top of the cufflink box. “After watching you negotiate, I’m going to add that to my presentation. You were as cool as sweet iced tea. There was no hesitation in your negotiations. You knew what you wanted and confident you would get it. I needed to use every utensil in my caterer’s bag to keep up with you.”

  “You did a good job yourself, and you ended up with all the cufflinks. They’ll make a nice gift for your father.”

  “Your brooch makes a lovely gift to yourself.”

  “I could turn around and sell it in San Francisco and make a profit. I think it’s worth a lot more than what they were asking, especially if it’s as old as I think it is.”

  Morgan adjusted Billie’s scarf, turning it slightly. “How’d you learn to haggle like that?”

  “My grandmothers haggled over the cost of a loaf of bread. If they ever paid the full price for anything, it was a bad shopping day. I went out with them every weekend, and they taught me how to determine what something was worth, how much to offer, and when to walk away. But I refined my skills during my travels through Middle Eastern countries.”

  “Was your mother a haggler too?”

  “She died when I was in elementary school, so my grandmas raised me.”

  “What about your dad?”

  Billie shrugged, as though the question had little significance. “He’s a cop and was never home.” The statement slid out smoothly, but underneath it, the memory snagged on the sharp edges of her grief. “He remarried after I deployed, and by the time I came home, he was starting a new family.”

  “Sounds like it was a good time to get out of the city.”

  Billie’s stepmother was only ten years older, and she let Billie know in subtle ways, like not setting a place for her at Sunday dinner, that she wasn’t welcome. “Yep, the timing was perfect.”

  The Uber driver dropped them in front of the convention center just as the sky turned gray. A storm was coming. They hurried inside. “The temperature dropped at least twenty degrees,” Billie said.

  “It needed to cool off. Hey, do you want to grab lunch?” Morgan asked. “We have a little over an hour before we have to show up for the seminar.”

  Billie thought about it for a moment. She could get a lot done in an hour, and she wasn’t hung
ry. “I need to drop off the brooch box, grab my notes, return a couple of calls, take a quick shower, and put on fresh clothes. I’ll meet you in the conference room in forty-five minutes. Go on and eat without me.”

  Mostly Billie needed time alone. Her disturbing memories needed to be locked away again before the afternoon session, or she’d screw up in front of an audience of her peers.

  “Okay, but be sure to wear that jacket and scarf. Both look great on you.”

  Billie stood waiting at the bank of elevators, scrolling through text messages. When she heard the ding announcing the arrival of the next available car, she glanced around to see where the door would open. It was behind her. A group of four men exited the elevator, but one of them stood a head taller than the others. Holy shit. Either it was a doppelgänger or Colonel Bowes in the flesh. She did a double-take and followed him with her eyes as he strolled toward the lobby.

  “Malcolm,” a woman yelled, waving. He stopped and bent to kiss her cheek.

  And Billie let out the breath she’d been holding. Bastard.

  She caught the next car, twisting her ring, and a few minutes later entered her room and tossed her phone on the bed. She was shaking too hard to turn on her laptop. Instead, she stripped and jumped into the shower, hoping to shut down the memories and calm her state of mind.

  Colonel Bowes was the professor leading the staff ride. She discovered by accident that he was obsessed with finding Lafitte’s treasure, which he believed the pirate buried in the bayous between Barataria and Chalmette Battlefield. He had narrowed it down, but to where, she never knew.

  She’d been at the battlefield at dusk going over her notes when he found her. An innocent conversation turned flirtatious, and before she realized what was happening, he had her flat on her back, her halter dress yanked aside on the top, the skirt shoved up to her waist, and her panties ripped off. She tried to fight him, but he was bigger, stronger, and had the advantage.

  “Do whatever the hell you’re going to do,” she’d screamed when he had her immobile. “One day, I’ll get my revenge.”

  When it was over, and he was zipping up his pants, he calmly told her, “If you say anything, no one will believe you, and the accusation will ruin your career.”

  And damn it, her boyfriend, also a cadet, had said the same thing. In all these years, she’d never gotten her revenge. But she would. Somehow, somewhere…

  When her memories crawled back into their dim corner, and her heart stopped racing, she turned off the water and dressed again, this time in black capris and a white shirt. Then, for a bit of perk-me-up color, added the scarf and jacket.

  While checking the clasp on the brooch, her fingernail caught on the lip of the topaz, and it popped open. So did her eyes. “Wow! I’ve never seen that before.”

  She sat on the bed and studied the writing on the inside of the stone. It was a language she was unfamiliar with, but that didn’t stop her from attempting to sound out the words…

  “Chan ann le tìm no àite a bhios sinn a’ tomhais an’ gaol ach ’s ann le neart anama.”

  The stink of peat and a misty substance like dry ice leaked out of the brooch. It filled Billie’s hand, spilled over into her lap, spread across the floor, and up the walls in a nanosecond, faster than her mind could register what was happening.

  She jumped up, knocking her purse to the floor at her feet, her heart racing. “What the—?”

  The brooch heated in her hand, and a brilliant blue light exploded from the topaz, almost blinding her. The dry ice crawled up her legs, engulfing her, and the heat from the brooch scalded her palm. An explosion of color sent sparks flying. She had the good sense to toss the damn thing like a live grenade before collapsing on the dry-ice-covered floor.

  And that was the last she knew…

  3

  MacKlenna Farm—Rick

  David’s unnerving proclamation that they were all in danger left the ex-military at the table in a defensive posture. The ones who always carried a firearm had their hands perched at their hip.

  Pete jumped to his feet, pulling Sophia with him. “I’m getting you and Lukas back to Italy. Now! It’s not safe here.”

  Kenzie grabbed David’s arm. “Let’s get the kids and go to the castle.”

  David slammed his fist on the table. “Sit down! The worst thing we can do is run off half-cocked. We need a plan.”

  Rick’s phone chimed. He was going to ignore it, but then his intuition kicked in, and he read the text.

  Cate: Billie Malone disappeared from her hotel room in New Orleans. I told her office you’d investigate.

  He didn’t have any authority to stick his nose in a Louisiana police investigation, and until he could come to grips with David’s revelation, he didn’t want to think about it.

  His phone chimed again.

  Cate: I should have said vanished.

  David moved to stand in front of the large window, rubbing the back of his neck. Kenzie was there beside him, whispering, stroking his arm, and Pete and Sophia huddled together while she continued sketching.

  Another chime.

  Cate: She vanished from a fifth-floor hotel room. No witnesses. Nothing on security video. Poof.

  He sucked in a quick breath, and his chest muscles tightened. “I don’t know what this means, but, strangely, it happened right after David’s vision. Billie Malone has vanished from a New Orleans hotel room.”

  “Oh, my God,” Kenzie said. “She’s been through hell and back again. The stories she told in our PTSD group were horrendous. We need to do whatever we can to help her. Do you know anything else?”

  “Only that there aren’t any witnesses, and the security video doesn’t provide any help.”

  “I have a Marine buddy who’s a homicide detective on the NOLA police force. I could call him,” Pete offered.

  “Please do,” Kenzie said. “We can switch gears long enough to help Billie.”

  Another chime.

  Cate: Billie’s office is almost hysterical. The news reports are calling the disappearance suspicious, but there’s no sign of a crime. The police say she’s an adult and can come and go as she pleases. Whatever the hell that means.

  “I’ve got to respond to Cate,” Rick said.

  “Make the call, Pete,” David said. “Let’s put the vision on hold for now. We have Sophia’s drawing and the recording. I need time to clear my head before I replay it and sort it all out.”

  Sophia held up one of the pictures. “There are several layers in these drawings. I’m going to scan them into the computer, run them through David’s program, then break each drawing down to its simplest elements. Then we can overlay one element on top of another to see how they fit together.”

  “Do you think you’ve drawn hidden pictures?” Pete asked.

  “It’s possible, but I usually know when I do, and I didn’t consciously add any. As soon as I’ve scanned the sketches into the system, will you take a close look, Kenzie? You always spot them.”

  “Sure. Just let me know,” Kenzie said.

  “I’m almost done with them.” Then to Pete, Sophia said, “Why don’t you call Roy while I finish up?”

  “Sure.” He pulled her in for a kiss. “What’s our interest in Billie’s case? Personal? Business? It won’t matter to Roy, but I should have an explanation for him.”

  “Both—” Kenzie said.

  “Both—” Rick said, scrolling through his text messages to read the others. One was from Pops with a dinner invitation, another from a woman he’d taken to dinner the previous week and had sex with afterward. He’d see her again, but that would be the end of it. The woman before her had accused him of being a handsome Lothario. But the stories he’d heard about Elliott, Kevin, and David, Rick wasn’t any worse than they’d been in their heydays.

  His inner voice snorted, And you’re proud of that?

  No, he wasn’t, but at least the company he kept had changed their ways, and that gave him a sliver of hope that he could as wel
l. He just needed to get the fragrance of the heyday women out of his hair, metaphorically speaking.

  Pete cocked an eyebrow at him as if he’d heard Rick’s inner voice.

  “Okay, tell him your brother-from-a-different-mother has a professional interest in her. If that doesn’t open the door wide enough, tell him it’s personal.”

  Pete scrolled through his contacts, clicked on a number, then put the call on speaker. The phone rang twice before Roy answered.

  “Parrino? How the hell are you, buddy? How’s that famous wife of yours?”

  Pete grinned at Sophia. “She’s sitting right here, and she’s still beautiful and still famous.”

  “Hey, Sophia. So what’s up? Are you calling to tell me you’re having another kid?”

  Sophia gave Pete a bittersweet smile. Thanks to his sister, Rick knew Sophia’s last two in vitro fertilization attempts were unsuccessful, and their fertility specialist was recommending preimplantation genetic screening for her next IVF cycle. At this point, they likely were afraid they’d never have another baby.

  “Not yet,” Pete answered briskly, then moved on. “I’m in Kentucky right now, and two brothers from different mothers are sitting here with me listening to this call—David McBain and Rick O’Grady. A friend of Rick’s is missing in New Orleans.”

  “O’Grady. Are you related to Connor?”

  “Younger brother,” Rick said.

  Roy whistled. “Connor got me out of a shitshow on a nasty hill in Afghanistan after an IED hit us. He dragged me out of a crater with bullets zinging all around. He got me to a medic in time to save my leg. Whatever you need, O’Grady, you got it.”

  Typical of Connor, he’d never said a word about being hit by an IED and ending up in a crater. “I’m glad you’re okay.” Rick paused a moment, stunned to learn how close Connor had been to coming home in a box. “We’re interested in Billie Malone’s disappearance. What can you tell us?”

  Roy whistled again. “Man, I wasn’t expecting that.”

  “I’m from Napa and have worked with Billie before. My office called me about it, and I said I’d find out what I could.”