The Sapphire Brooch (The Celtic Brooch Trilogy Book 2) (28 page)

She slipped the laptop into her leather computer bag and left it sitting by the entryway table. She managed one last glance around the foyer, imprinting the room on her brain, praying she would come home again. She sniffed. The scent of bacon Jack had cooked for breakfast lingered in the air. Braham had loved Jack’s bacon and coffee in the morning. She shook away the memory and closed the door. There was no room for sentimentality. She had to stop Braham and make it home alive. She had six months.

God help them all.

“I will do my part as if the issue of the whole struggle depends on me alone.”

—Abraham Lincoln

31

Washington, D.C.—Present Day

A
brilliant sun
poked bold fingers through the empty branches of the willow oak trees planted along Pennsylvania Avenue near the Willard Hotel. The Christmas rush was at its peak, the city was festooned with wreaths and garlands with bright red bows, and hundreds of shoppers jammed the sidewalks. The Ellipse, with the National Christmas Tree glimmering in the center, was full of sightseers both young and old, milling around and posing for pictures. When Charlotte and Jack were kids, they never missed witnessing the National Christmas Tree Lighting Ceremony from President’s Park. Now, since their parents’ deaths, the event only triggered bittersweet memories. The holidays were tough for her, which was why she was always on call Christmas Day.

A doorman at the Willard opened Charlotte’s door. “Happy Holiday, Doctor Mallory. Are you checking in or going to lunch?”

“We’re checking in today, Gregory.” She wouldn’t have been able to call him by name if he hadn’t been wearing a nametag, although she and Jack stayed at the hotel so often the staff remembered them. “I’ll need the trunks brought to our suite.”

The doorman smiled and signaled for a bellhop.

“Leave the car here,” Jack told him. “I’ll check in and then come back for it.”

He tipped the doorman, then escorted Charlotte toward the entrance. As soon as they entered the lobby, Charlotte stopped short, taking in the breathtaking beauty of the antiques, marble columns, frescoes, chandeliers, poinsettias, and a floor-to-ceiling Christmas tree. Jack placed his hand in the center of her back and pressed her forward.

“Stop gawking. This isn’t your first visit.”

She sighed. “I know, but it still takes my breath away.”

“So does the Grand Canyon.”

“You’re so unromantic. No wonder your little black book has only a few entries.”

He cocked one brow in disbelief. “I love violins and candlelit dinners, and for your information, I have a full book.”

“Ha. According to MacKlenna Farm’s website, Stormy has a full book. You have Cliff Notes. And those candlelit dinners are followed by football or basketball games on TV.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about. Ginny loved to watch football and basketball games with me.”

Charlotte dismissed his ploy with a wave of her hand. “She worked for CNN Sports, and you only dated her for a couple of months. Her travel schedule was worse than yours.”

“Your love life is worse than mine, so stop picking on me.”

They reached the registration desk and checked into their suite.

“Here’s your key. I’m going to go put the car in the parking space I rented. When I get back, we’ll have lunch and go over our list one more time.”

“Do you want me to make dinner reservations?”

“I’m having dinner with my agent. You’re welcome to go, though.”

“Thanks, but no thanks. I’m going to enjoy room service and a long, luxurious bath, since it’s likely to be a while before I enjoy either one again.”

Charlotte watched her brother saunter away, wondering for the hundredth time, or more, why he sabotaged relationships. He refused to go to counseling, and every time she brought up the subject of their parents’ deaths, he shut down. She wasn’t forthcoming either, but at least she had given counseling a try. What the heck. They were probably stuck, going through life together forever, two people riding a tandem bicycle, trying to go in different directions, and too damn stubborn to let anyone else take the lead.

32

Washington, D.C.—Present Day

A
t seven o’clock
the next morning, Charlotte swished through the hotel lobby in a deeply pleated, silk-satin Civil War-era walking dress in a blue and black checkered pattern, and carrying a long blue winter cloak over her arm. Jack had told her to meet him at the Christmas tree, but he wasn’t there, so she tapped her foot, turned up her nose, and channeled Scarlett O’Hara. “
Fiddle-dee-dee. War, war, war; this war talk’s spoiling all the fun at every party this spring. I get so bored I could scream.
”

Several early-morning risers had snapped her picture using their smartphones. She smiled sweetly and threw in more fiddle-dee-dees as she turned this way and that for them. Wearing such an elaborate costume freed the little girl inside her to enjoy a flight of fantasy. She went a bit overboard with her channeling, but what the heck. The fun would end when she left the building.

“There you are,” Jack said.

She blinked, and her mouth dropped open. The shock wore off and she shut her mouth, shaking her head. “Damn. You look
good
.” She straightened his cravat and hand-pressed the shoulders of his frock coat. “The silk striped vest is a nice touch. I like it. Very handsome.”

He stood tall and easy and smiled down at her. He did indeed look every bit the gentlemen he purported to be. The young women in Washington were in for a treat.

“Are you ready?” he asked.

“I should ask you the same thing. I already know how dangerous it is.”

His face telegraphed his brotherly concern. “Do you want to change your mind?”

She shook her head and took a calming breath. “I don’t want to go. Other than witnessing history, there is nothing enticing, entertaining, or healthy about what we’re about to do. But’s it’s necessary. Regardless of how I feel about it, I have to go.”

“The bellhop is taking our trunks to the corner.”

She scrunched her face. “Is it a good idea to disappear in plain sight?”

“Do you want to duck into a phone booth instead?”

She smirked. “You’re the writer.”

“I know, which is why I picked seven o’clock to disappear. The street is empty. And it’s cold outside and barely daylight. If you’ll stop lollygagging, we’ll get out of here.”

She swooshed around his legs and stomped toward the door.

Jack chuckled close behind her.

A moment of levity before they spiraled into danger.

She stopped and dug in her heels. “But I don’t want to go.”

He put his hands on her shoulders. “You’ll be safe. I promise. Now, let’s get the flock out of here.”

She supposed he meant to comfort her, but his words were like Band-Aids on an open-heart incision, and did nothing to assuage the fear churning in her belly. A strange breeze slithered by her, sounding like whispers of secrets. She shook it off, or tried to.

Their bellhop hovered at the corner of 15
^th
and E Street guarding their trunks. Jack tipped the young man, but he didn’t want to leave them until their transportation arrived. Jack assured him a bus would be by to pick them up in a matter of minutes, and they wouldn’t need his assistance to get the trunks on board. The bellhop left, but kept looking back. Finally, Jack scooted them next to the side of the hotel and out of the bellhop’s line of sight.

Charlotte sat on top of one of the trunks and spread out her skirt.

“It’s time, sis. No one’s around. Say the words and let’s be gone.”

“You’re sure this is what you want to do?”

“Damn it. You’re becoming obnoxious. Get the brooch and let’s go.”

The brooch and a pair of tweezers were packed in her reticule. Using the tweezers, she caught the edge of the broken clasp and pinched the pieces together until the stone opened. Then she patted the trunk beside her. “Sit, and let’s hold hands.”

They squeezed each other’s fingers. Then after a silent prayer, she spoke the ancient incantation. “
Chan ann le tìm no àite a bhios sinn a’ tomhais an gaol ach’s ann le neart anama.”

As the peat-smelling fog engulfed them, Jack let out one of his boisterous laughs.

33

Washington City—December, 1864

A
s the frigid
fog dissipated, Charlotte shivered, even in her long cloak. The mist’s embrace had been suffocating as it twisted and tumbled her through a void black as coal and cold as ice. The vertical loops and inversions were made worse on this trip by an unnerving effect that shot her back and forth, scaring her even more than the previous trips.

Relieved it was over, she took several deep breaths. Big mistake. The smell of unwashed bodies and open sewers triggered bile up into the back of her throat. She gagged.

Jack put his arm around her shoulders. “Are you going to be sick?”

She fanned her face with her hand. “Give me a minute.” A combination of smells and riding on a speed-demon roller coaster would upset even the most stalwart of stomachs. She closed her eyes and breathed in and out through her mouth until the nausea passed.

Finally, she said, “I’m okay now.” She opened her eyes to see Jack standing with his hands on his hips, gawking.

He glanced down at her. “
We’re…here
.” His voice was choppy with excitement, reminding her of a hound dog sniffing the scent in a relentless drive to follow a trail.

Gingerly, she stood. “You have a cast-iron stomach. The trip didn’t bother you at all, did it?”

“Nah.” He pointed over her shoulder. “Look. We’re still at the Willard.”

She turned to look at the old building. She hadn’t paid any attention to it during her prior visit, and now she saw there wasn’t much of a resemblance to the twenty-first century hotel, other than being on the same corner.

“Let’s hope we arrived in the right year, too.” She pulled her cloak around her, trapping warmth between the heavy wool and her dress. “What time do you think it is?” Not that she had any place to be, but her entire adult life had been driven by the time. She glanced up, shading her eyes with her hand, and studied the position of the sun in a slightly overcast sky.

Jack stretched, cocking his head. “I’m facing north. The sun is to my left. It’s after twelve o’clock, but not by much.”

“A line from one your books, I bet.”

“It is, and a bad one, too. Honestly, I have no idea.”

“I’m glad your sense of humor arrived intact.”

“Why wouldn’t it? This is a game-changer for me. I have a good shot at getting another movie deal from this book. Don’t mess it up.”

“This trip is
not
about you.” Her voice was sharp with agitation.

His nostrils flared, but he didn’t snap back at her. “Maybe not, but I’m going to take full advantage of it. Now, I’m going inside the hotel to hire a carriage to take us to Georgetown. Will you be all right staying with the luggage?”

“I’m within spitting distance of the White House. What could happen to me here?”

“Yeah, right. Look what happened to you at the Cedar Creek reenactment.”