Downtime (12 page)

“I miss you, Sully.” I had to say it. Just in case. Of course he already knew. Maybe I was saying it more for my own sake.

Sully seemed certain I’d find a way to get home. I wished I’d asked him to be a little more specific on exactly when. Leonard would terminate Nosik at his earliest chance. There was nothing I could do about that except hope Sully would keep trying to communicate with Faulkner or, hell, even one of those nutty psychics who tried to put their two cents in on various cases.

All I could do was hunt down that damned book. Museum employee Whitby seemed to have a little business going on the side. First thing to do was find him, and I could follow the trail from there. But it looked like I was going to have to wait until morning to start a search for the guy. I didn’t have the funds, the transportation, or the authority to go poking around in the dead of night.

And dead of night it was. Reaching a street corner, I leaned against the lamppost and listened. Apart from the occasional carriage clattering in the fogbound distance, there was little sign of life. My sense of direction had never been what I was best known for at the Bureau. Sully had always marveled that I’d been a Boy Scout, convinced I couldn’t find my way across the street without a map, compass, and a pair of guide dogs. I had no doubt if he’d followed me now, he was laughing his head off.

“You could at least point me in the right direction,” I muttered, and started back down the block I’d come. I was confident I could get back, despite the fog. But after traipsing a few blocks, my confidence fled, leaving me with the hard reality that I’d gotten myself irretrievably lost.

I didn’t
suppose knocking on someone’s door to ask for directions would go over too well. Hannah had said there were cops all up and down the area, but I hadn’t seen one yet. I kept walking, sure the right street must be just around the next corner. Luckily, I wasn’t the only one in London not already in bed. Around the corner, a cab stood at the curb, and the two women who’d just climbed out of it were sorting through a handful of coins while the cabbie waited patiently, no doubt hoping for a generous tip.

“‘Evening,” I began, putting on my best manners. “I was wondering if you might be able to direct me—”

A pair of horrified gasps cut me off. The two women clutched at each other and backed away from me, looking to the cabbie for help. He stared at me with an alarm that seemed all out of proportion, even for this overly sensitive day and age. I raised my hands in the traditional innocent bystander gesture. “I’m lost. That’s all.”

The cabbie raised his whip. “You let them be. I’m warning you.”

I sighed. “Fine. Warning heeded.” I swung around to leave before I got in any deeper with these nuts and, lo, a pair of big guys in blue coats stepped out of the fog. The adage to be careful what you wish for popped into my head.

The older of the two constables looked me up and down. “Bit far from home, aren’t you, sir?”

He had no idea. “I’m a little lost, yeah.”

“Accosting them ladies, he was,” the cabbie said. “I saw him at it.”

“I wasn’t accosting anyone. I just wanted directions.”

“Directions to which particular establishment, sir?” the constable asked.

Though his tone was polite, I could tell by his surly expression it wouldn’t take much provocation for him to use the heavy baton he bounced in one hand. “I’m looking for Thanet and Leigh.”

The other constable spoke up. “Farbridge House?” He shook his head. “Miss Neilan wouldn’t take in that sort, Tom.”

“Was thinking that, myself,” Constable Tom said, casting a dark eye on me. “What’s your name?”

“I’ve got ID right here.” I put a hand in my jacket pocket and Tom grabbed my arm in a rock-solid grip. Fighting the instinct to flip him to the sidewalk, I tried to relax all resistance before he wrenched my shoulder from its socket. “Will you calm down? I was reaching for ID. That’s all.”

Tom looked at his partner, who shrugged, then back at me. “You do have a name, don’t you, sir?”

I told him, trying not to sound as pissed off as I was becoming. “What are the charges?”

“Charges, sir?”

“Why are you arresting me? Suspicion of theft? Public indecency? What?”

He frowned. “You do look a rather suspicious character. “

His partner leaned over to whisper, “You don’t think….”

“Don’t know,” Tom said grimly. “But I intend to find out. If you’ll escort the ladies to their door, I’ll take care of this bounder.”

I had no idea what a bounder was, but it didn’t sound complimentary. “Going to at least read me my rights?”

Tom looked bemused. “Read you your what?”

Shit. But before I could worry how Ezra and Derry would find me once I was shipped off to prison, a polite, cheerful voice startled us all. “Good evening, Constable.”

I didn’t know whether to be annoyed or relieved. As Ezra stepped, like a ghost himself, out of the fog, the cop swung around to look at him. “Mr. Glacenbie, isn’t it? ’Evening, sir. How is Miss Neilan this evening?”

The second constable chuckled. “Ain’t lost any of her tenants, has she?” he asked with a sardonic glance at me.

Ezra didn’t appear to know whether to be annoyed or relieved, either. He looked me over and a little of the anxiety melted from his face, to be replaced by rueful humor. “One of them, yes, but you’ve found him for us. Good job. I warned him about this weather, but you know Americans. Imagine themselves quite invincible.”

“That I know, sir. Just Sunday last, we fished one out of the water who thought himself an expert oarsman.”

The three of them shared a laugh and I held my tongue, letting Ezra do whatever it took to persuade them I was no danger to anyone, except maybe myself. Seeming satisfied I wasn’t going to demand directions from any more unsuspecting citizens, the cops moved on, leaving me in Ezra’s custody. Ezra began walking and I fell into step beside him.

“You that chummy with all the police around here?” I asked after a long stretch of quiet.

“They’ve called upon me in the past for assistance.”

“Oh yeah? Solve any big cases?”

“I did locate a stolen necklace. And one or two murderers,” he added quietly.

“Make the papers?”

“Make….” He looked puzzled, then his face cleared. “Ah. No. I didn’t wish to be mentioned in the newspaper.”

“So you let the police take all the credit. No wonder they like you.”

“Like may be putting it rather strongly.”

“You can’t blame them. They deal in facts. They see what you do as pure fiction.”

“As do you.”

I heard in the offhand statement a small hope that maybe I was seeing what he did a little differently now. “I need a lot of convincing—but I’ll admit you do a pretty convincing Sully. It was like being with him again for a couple of minutes.”

“I’m sorry,” he said gently.

I knew what the apology was for. “Don’t worry about it. Look, Sully—if that was Sully—told us the book will trade hands. Any idea what he might’ve been talking about? How much do you know about this Adam Whitby?”

“I don’t know anything about him. I haven’t worked there long and he keeps to himself.”

“Aloof type?”

“Well, I should have said he keeps company with the other senior members of the staff. Henry probably knows him better.”

“Yeah? Damn. I was sort of hoping to avoid any more conversations with Henry longer than ‘please pass the potatoes’.”

Ezra cleared his throat. “Now, Mr. Nash, Derry and I have made a pact to try to be kinder to Henry. He’s had a difficult time of it, working all these years without promotion to a better position.” He paused, a frown touching the corners of his mouth. “Perhaps I shouldn’t have told you that. Don’t mention it, will you?”

“Did it occur to you maybe he brought that on himself? The guy’s a cranky son of a bitch.”

Ezra’s curiosity was back. “Do the men of your time use that sort of language so freely? In any company?” he added, and I knew he was remembering Sully’s particular way with words.

“Men, and women too.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Some may like the idea of visiting the future, but I don’t think I should care for it at all.”

“You’d probably fit in well enough,” I remarked as we turned a corner and I saw the house just ahead.

“Would I?” He did not appear flattered. “If I take up swearing to a greater degree, I will consider it.”

I had to admit I liked his sense of humor, even when it was directed at me. He went ahead up the steps and unlocked the door, waving me into the foyer. The gas was low, the hall quiet and shadowy. An overactive imagination could envision ghosts lurking here. I wondered what Ezra saw when he stepped inside behind me and shut the door.

Whatever he saw, I doubted it was reflected in his pleased sigh. ‘Much better,” he said.

I turned to see him shucking off his coat. He shook his head with a certain sympathy as he met my eyes. “You need something warmer. Perhaps tomorrow—”

“I’m going home tomorrow. I’ll be warm enough until then.” I looked toward the landing. The whole place was so damned quiet. “Guess everyone’s gone to bed?”

Ezra stopped on the step and turned to me. “We were all quite worried about you, you know.”

No way was I that transparent. Maybe he did read minds. “I’m sorry. I just needed to get out for a little while.”

“It’s all right. Everyone else needed to go along up. They have an early start tomorrow, so I said I would hunt ’round for you, myself.”

“You probably figured I’d end up arrested.”

“Not at all. Just lost.” He smiled. “Try to get some rest, Mr. Nash. We shall be fearfully tired tomorrow, as it is.”

“So I guess Derry’s sound asleep,” I said as Ezra started up again. I backed down a step. “I’m just going to go crash on the sofa instead of waking him up. Kathleen won’t really mind, will she? I promise to take off my shoes.”

The hesitation in Ezra’s face lasted barely a moment before he spoke. “She might not, but I do. It’s far too chilly to sleep in the parlor.” He waved for me to follow him up. I wasn’t entirely sure whether I preferred a shivery nap on the sofa or a warmer couple of hours in bed with a guy who’d be tossing and turning from ghosts poking at him, if he slept at all.

I’d probably be dreaming of Sully, myself. I followed Ezra to his room, getting another look at it from a less sleepy perspective. Unlike Henry’s showroom, Ezra’s was decorated without an awareness of other eyes that might see it. Books crowded on the mantel were propped with mismatched candlesticks. A coat sleeve stuck out between the closed doors of the wardrobe cabinet, and on the dressing table next to it were scattered linen collars, stickpins, cuff links, and Ezra’s shaving equipment. The guy was even more of a slob than I was.

The high-backed mahogany chair by the fire was the nicest piece of furniture I’d seen in the whole house; Ezra had tossed an old blanket on it and a tasseled pillow. A smaller pillow crowned the footstool and I suspected the whole set-up had served on more than one restless night as a place to sleep. More pillows were piled at one end of the window seat, and on the sill above them sat a plate with a candle burned nearly out of existence. The edge of the curtain was singed and I wondered if Kathleen didn’t live in fear of Ezra burning the house down.