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RILEY FINCH SAT IN her reading nook reviewing her notes about Jack’s case, her poster boards spread on the floor in front of her. Sharp, the tailor, had grown his business into three locations by the start of the First World War. How had he benefited from the death of either Huntington or Chase? At the pace the city grew in the first part of the twentieth century, his business wouldn’t have suffered with Huntington becoming a tailor, though in 1897 he’d have had no notion of how the city would change.
She flipped back in the journal and reread Jack’s entry about meeting Sharp and Mrs. Chase. She pulled out her computer and typed “Chase Vancouver” into the search bar, launching a broad arrow into space. When the results flashed on her screen, a flush of adrenalin tingled through her body. How had she missed this connection? CDS—originally known as Chase Department Store—opened in 1901 and closed nearly a century later as shopping habits shifted. Search results confirmed the store had been started by a widow to honour her deceased husband, fulfilling his wish to sell quality goods at affordable prices.
Sharp may have missed a business opportunity to work with Chase and Huntington, but Jack had suggested the man wasn’t threatened by their plans. She crossed his name from her suspect list. Clearly the man had also missed an opportunity to connect with the formidable Louella Chase. That woman had staying power.
She settled into her chair and read Jack’s latest.
May 16 ’97
Dear Riley,
Miller and I spoke to Chase’s colleagues again today, learning little.
Sharp, Rupert, Cole. I can find sufficient reason to excuse each of them despite my initial suspicions. Though if pressed to identify one as the murderer, I’d point to Cole. I feel like the answer is in front of me, yet I cannot reach it. I would appreciate any thoughts you wish to share about any of this.
With thanks,
Jack
Riley shared Jack’s suspicions. Earlier in the day, her return visit to the medical society had confirmed that Doctor Cole did not appear in any records after May 1897. And a search of the museum’s civic documents revealed only that he had paid for a property in 1893, but little else. Whether that meant he abandoned the property or that additional records were unavailable, she didn’t know.
Several articles in the Vancouver Voice’s online archive referred to the prominent doctor attending social events and civic meetings, and taking part as a leading citizen of the new and growing city. Riley’s breath caught when she found an article on his eventual disappearance. It was a single article appearing only a few days after one that referenced the police investigation of the disappearance, and ultimate death, of Mr. Chase.
Riley turned back to the journal. Jack had written his last entry the day before the doctor was reportedly last seen. Was the doctor also a victim of whoever was responsible for these crimes?
A sudden coldness clutched at her core. Was Cole behind the disappearances?
Questions pinged Riley’s mind. Should she share her concerns with Jack? What would happen if she did?
She squeezed her temples between her palms.
Lucy’s keys jingled in the door. Riley forced a couple of slow breaths. This was actually good timing. Even if her sister was a little flighty, she listened well. She rushed to the door and almost threw her sister off balance when she hugged her.
Lucy wiggled from Riley’s embrace. “What’s that for?”
“I miss you. And I’m glad to see you.”
Lucy’s eyes widened. “I’m just grabbing a dress. I thought it was already at Alex’s.” She shrugged.
“Can you stay for a cup of tea?”
Lucy checked her phone. “A quick one.” Concern flashed across her face. “You okay?”
Riley dismissed the question with a wave. “I’ll put the kettle on. You look for your dress.”
A few minutes later the sisters sat facing each other across their—now Riley’s—kitchen table. Riley traced its geometric pattern with a finger. They’d painted it together one spring day.
“Lucy,” Riley started. “If you knew something that could help someone, would you tell them? Even if it might change the future?”
Lucy wrapped her hands around her mug. Her eyebrows shot up. “Is it something about me? Or Alex?”
Riley shook her head. “Not about you or anyone you know. But it’s about someone I know. And it might change another person’s life.” Riley focused her finger on a triangle. “They might go to jail.”
“You should tell the police.”
“That’s my dilemma.”
Lucy frowned. “Why is it a dilemma? Are you protecting the person who might go to jail?”
Riley shook her head again. “No. But it might impact a child.”
“Tell the police.” Lucy raised her voice. “Riley, you have to tell them, especially if the situation involves a child.” She reached for her phone. “Here, we can call them now.”
Riley grabbed the phone. “They’re not here.”
“Where are they? How do you know whatever it is you know?” Lucy narrowed her eyes. “What do you know, Riley?”
Riley stared at the table, tracing the triangle faster. “They’re in—Seattle. And I learned the information at work.”
“In the archive?” Lucy didn’t mask her disbelief. “You found something in the—”
“I overheard it. It might not even be accurate.” How could Riley tell Lucy anything without discussing the journal?
“Why don’t you tell the police anyway? They can decide what to do.”
Riley stared at her sister, turning her words over. “Lucy, that’s perfect. Thank you.” She leaned over the table and hugged her sister again.
“With that, I’m off. Are we still on for Saturday? You’ll come have dinner at Alex’s—I mean our—place? You can bring someone.” Lucy winked.
Riley scrunched her nose. “You know I don’t have anybody to bring. Unless you mean Mr. Grigio. I’ll either bring him or his friend Miss Chardonnay.”
The sisters embraced again. “You’re not funny,” Lucy whispered in Riley’s ear.
“You love it,” she whispered back.
Riley locked the door behind Lucy and put on the kettle. She carried her laptop and the journal to the table.
Dear Jack,
I’ve deliberated whether to tell you something. I worry that when you read this, the future will change. Or that what I know as history will happen only because I share this information, meaning it’s my duty to tell you. I’m turning myself in circles, but I’ve decided to share it because I would tell the police in my time if it meant I could help with a case they were working on.
Today I learned that Doctor Cole will go missing. Assuming it’s May 17 when you read this, his disappearance will happen tomorrow.
This information is yours now. I hope I have done the right thing.
Riley
When she finished writing, Riley let her hand rest on the page. She pictured Jack doing the same in a room with flickers of early electric lighting casting wavering shadows. She inhaled deeply to calm her nerves. She had quite possibly just altered the past. Or the future. Or whatever. Regardless, it was done.
An idea popped into her head. She grabbed her keys and left the apartment, taking the stairs to the parking garage. She crossed to her storage locker and unlocked it, kneeling to rummage through a box of old camping supplies. She hadn’t the heart to dispose of them after inheriting them from her uncle. Near the bottom of the box she found a storm lamp and a small amount of kerosene. She sniffed it and pulled her head back, nose stinging from the fumes. She replaced the candles, rusted tools, and rope in the box. Why was it nothing ever fit the same way again when repacking a box?
Riley returned to her kitchen table and lit the lamp. She snapped off the kitchen light. The small lamp cast flickering shadows. She pulled the kitchen window closed to muffle the twenty-first-century sounds that carried to her sixth-floor apartment. She glanced to the alley below. Jack wouldn’t recognize the city Vancouver had grown into, with discarded furniture, wine bottles, and clothing strewn along the length of the laneway.
Riley settled into a chair and closed her eyes, quieting her mind. She focused on her breathing and rested her hand on the page with Jack’s latest entry. After a few minutes, the space under her hand filled with warmth. With eyes still closed, she explored the source, tracing the outline of a hand with her index finger. Strong fingers squeezed hers. She gasped and squeezed back. A serene warmth covered the top of her right hand. She was frightened to move, in case she lost this extraordinary connection. She stilled herself, taking shallow breaths.
The lamp hissed and flickered. The small circle of light it had cast shrank and then disappeared. If only she had more fuel. After a few moments in darkness, the warmth disappeared, and she lifted her hand from the journal. The oven clock showed an hour had passed.
As she returned her supplies to the storage locker, Riley replayed the moment in her mind. Had she imagined it? She slipped back into the chair, pulling the journal closer. A new entry had appeared.
Riley,
I am sitting in my rooms, unsure what I just felt. I cannot describe it, for I fear it both will and will never happen again. Our situation—and I think of it as ours—is so intriguing.
Though the sun lingers later each day, it is dark now, and well past a reasonable hour to formally question Doctor Cole. Even if it were earlier, I am without evidence, despite the information you have shared. I cannot fathom how I would explain having gained it. My only hope is to find something tomorrow by having Cole examine Chase’s body, and I will update you on my progress.
Yours truly,
Jack
Shivering, Riley pressed her hand onto the journal. Would it happen again?
After a minute, she pulled her hand away. She’d felt nothing this time, other than the solidness of the book beneath her fingers.
Riley prepared for bed, wavering between believing the experience had been no more than a trick of the mind and trusting that it was real—a magical connection with someone in the past. And she could tell nobody about it.