Authors: Julia Watts
Liv retreated and pulled the curtains closed. There wasn’t anything illegal about a person changing his appearance, and she had no solid proof he’d done it—just some brown drops in a restroom.
It didn’t sound so bad when she described the incident to Anthony and Cal, striving to keep her voice lower than the in-flight movie the boys were watching.
“Sis, there’s nothing wrong with changing into shorts and putting fake tan on your face,” said Anthony.
“What about the hair dye?”
“Maybe he tried it and didn’t like it.”
Liv wasn’t convinced. But if the boys weren’t worried about the stranger, maybe she shouldn’t be, either.
Dinner concluded with tong-equipped flight attendants doling out steaming lemon-scented towels from piles on a service cart. The in-flight movies were over now. Screens went blank and passengers pulled off headphones. They had been fed, scrubbed and entertained. It was time to settle down and have some quiet in the last few hours of darkness as their jet shot eastward to chase an early sunrise.
Anna, who’d perked up just enough to eat the light supper Mrs. Wescott had packed for her, had dozed through the light and noises of the early evening.
The dimming of the cabin lights for “night” created a hush among the passengers, and Anna’s eyes popped open. She was ready for action, and she reached into the aisle toward Liv.
Holding Anna would mean walking her, and Liv wanted a nap just now. Besides, though she’d put the restroom stranger out of her mind for awhile, the possibility of seeing him again wasn’t appealing. She’d recruit Cal for babysitting duty.
Liv leaned over Anthony and tapped Cal’s shoulder. “Wake up—time to switch seats.” Cal was propped against the window, eyes closed.
“Too late. I’m asleep.”
“No, you’re not. You’re talking to me.”
“I’m talking in my sleep.”
Anthony, in the middle, closed his book, sighed and switched off his reading light. He clicked open his seat belt, looked from Cal to Liv and back to Cal, waiting.
Anna held out her arms and said, “Ca.” She had elected her babysitter for the first shift. Cal crawled over Anthony and stood in the aisle, taking Anna from Mrs. Wescott and waiting for Anthony to scoot to the window spot.
“If you can keep her happy for a little while, we’ll each take a turn after you—won’t we, Anthony?” Liv snuggled into the middle seat and closed her eyes.
Cal had a good relationship with Anna—she adored him, and Cal enjoyed playing with her most of the time, like the little sister he’d never had. But she looked fussy right now, and Cal was at a loss.
He beckoned to Mrs. Wescott for the diaper bag, unzipped it, and began to rate the contents. Disposable diapers, baby wipes, extra clothes—boring. Monkeys on a chain, teething ring, soft ladybug—better. Anna eyed his every move.
He found a plastic snack bag and held it out to her. Anna watched. She’s considering things, just like her brother, Cal thought. She’ll be a lot like Anthony when she grows up. That pleased him. A female version of his best friend.
The food didn’t seem appealing to Cal: some health-food store cereal stuff, dried fruit, banana chips, tofu cubes. He couldn’t blame Anna for just wanting to look and not eat. He tapped Liv with the bag and held it out. “What do we have here, big sister?”
Liv roused long enough to point out spirulina chunks, yogurt pretzels and carob balls. “The colored circles are Frootie Rings—juice-flavored cereal.” Cal wrinkled his nose and hoped Anna wouldn’t want any. He had a sensitive stomach.
He held Anna’s index finger and guided it to touch bits of food through the plastic, calling out the colors of the cereal circles: “Green, blue, yellow, orange, pink, purple.”
Anna tried: “Ee, oo, ell, aw, puh.”
Cal began to chant, “Spirulina, pret-zel, rai-sin, carob ball, Frootie Rin-n-g!” He let his voice trail off. An “Unh, unh” from Anna let him know that he needed to do it again. Over and over and over again.
Ten minutes and a hundred repetitions later, Cal wondered if the other passengers were ready to murder him. Anna signaled she’d had enough by grabbing the plastic bag and lobbing it over the back of the seat. Cal cringed and called out, “Sorry!”
Now what? He plugged in his headphones and surfed channels till he found soothing classical music, putting the set on Anna’s head. Her eyes grew wide and her brow furrowed in concentration. Cal congratulated himself on a brilliant idea and sat back to enjoy the results.
Just enough sound leaked from the loose-fitting headphones for him to hear the beat, and he swung Anna back and forth to it. He felt her relax, and her drooping eyelids made him sleepy, too. When her foot struck the volume control and sent a blast through the earpieces, Anna squealed and started to cry. Cal pulled the plug.
“I didn’t do it!”
The crying stopped, but her lower lip puckered.
Cal looked up and down the darkened aisle. He could walk a few laps, then pass her off to Liv or Anthony. She might fall asleep before his turn came again.
“Let’s get away from the evil headphones.” He replaced the sippy cup in the diaper bag and stood. It felt good to stretch. Jiggling Anna and patting her back, Cal made his way down the aisle to the rear of the plane, turned and reversed his steps.
He walked to the curtains separating First Class from the rest of the cabin and began a slow about-face, but stopped when a chubby hand shot out and pulled a curtain panel, creating a small gap. “No, we don’t go in there,” he whispered. “Here, let’s put it back.”
Cal positioned Anna’s hand on his arm so she could “help.” Reaching up to shift the drape, he caught sight of a familiar profile and nearly collapsed on rubbery knees. Dozing in first class, looking completely at home in the twenty-first century, was the pirate Robert Francis Morehouse.
Technically, of course, Morehouse was no longer a pirate. He was a somewhat-legal antiques dealer, transported to the present after a four-year stint in the early twentieth century. Cal and Anthony had traveled to St. Augustine, 1777, where they met Morehouse and he proceeded to kidnap them. Their escape had been complicated by his holding on and time-traveling with them.
The story should have ended when the boys dropped in to check on Morehouse and found themselves between the former pirate and a killer. They’d all risked their lives to save each other, and the end result was that Morehouse was now loose in the twenty-first century. Cal and Anthony had kept from Liv the fact that they’d made one last trip—ten years into the future—and found Morehouse flourishing.
Even now he seemed to be functioning amazingly well— he’d only been in the modern world about six months. If he saw Morehouse now, Cal wasn’t supposed to know about some shady business deals, or Morehouse’s metamorphosis from crook to charter fishing boat captain to golf course owner.
Morehouse’s character had seemed pretty solid to Cal and Anthony on their visit to the future, but the man sitting four rows in front of him was not so mellow. Could it mean danger for them? Anna sensed the tension in Cal’s body and clung to him. Cal replaced the curtain silently and returned to his seat to tell Anthony and Liv this latest development.
“Wakee, wakee,” warbled a flight attendant through the intercom. Two of her co-workers began a stop-and-go trip down the aisle with a rolling cart full of beverages, efficiently passing coffee, tea, juices and water to sleepy passengers.
The warbler’s co-worker swept along the aisle in a second wave, offering danishes and cereal with milk. Bringing up the rear guard was a young man who distributed plastic platters of scrambled eggs, link sausages and toast. The smells and sounds brought the cabin to life.
Liv and Cal took single servings of everything while Anthony took doubles, part of his continuing effort to gain weight that never appeared.
Cal yawned and stared at his tray. “You realize it’s actually three o’clock in the morning, don’t you? I don’t think I can do sausage in the middle of the night.” Before Liv could answer, a fork snaked under Cal’s right arm, speared his sausage, and disappeared. Anthony chewed and swallowed with a satisfied nod.
Liv pulled Cal’s tray closer to hers and shooed Anthony’s fork away just as it came in and hovered over Cal’s egg. “Keep talking like that, and you’ll have nothing left to eat. Where we’re going, it’s already eight in the morning and lunch is going to be your next meal. Just think of this as a morning that came fast.”
Now that people were stirring, Liv wanted to make her way forward and get a better look at Robert Morehouse. From what the boys had told her, an unexpected meeting with him might be awkward, and Liv couldn’t help them avoid Morehouse unless she knew what he looked like.
There was a chance of bumping into Light Hair again, but she’d have to risk it. Her gut told her the connection between the two men hadn’t been her imagination, and if Handsome was really Morehouse, the whole thing could turn into something she didn’t want her parents to see. They knew nothing of the box or time travel adventures.
The food and beverage trolleys retired, and passengers chowed down. Another minute and they’d be expecting drink refills and making trips to the restroom. Time to make a move.
Liv cut her eyes to Cal and Anthony, and nodded her head in the direction of first class. They returned the nod and continued eating.
She passed a service area, where the flight attendants were busy refilling coffee carafes, chatting about where they would go and what they would do in London. It was now or never. She took a deep breath and opened the curtain.
No one paid attention to her. Liv stood in the aisle and waited for Handsome Man to turn his head. Somehow she knew she would see the details Cal had told her to watch for: a little gray around the temples in the rich black hair, piercing blue eyes, and a muscular body. A fine-looking face marred by one long scar snaking across the right cheekbone.
Her breath caught in her throat as the man turned his head toward the First Class attendant, who rushed to refill his orange juice glass, flashing him a smile of perfectly bleached teeth. It was Morehouse, all right, and he was dazzling the attendant with his pirate charm. The young woman’s face flushed and her hand trembled as she poured the juice.
Light Hair was watching the scene, a bemused smile on his face. That was good. It kept him facing forward and diverted his attention from Liv. All she had to do was turn around and sneak back to her seat.
Morehouse must have said something witty. The attendant giggled, looked up self-consciously, and noticed Liv.
Perhaps she mistook Liv’s look of surprise at being caught staring for something else. Disapproval? Nosiness? Whatever is was, a frown wrinkled her lovely brow, and she walked purposefully toward Liv.
“I’m sorry, Miss, you shouldn’t be here. If you need something, just ask Lorinda or Jill.” She pointed a manicured fingernail toward the coach section.
Lancelot Cumpston turned his head in the direction of the pretty attendant’s stern gaze and grimaced when he saw Liv. That one again!
It probably didn’t matter that she’d noticed him, but it was annoying. He prided himself on being nearly invisible, the most discreet partner in the very discreet antiques firm of Cumpston, Pridgeon and McKnickel.
Not every sale required secrecy, but when customers dealt with CP&M, discretion was an expected part of the service. Only those in an elite inner circle might know someone who knew someone who could contact one of the partners to procure antiques and rare objects that no regular dealer would touch.
McKnickel was the antiques expert who had founded the firm. He’d engaged in questionable practices, exaggerating the age and worth of his merchandise and making a modest profit. But when Cumpston and his friend, Carmine Pridgeon, had come on board, business had skyrocketed. Pridgeon made millions for the firm in illegal real estate dealings, and Cumpston, who was absolutely ruthless, went by the philosophy that all laws were made to be broken. His was now the name that came first, though the company logo couldn’t be found on any sign, stationery or telephone listing.
Everything had been fine until Pridgeon suggested bringing his new acquaintance, Morehouse, into the mix. The man attracted attention wherever he went.
Maybe he was worth it. He took advantage of customers and other dealers with ease, but was almost impossible to fool—a valuable combination. His encyclopedic knowledge of antiques was almost eerie. It was as if he’d been there when the pieces were new. He could talk wealthy clients into buying expensive objects they never knew they wanted. Rich ladies swooned over him, while he charmed their husbands into opening their checkbooks. He closed deals and made the buyers happy to part with their cash.
But when some of your inventory was stolen or fake, it was risky to be memorable, and being memorable was part of Morehouse’s style. If he knew just how far outside the law Cumpston, Pridgeon and McKnickel operated, he’d be a lot more careful.
In fact, he might not even want to do business with them. Maybe it was time for them to part ways with Morehouse, before he learned too much and became a liability they would need to dispose of.
It might be best to let Morehouse phase out gradually. They had an important delivery to make next month, to an Australian collector. They’d take the firm’s private jet, and if Morehouse put up a fuss, they could stuff him in a packing crate and dump him in the ocean on the way back.