| |
“RILEY? ARE YOU UP?” Lucy’s voice was muffled by the door. Riley checked her bedside clock. Early for her sister to be awake on a Saturday.
“I’m awake.” Riley grabbed the sweatshirt she kept beside her bed.
The door opened before she reached it. “I couldn’t wait. Sorry.” Lucy grinned at Riley, holding her left arm out, pointing her fingers to the ground.
“Is that ... is that what I think it is?” Riley squealed. Lucy beamed from the doorway, and Riley leaped across the room to embrace her. “When? Where?” She wanted to know everything.
They moved to the small kitchen, where Lucy spilled the tale of her proposal. “Just us, at his place. Afterwards, he told me he had this elaborate plan, but was too excited and abandoned it for something simple instead.” Lucy’s words tumbled out in a breathless gush. “We celebrated with a quiet dinner at Mario’s, but we will have a party with friends and family. Not sure when. And we don’t want to wait too long, so we’re looking at a small ceremony in a few months.”
“So soon!”
“I know. That’s why I’m here now. Alex had to work, and we need to plan!”
Riley let her sister explain what she’d already planned for the ceremony, nodding and “uh-huh”-ing in the right places, but her focus kept returning to the journal. However wild she found its time-bending properties, the whole thing was likely mind-blowing for Detective Winston.
Lucy had moved on to talk about the engagement party she hoped to throw. Riley wanted to enjoy her sister’s happy moment, but she caught herself thinking about the case again.
Lucy had stopped midway through a sentence and was looking at her now, her head tilted, brows knitted. “What’s wrong, Riley?”
Riley smudged a tear with her finger. “I’m just thrilled for you. You two are great together.” She didn’t want to ruin her sister’s mood with her preoccupation with two men who’d gone missing more than one hundred years ago. Riley turned her total attention to Lucy.
Catching a glimpse of the stone glittering on Lucy’s perfectly manicured hand, she tucked her own nibbled nails under her legs. How would her sister’s new life and her official move from their apartment change their relationship? Riley remembered Jules’s upcoming move across the Atlantic. These were important events in the lives of her favourite people. She felt a twinge of shame at her own self-pity. At least Detective Winston wouldn’t leave.
They spent the rest of the morning brainstorming ideas for the wedding. Lucy poured generous top-ups of their celebratory mimosas. After lunch, Lucy announced she had plans, giggling again at the word “fiancé”.
They hugged their goodbyes. Riley turned the deadbolt and fetched the journal, returning to sit at the table.
May 13 ’97
Dear Riley,
I am home after another long day. Mrs. Huntington was more receptive to me than I expected, given the news I had for her yesterday. After I saw her, I met with Stanley Rupert, Chase’s boss and good friend, with whom he passed the evening on the night he disappeared. I find myself torn between investigating Huntington’s death and finding Chase. Mrs. Huntington would appreciate closure, yet until I learn otherwise, finding Chase alive remains a possibility.
I’ve been contemplating this journal and how it connects us. While I would like to understand how it works, it matters less and less. I now find comfort in the knowledge that someone is reading these words. I think my comfort comes from the distance of time that separates us, as I wouldn’t want anyone else to read this book.
With thanks,
Jack Winston
With a slow finger, Riley traced the letters in the closing lines of the note. This entry was more forthcoming than she expected for a man of his time. He was comfortable now with the properties of the journal, and welcoming of Riley’s contributions.
Riley dug through her bag and removed a photo she had copied from Detective Winston’s personnel file. Despite the grainy sepia tones, she saw kindness in his eyes and strength in his jaw. He wore a thick, well-kept moustache, the slight curl at the end matching the curled lock of dark hair on his forehead.
What would he see in her photo? Would he be able to see it if she pasted a picture into the journal? She weighed the implications as she removed her sweatshirt. Had Lucy turned on the heat? Or been too generous with the sparkling wine?
Riley warmed to the idea of sharing her photo across time. She walked to the bathroom to practise her smile in the mirror. A headshot would be most appropriate and simpler, less posing required.
Now, what to wear? The old shirt she’d slept in was too casual for this introduction. She pulled a few items from her closet and held them against her chest. After a few minutes she settled on a flattering dark grey long-sleeved dress. It was one of her favourites, reflecting the “almost-sexy-librarian” style Lucy teased Riley about. As she put the discarded outfits away, her heart fluttered as though she were preparing for a date. Of course this wasn’t a date, but she needed to take some care in what she chose; she didn’t want to make Detective Winston uncomfortable by wearing something that was too much of a departure from the style of dress he was accustomed to. She sure didn’t have any Victorian dresses in her closet.
Riley slipped on the dress and walked around the apartment to find the best place to take the photo. She chose the tiny reading space, with its two floor-to-ceiling bookcases and overstuffed chairs. She loved this space, filled with memories of reading escapes and the laughter-filled afternoon she and Lucy had created it. The books would make a pleasant, if busy, backdrop.
After a few tries to figure out how to set the timer, Riley snapped several photos at different angles. She couldn’t do anything about the Finch nose, slightly too large for her face, but there was no reason to highlight it. Settling on a photo where she managed to both keep her eyes open and avoid grimacing, she resized it closer to wallet sized. Detective Winston—or Jack, as she was starting to think of him—might get the wrong impression if she pasted an overly large one into the journal. While it printed, she wondered about his reaction, if this worked. Did she look anything like he’d expected? Had he imagined what she looked like?
Dear Detective Winston,
I hope you won’t think me too forward, but I have placed a photo of myself on the last page of this journal. I feel like I have been at an advantage, having seen a photo of you, but you have not seen one of me. This might not work, but if it fails, we will have at least come to a better understanding of what our journal can do.
As we navigate this phenomenon, I must admit I am curious about your life, and I suspect you may be curious about mine. I am happy to answer any questions you may have, though the truth is I do not lead an exciting life. In fact, writing to you has been one of the more exciting experiences I have had recently.
Today is Saturday and when I return to work on Monday, I will see what more I can discover about Chase among the files there. Otherwise, I have little to update you on, but look forward to hearing what you have yet to learn.
With the warmest regards,
Riley
After a moment she replaced the closing with a less formal “Thank you.” If someone asked—if someone knew to ask—she wasn’t sure how she would describe their relationship: professional, personal, or just plain unusual.
Riley put the journal away in her bag, mulling over Lucy’s comment the other night about how she was getting so caught up in her work. She’d make herself leave this for now, go find the novel she’d been neglecting for weeks.
If Lucy—dear, mostly distracted Lucy—had noticed Riley behaving differently, Claire and their colleagues had likely noticed too. Riley could call it nerves, wanting to do a good job on her first big museum project. The exhibit would be great, but she would need a ready explanation for the extra hours she was putting in, without revealing she was trying to solve a now-forgotten crime.