Somewhere in Time Read online

  A chill wafted through the room and my psychic sight shot toward its source. Frank smiled his crooked smile at me while he sauntered toward Otto, then leaned on the wall next to him.

  Otto simply stared at me.

  “It’s separate from the firm’s business, you understand. The pieces are exceptional. Unlike anything you’ve worked on to date. You might say it’s a once in a lifetime opportunity.” Otto’s eyes were electric and probing.

  “I’m not available for a project right now.” It felt good to put the boundary between us, though I knew he’d trample it.

  Frank’s lifeless eyes stared through me. He shook his head and clicked his tongue three times. “What have you gotten yourself into now, hmm?”

  “Well, it’s an…authentication project. For a private client. A very prestigious assignment,” Otto said. The late afternoon light cast through the windows behind him. It was a heavenly glow that he didn’t deserve.

  “Henri would be better at authentication than I am. I don’t have any real experience at it.” Memories of my childhood visit to the vault came to mind. How my grandfather presented me with forgeries and authentic paintings, and how I could tell the difference by simply placing my five-year-old finger on a raised bit of paint. I also remembered Otto watching us from the shadows. Nausea rolled again and I placed my hand on my stomach.

  Otto leaned stealthily forward with his elbows on his knees. “Adeline, I’ve always prided myself on being able to see a person’s true potential, and I think you have a natural gift for authentication that we haven’t yet begun to tap. I think once we bring out your natural talents you’ll discover just how much you enjoy using them. You’re going to find this to be a very meaningful project. One that offers you a very bright future.”

  The ghost pushed off the wall and laughed. “Oh, sweet Adeline. I did warn yous. No one is who they say they is. Have you got that, yet?” He tsk-tsked and cut between Otto and me and crossed the room.

  I let my physical eyes watch him when he passed by. Under normal circumstances I would have been terrified to acknowledge a ghost in the company of others. Let alone my former employer. As it was, I really didn’t care if Otto thought I was crazy. In fact, that might just be my out. If Otto thought I wasn’t a trusted resource then maybe he’d leave me alone.

  “I think you’ll probably far exceed my expectations. Your grandfather always did. And much of your talent is probably in your genes,” Otto said.

  Cold adrenaline ran through my insides at the mention of my grandfather, and my body gave a little shiver.

  “Speaking of your grandfather, and on a related note, your father, I think I may have some leads as to where they may be.”

  I crossed my arms and lowered myself to the couch. Discussion of my grandfather by the man who used to be his business partner, turned my legs to noodles. My mother and grandmother had always firmly held the belief that Otto was responsible for my father’s and grandfather’s disappearance. For a long while I tried not to believe them, especially in light of Otto’s kindness to me. But after the events of last year I could no longer deny who he really was: a thief and a murderer. And with an ounce of common sense, I had to assume his involvement in my family’s absence as well. “What do you mean?”

  “I never really thought they were dead, you see. I’ve always thought their disappearances were the result of a terrible mistake.” Otto’s voice gentled when he mentioned my family to me, almost as if he spoke to a child. He picked imaginary lint off of his pants while he waited for my response.

  “So, you think…my father and grandfather are alive?” My eyes squinted at Otto with suspicion, my protective shields doubled, but a flurry of unwanted excitement shot through me at the suggestion that my relatives would be alive. This was an obvious attempt to lure me into a trap by playing upon my weak spots.

  “Oh, I’m sure of it. In fact, I think you and I would be the perfect team to bring them back. We could do all sorts of great things together.” Otto uncrossed his legs and leaned forward on his elbows. “You’ve heard of the thirteen pieces of art that were stolen from the Gardner Museum in 1990, I suppose? Well, I may know where those pieces are. Unfortunately, they’re mixed with a few forgeries—rather fine ones, I admit. And I’d like your help to tell me which are the authentic pieces.”

  An unwelcome hint of interest stirred within at the thought of reading a Vermeer or a Renoir. “You don’t need me for that. There are plenty of experts out there who would be happy to help you.”

  I tried to sit tall and solid, and to be unreadable like a statue. I felt more like a small, quivering stone. Otto had that effect on people.

  “I don’t want them. I want you, Addie.” Otto’s head bowed slightly and his features turned dark, as if the mask fell without his knowing. “I’ve fooled the experts with my forgeries for years. I know I couldn’t fool you. You are fool-proof, aren’t you? Assuming you are willing to use your gifts.” The antique chair creaked when he stood.

  I remembered the vision I’d gotten from touching Otto’s desk in his office: His father yelling at him when he was a boy, telling him that his artwork held no creativity, no imagination. Apparently, he found a way to be creative and imaginative with replicating others’ work.

  “I think it’s time you saw the same thing. That your gift has a place in the world. A profitable, meaningful, and enjoyable home. With me. With my…gift.”

  It seemed even he believed what he was saying. “So you want me to help you discern the forgeries among the Gardner art. And then my father and grandfather magically find their way home? Is that how it works?”

  “Yes. In a manner of speaking, that is. I was thinking of more of a trade. You see, there is a whole world of stolen art out there, just waiting to be bought and sold to willing buyers at a premium. The biggest obstacle to winning at this game is to know which pieces to buy. Forgeries, as you might have gathered, flood the market. So the trick to being successful is to know how to pick only the authentic pieces.”

  It all became oddly clear to me. He was trying to replace Carolena. Blake’s mother. Someone who had the same kinds of gifts I did. Someone he once loved, someone he once worked the black market with, and made a small fortune.

  “So my father and grandfather return to their lives, but I lose mine?”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t say that you lose your life. I’d say that your life finds the meaning and the expression you’ve been searching for. And I’ll make sure we bring your father and grandfather home. Alive and well. I would be happy to do that for you. I’ll even make sure that Blake continues a safe existence.”

  His threat swam like venom through my veins. “How can you be so certain that they’re still alive? Or that you could bring them home?”

  Otto’s well-manned impatience delivered itself in a sigh. “Long ago my father taught me that nine-tenths of being successful is first knowing where you can be successful. I took that advice very seriously and now I have something of a knack for knowing ahead of time if a venture will work out. Or not. Kind of a sixth sense, if you know what I mean?”

  I nodded slowly and decided this knack he spoke about had more to do with picking the right prey.

  “So if I tell you I’m certain that an endeavor will work out, then I’m certain.” Otto’s eyes twinkled with the excitement of a secret well kept, the power of being able to control another. “We’ll work together on these two projects, Adeline.”

  I tried to take a breath but my lungs were flattened like cement to the back wall of my chest. What he claimed about my family was implausible and reeked of bait. Still, some little something told me that he knew where they were. “If I say that I don’t believe you and refuse your offer?”

  Otto’s signature smile broadened as if I had just complimented his tie at a gallery opening. “Well, I suppose you’ve lived long without the men in your family. Perhaps you’ve gotten used to the arrangement. Or maybe no men in the family is the Montgomery tradition you’ll carry forwa
rd.”

  I forced myself to breathe calmly. “So, if I help you, you’ll return my father and grandfather. Is that it?”

  “I’m sure we could bring them back,” he said.

  “You’ll also stay away from Blake?”

  Otto shrugged. “I have no business with Blake.”

  I paused. There was no reason to trust him. On any of these things. “What sort of insurance do I have that you’ll keep your word?”

  “Read me.” Otto said with his palms up. “I’m telling the truth. Work with me and I’ll keep my word about your father and grandfather.”

  “And Blake.”

  “And Blake,” he said.

  “I’ll think about it. I’d need a few days to get on my feet. To regain my health.”

  “Very well, then.” Otto reached into his front pocket when he stood, then produced the key he had apparently used to gain unhindered access to me. He waved it in front of me. “I’ll leave this with you.” The metal key clinked against the glass coffee table and I stared at it.

  He walked across the room, deliberately precise and stalking. I felt the hook he’d placed in my cheek with the reference to my father’s and grandfather’s whereabouts, and watched him reel me in.

  “I’m looking forward to working with you,” he said and arrived uncomfortably close to me. “We’ll make a powerful team.” He lifted his hand toward me and I took a step back, afraid he would place his hand around my neck as a threat, a little promise, a taste of his intent. Like a toxic dance he stepped forward to my retreat, and ran the side of his index finger first against one side of my exposed collarbone, and then the other, his touch nauseatingly tender. I shuddered when he stepped away.

  “Oh.” Otto backed up into my line of sight again. “If I don’t hear from you soon, I will come for you.”

  I stared at the key, unable to move, and tracked his movements through the townhouse. His shoes ticked slowly against the foyer’s marble flooring. Then the heavy door shut behind him.

  Could he really know where my father and grandfather were? Were they alive? I thought of the dream I'd had before we left for France. It wasn’t a normal, random dream. My father and grandfather were real and knocking on some proverbial door of my awareness. They certainly seemed alive to me.

  Otto’s enticing remarks were beginning to feel like validation to my suspicion. They did make a kind of sense. I had blamed myself for years that my own father and grandfather had died and I’d never seen them after the fact. I had seen every random dead person within 100 miles of me. Even so, I’d never received any messages from my own family. They’d never visited.

  Because they couldn’t. Because they must be alive?

  My God. Maybe they were.

  Then why couldn’t I feel them? I could communicate with dead people. But not them? Nothing made sense. Nothing was simple.

  Mental pro and con columns formed in my head. If I helped Otto, I potentially helped my father and grandfather. Of course Otto would then take me away from Blake. The man I’d searched my entire life to find, and finally had. First I needed proof that my father and grandfather were alive. Assuming he could provide that, then what? I shook my head at the lack of clear answers. “I’ll figure this out after I find Mitch.”

  Frank, the ghost, passed in front of me and blew a breath of cold air forcefully enough to blow my hair.

  “Can I help you with something, Frank?” I gritted through my teeth.

  The ghost stepped back and gave a hefty exhale, the liquor on his breath hitting me in the face like a wet rag. “I like this feisty version of you when you’re around Otto. Much better than the sniveling one you used to be.”

  The words “fuck you” sat poised on my lips. I decided since I didn’t yet know how to stop him from choking me, like he had the first time we met, I’d better not.

  “Blake warned you not to harass me, Frank. What do you want?”

  Frank circled me once, then twice, slowly and in an even pace. “What do I want? I want my payback. I want the score evened. I’m entitled to my revenge.” Insanity raged in his glassy, dead eyes, his liquor-scented breath stoking my fear and making my stomach pitch. I spun off the couch, moved across the room.

  A seething burn rose inside of me, the result of being pushed too far, manipulated too much. “Why not go after Otto? He’s the one who killed you.”

  “Yes, but you’re the one he values most. Well, almost.”

  “Get out of my house, Frank. I’ve been threatened enough for one day.”

  An image of a woman with thick chestnut hair and wide brown eyes appeared to me. She was a softer, rounder version of Frank, sharing his features in feminine form. He was the boy she worried about, the man his mother still missed. She wore a flowered dress when she drove through the neighborhood and called his name when he was young. “Francis! Francis!”

  She’d warned him to stay away from a certain crowd. A group he ultimately called his brotherhood, the mafia. Now she’s older, prays the rosary and worries for him in a different way.

  “Francis,” I said, listening to her voice more than I listened to my own.

  “Don’t call me that! No one calls me that.” Frank circled me like a wolf with bared teeth.

  “I see a woman who resembles you, she’s searching for you. At first she called you home at the end of the day. She still searches for you, she knows you’re not at peace, Francis.”

  “Don’t—”

  “Fran-cis…” I crooned on the breath.

  “Don’t talk about my mother. How would you? You’re one of those…a freak.” He pressed toward me.

  “Right, Frank. Of the two of us standing here in my home, I’m the freak.” Frank’s rage poured through me. “You gave Blake your word that you wouldn’t threaten me anymore,” I said.

  Frank backed away at the mention of Blake’s name and took a sip of brown liquid from an etheric rocks glass.

  “Help me,” I said with a balled fist at my side. “Find a way to get Otto out of my life, or stay the fuck away from me. Otherwise I’ll call Carolena and tell her to kick your ass to the Other Side. And if that’s where you end up, Frank? Prepare yourself. Last time I checked, karma had an awfully long memory.”

  Chapter 6

  Carolena set her evening glass of wine on the metal side table then reached beneath it and pressed the concealed button. The bookshelf creaked when it parted slowly from the wall to finally reveal access to its secret treasures. She stepped inside, flipped the light switch, and gallery-style lighting illuminated the former museum pieces that hung around the room.

  There were three in all, and each of them were parting gifts that she had taken from Otto’s private collection. They weren’t the most expensive pieces they’d stolen from her former employer, The Metropolitan Museum of Art. Although she knew these Wentworths were a few of the ones Otto valued most. He didn’t know she had them now.

  He’d kept them locked up in a spare room of her home when she and Blake lived in New York City. Blake had been only three or four then. When he asked innocently about these curious paintings that held so much allure for his father, Otto told him they were special paintings that could transport you.

  Carolena felt the circle of peaceful quiet around her when she studied them. She stared at their magic and she fingered the vintage ruby and diamond engagement ring that Otto had given her on the day their child was born. Though Blake was not the name they’d given him then, it was the name he used for himself now, to keep Otto from knowing his true identity as his son.

  A lifetime had passed since she and Otto parted, but she still thought of him at least once every day. She tried not to. However, the memories burned too brightly for her to turn away completely. Remembering him was either going to be her fatal flaw, or what her soul needed to stay alive.

  The knock at the door gave her a start, and for a long moment she stood frozen. She never received visitors except for the occasional repairman. Too dangerous. Too risky.

&n
bsp; Carolena turned out the lights, slipped out of the private room, and slid the bookcase into its proper place against the wall. Then she stared at the backside of the front door. Another knock would not come. She knew it. Because she could feel that whoever had knocked on the other side of the door was not there. At least not anymore.

  She let her awareness scan the outer area, but she didn’t find a lingering presence. Still, whoever had knocked on the door knew she was inside. She could sense that, too.

  She took a steady breath to calm herself, then stepped slowly toward the front window that she kept mostly covered from the outside with tall, flowering bushes. From the corner of the window she could see the front porch. She lifted an edge of the silk curtain and peeked outside. Like intruders into her private life, there were two, large black cases propped against the front brick of her home.

  Chapter 7

  Francis finally left after I poked a finger into his icy chest to make my point. It pissed me off to no end that he, Otto, and anyone else for that matter, could get to me any time they wanted.

  Locked doors and U.S. federal marshals wouldn’t help me.

  Out of habit—and for protection—I sent my psychic sight through the house to make sure Otto was gone, and to see if I could sense Mitch. The hairy edges of a panic attack were prickling at my heart, taking stock of my surroundings would help. I found no one, which didn’t help me to feel safe at all. Because Mitch was supposed to be nearby.

  My hand shook when I reached for my phone to call Blake. No answer.

  Damn it!

  I sent him another text: Call me. Please.

  I tucked my upper lip between my teeth when I made my way toward the door, one slow and deliberate step at a time.

  Mitch was gone, I could feel it. I stood on my side of the door, bare toes twitching on the cold, Georgian marble, my sixth sense wandering up and down the empty hallway on the other side of the door. Searching.