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A Sexy Time Of It Chapter 1 | page 1 | page 2 | page 3 | excerpts
(Chapter 1 cont'd) It had been the longest day of her life. And it wasn’t over yet. The armchair detective, consisting of her grandmother’s two best friends and a burly retired NYPD sergeant were still firmly ensconced in the front room of Bookends. Currently, they sat in stony silence on leather couches doing their best to ignore each other. The only sound in the room was the ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner of the room. In Neely’s mind, it sounded like the clanging of Big Ben. Mabel Parish, a tall thin woman who’d been her grandmother’s closest friend and confidante, had lost her temper and struck Sam Thornway in the shoulder with her book bag. Mabel had aimed for his head, but Sam—thanks no doubt to excellent cop training—still had some good moves in him. If he hadn’t pivoted and ducked, Neely imagined they’d all be sitting in an emergency room right now. She’d grown up knowing Mabel. Keeping her temper under wraps had never seemed to be a problem for the woman until she’d rented one of the rooms in her nearby Brownstone to the retired policeman. The two of them just seemed to rub sparks off of each other. True, Mabel was strong minded and Cornelia had once said that she had the personality of Alice’s Queen of Hearts. But usually, she got her way by using more subtle strategies such as staring people down. Sam Thornway seemed to be immune to her stares. A large, imposing man, he was every bit as stubborn as Mabel and rarely gave an inch. Whenever the two clashed, Sally Lansing, the third member of the group and also one of Mabel’s tenants, threatened to hyperventilate—which added a lot to the drama. A tiny, frail looking woman, Sally reminded Neely of an absent minded fairy godmother, but she frequently provided the voice of reason that calmed the other two down. Not tonight, however. The way Neely saw it, Mabel who’d been a single woman all of her life was used to being the boss—a role that no one had challenged until Sam Thornway had walked into her life. Neely had checked into Sam’s background and discovered that he’d been a widower for eight years—a long time to live without the challenge of dealing with a woman in his life. This wasn’t the first time that he and Mabel had gone head to head, and Neely was beginning to wonder if they were both enjoying the clashes on some level. Tonight’s argument had centered on just how many victims could be clearly attributed to Jack the Ripper’s killing spree in the Whitechapel District of London. None of the criminologists who’d made it their life’s work to study Jack the Ripper could agree. But both Mabel and Sam were positive they were right. As the seconds ticked by and the silence grew thicker, Neely caught Linc’s eye and sent him a silent plea. Left to their own devices, Mabel and Sam were going to sit there all night. Linc’s response was a barely perceptible but firmly negative shake of his head. He mouthed the words: “I don’t want to be collateral damage.” Then he grinned and rolled his eyes at her. It was Sally who finally took the initiative, by rising. “Neely looks exhausted. I think we should finish this discussion at our next meeting and let her get some rest.” Saved by the little fairy godmother, Neely thought. Now, neither Mabel nor Sam had to make the first move. They immediately turned appraising and concerned eyes on her. “You’re right, Sally.” Sam rose and shoveled notes and books into the backpack he always carried. “We’ll sleep on this.” He shot a look at Mabel. “That will give someone’s temper time to cool.” Though her hand tightened on her book bag, Mabel merely sniffed in reply. Then she narrowed her eyes on Neely. “Are you feeling all right?” “I’m fine.” Neely had no trouble summoning up a smile. In fact, she had to stifle the urge to do a little happy dance. They were finally leaving. Rising, she led the way to the door to exchange hugs with each of them in turn. Mabel brought up the rear. Waiting until Sally and Sam had started down the steps, she took Neely’s hands in hers. “You’re having those vivid dreams again, aren’t you?” she asked. “The same ones your grandmother used to have about times gone by?” Neely nodded. Mabel was studying her very closely. “Do you mind my asking what they’re about?” “No.” Neely knew that her grandmother had trusted Mabel implicitly. They’d been so close that at times, she’d felt jealous of the relationship. “Lately, they’ve been about the London of The Ripper—Jack the First.” Frowning, Mabel nodded. “I should have guessed what with all the research we’ve been having you do.” She glanced out the open door at Sam’s retreating back and spoke in a voice that carried. “I knew we never should have started this investigation into the Ripper. It was all Sergeant Thornway’s idea.” Sam neither stopped nor glanced back. Mabel shifted her eyes to back Neely’s. “Your grandmother always used to try and dream about safe places. Be very careful.” A little shiver of apprehension moved through Neely. She and Mabel had talked about her dreams before, but what she saw in Mabel’s eyes looked suspiciously like a warning. Did Mabel suspect that her dreams might be real? How? More importantly, why? But before she could ask, Mabel gave her a brisk, hard hug and hurried down the steps after her tenants. Neely closed the front door of Bookends, then turned and sagged against it. “I’m going to bed.” “It’s no wonder you’re exhausted.” Linc strode through the room, turning off the Tiffany style lamps that graced various end tables. “What beats me is how the two of them can get so fired up about something that happened in 1888. Whoever killed those women in the Whitechapel district is long dead and buried. Case closed.” “But the case wasn’t closed. Jack the Ripper was never caught.” Neely loaded cups into the dishwasher in the small alcove that served as a coffee bar for their customers. “That’s what fascinates them.” “And you.” “And me,” she agreed. “No one can change the past. If you ask me, our armchair detectives ought to focus their energy on investigating the bastard who has every woman in Manhattan carrying pepper stray and purchasing hand guns. So far the police are batting zero.” Neely had no comment on that. The media was criticizing the NYPD on a daily basis because they had not leads. So far, Jack the Second had claimed five victims in 2008—all single women who lived alone and evidently invited them into their homes. “Look,” Linc crossed to her then and took her hands in his. “I have an idea for a change of pace. “There’s a new club that just opened on Spring Street. Why don’t you come with me? It would do you good to get away from here and have a little fun in 2008. You’ve been away from the dating scene for too long.” Neely knew that Linc was on a campaign to keep her from trying to travel to London tonight. But his words struck home. It had been a year and a half since her grandmother had taken ill—a year and a half since she’d been on a date or even to a club. It was a long time to go without any sort of normal social life, let alone a man. She’d been dating someone she’d liked while she’d been doing graduate work in library science. But they’d drifted apart when she’d taken a leave to nurse her grandmother. Since then, there’d been no one. And her nun like existence had been brought home to her with a vengeance earlier in the day when that stranger had walked into Bookends. Linc squeezed her hands before he released them. “It’s high time you had a man in your life.” Well, a man had certainly walked into her life today. Linc had been out, so she’d been alone in the store when Mr. tall, dark, and dangerous had strolled in. He was dressed in black with broad shoulders and narrow hips. Never in her life had she been so aware of a man. His mere presence in the room had been as intimate as a touch that she’d felt right down to her toes. Later when her brain had kicked in again, she hadn’t been quite able to place him either as a New Yorker or a tourist. But at the time she hadn’t been able to think clearly at all. She’d said something to him, she was sure. The usual spiel—“Welcome to Bookends. I’m Neely Rafferty. Let me know if I can help you.” She had to have said something like that because he’d replied, “I’d just like to browse” in a low, gravelly voice. Then she’d simply gawked at him like a teenager. The entire time that he wandered through the room, she hadn’t been able to drag her eyes away from him. Every detail of his appearance had imprinted itself on her mind—that strong face, those angled cheekbones and that lean hard body. He’d caught her staring at it when he turned suddenly and strode toward her, a book in his outstretched hand. She’d gulped in air and felt it burn her lungs. Whether or not she would have been able to ring up the sale was a moot point because he’d dropped the book just as he’d reached her. They’d squatted down simultaneously to retrieve it and knocked into one another. He’d grabbed her wrists to steady her, and she’d felt her pulse pound against those strong hard fingers. She’d stared into those gray eyes and watched them darken—as his breath feathered over her skin. Time had stood still. He was going to kiss her. She’d read the intent in his eyes, felt it in her bones. In fact, though neither of them had moved—she was sure of that—she’d felt those firm lips cover hers, and she’d sampled just the promise of his taste as his tongue touched hers. Her response hadn’t been fear. Oh, no. It had been a hot curl of lust. Then just as she was willing him to kiss her for real, he’d dropped her wrists, gotten to his feet and strode out of the store. “Earth to Neely…” “Hmmm?” She turned to find Linc staring at her in concern. “You’ve been drifting away like that ever since I came back from lunch. You need to get out of this place for a while. Live a little. Come with me.” She shook her head. “I can’t.” Linc frowned. “I know exactly what you’re going to do. The minute I leave you’re going to try to bring on one of your dreams and go off to London again. What can I do to convince you to take a break—at least until you talk to this Dr. Rhoades?” “I don’t think you can. I’ve been thinking about it all day, and I feel like this is something that I have to do.” “Why?” “I don’t know. But there must be a reason I was given this ability.” Because she wanted to ease the worry in his eyes, she said, “Besides, if I went with you, what are the chances that I would meet any straight men at your club?” “No chance at all, I hope.” He smiled then. “There’s no way I can convince you to get out of here for a while and play?” “I’m going to the Psychic Institute tomorrow.” “That’s not getting away. That’s work.” He crossed to the door and retrieved his jacket from a coat rack. “You need a change.” Her mind drifted back to the stranger who’d come into her book store. He’d been a radical change. All day she’d been wondering would have happened if he’d kissed her? And every time she thought about it, she experienced that curl of hot lust all over again. Pushing the stranger firmly out of her mind, Neely walked to Linc and rose on her toes to kiss his cheek. “Go. Have enough fun and excitement for both of us.” He frowned down at her. “Be careful.” “I will. I’ve been taking the pepper spray you bought for me.” “Make sure you use it if you have to.” She nodded. She hadn’t thought to the night before. She’d been so intent on escaping. But she would use it if she had to. Linc gave her a nod, then turned to let himself out. “Lock the door and put on the alarm.” She did exactly what he’d ordered. Then she made her way to the stairs and hurried up them. Truth told, except for that time when the stranger had occupied her mind, her whole being, she’d been filled with an urgency to return to London 1888. She was becoming more and more convinced that she had some kind of purpose there—or perhaps a mission. The bookstore had given her a purpose for a while, but now that it was operating successfully, she’d begun to experience a kind of restlessness. A yearning for a new challenge. Linc had made a strong argument that she needed to expand her social life. No doubt that’s why she’d had that strange reaction to that man today. Linc was also right about the fact that she did need a lover. If she was going to react to every stranger who walked through her front door the way she had today, she definitely needed some sex in her life. But tonight she had something else—someone else—on her agenda. She was going to see if she could have another encounter with Jack the Ripper. Before she talked to Dr. Rhoades tomorrow, she intended to gather more evidence by seeing if she could travel again to London tonight to the scene of The Ripper’s first murder. Once in her bedroom, Neely changed into dark jeans, sneakers and a sweatshirt. Then she tucked her hair into a cap. Studying her reflection in the mirror, she felt the onslaught of second thoughts. Did she actually believe that she was going to psychically travel back through time? Neely met her eyes in the mirror. Yes. She did. Pressing both hands against the legion of butterflies in her stomach, she checked herself one last time in the mirror, decided that she could pass for a boy—if it was dark enough. In Victorian London, if she was going to wander the streets alone at night, it was much safer to be male. Finally, she checked to make sure the pepper spray was in her pocket. Then she crossed to the chair next to her bed and sat down. Before she fell asleep, she was going to review in her mind the story of Jack the Ripper’s first victim—Mary Ann Nichols, who was killed on August 31, 1888. Mary Ann’s body had been found on the ground in front of a gated stable entrance on Buck’s Row. Neely had discovered a detailed sketch of the scene in one of the books she’d found for her armchair detectives. Leaning back, she closed her eyes and brought the gate into focus. Next, she pictured the time in her mind as if it were the read out on a digital clock. 11:00 PM. Hopefully, that would be early enough. She might not have been able to save Catherine Eddowes, but if she got there in time, she might be able to save Mary Ann. If this worked—well, she was going to have a lot of questions for Dr. Julian Rhoades when she attended his lecture at the Psychic Institute tomorrow. |
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