The Time Turner

By Clare Solly

Amelia was living an average life, and had fallen in love with the man of her dreams: a handsome doctor. Until one day her life is interrupted by a phone call that leads her to an inheritance. While inspecting her endowment, Amelia is suddenly thrust back in time, 100 years before. Believing herself to be in a dream, Amelia finds herself entangled with an author. How will she ever get home to the man of her dreams? And does she want to return to her own time when she is falling in love with the man in the past?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Clare Solly
• Release date: Feb 13, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370610594

Clare Solly

Clare Solly is an actress and writer in NYC. She works in the event planning world. An avid coffee drinker, a whiskey lover, and a seltzer addict, Clare loves to cook and bake.

Book preview

"Thirty days hath September, April, June, and November.

All the rest have thirty-one,

Excepting February alone,

And that has twenty-eight days clear,

And twenty-nine each leap year."

--Mother Goose

"The choices you make day by day determine the person you will be. The one choice you can never make is love. It beguiles you. It captures you."

--Thomas Snow

When forced to make the choice between two opposing forces, good or evil, black or white, turn away from either opposing choice given, and instead, choose yourself.

--Alexander Dunne

"We all start as strangers. The choices we make in terms of love are usually ones that seem inevitable anyway. We find people irrationally compelling. We find souls made of the same stuff ours are. We are all just waiting for another universe to collide with ours, to change what we can’t ourselves. To fill us; to make us whole. It’s interesting how afterwards, we realize that the storm returns to calm, but the stars are always changed and we don’t choose whose collisions change us. We all start as strangers. But we forget that often, the only thing we do choose is who ends up a stranger..."

--Brianna Weist

Prologue

I didn’t believe in time travel. I thought it was just an entertaining thought that science fiction writers came up with to divert the over-imaginative population of our planet. A trick in literature and fantasy books to keep people guessing. A thought that would amuse the minds of scientists while annoying historians. An idea to keep anyone with an active mind guessing about whether or not to subscribe to the notion that time was a straight line.

It’s an interesting thought, isn’t it? That time can be something other than a straight line. That history can be rewritten. That in one instant we can change our future as well as change the past.

Other than seeing a few books where the issue of time travel was a plot point, I never thought about it much. I definitely wasn’t a person who believed that time travel was possible. I was, however, always fascinated with other historical times. I liked the idea of swashbuckling, or living in a time where life was slower; clocks and appointments didn’t exist; a time where people went to the theater, the market, or the center of the town square to find out their information. However, other than the rare trip to the theater, I didn’t immerse myself in too much thought about the past. I never thought I’d ever experience time travel.

However, love is another story. I did—I do believe in love. It knows no bounds. Not even time. But why is it that we always seem to hurt the people we love most? And even more intriguing, why do they forgive us, repeatedly? After hurting a loved may people reply with: if I could only go back in time and fix it, I would. This thought, of course can be redefined as: if I were allowed to make different choices, knowing the ones that could harm, and choose more wisely, I would. It's not actually a wish to travel through time.

It’s an interesting thought that both love and time travel are both concepts that are non-linear, make little sense, and are theories that cannot be proven, only experienced. Time travel and love; I thought the former didn’t exist, and I thought I had experienced the latter. I told myself that I had it all figured out and my life was complete, and I didn’t really need either. And then, she appeared.

Part One—The Beginning

CHAPTER 1

Amelia Epoch had never felt that she was exceptional. She was beautiful, true. She was intelligent; graduated cum laude from Amherst, and according to her favorite professor in the design department, had a great future ahead of her. Like many other women, she had her share of good and bad dates, great and terrible jobs, amazing and boring experiences. Through all of the good and the bad, she had yet to feel like her life was going down the path it should. It wasn’t that something was missing, exactly. It was just that life had yet to have a sense of purpose.

Amelia was of average height for a woman, 5’6". She had naturally dark blonde hair that she liked to curl every day when she was in her teens and early twenties, and now it just did it naturally. Amelia had taken up running in college, because a man she was interested in was on the track team, and as a bonus, she didn’t mind having a reason to exercise. The man didn’t become a habit, but running did. Amelia loved running outside and she would run when she could, which was about every other day.

She had majored in interior design, but with the recession no one was really buying homes; even fewer were willing to pay for an interior designer with no references. Even though she was eager and creative she couldn't find anyone willing to work with a neophyte designer without referrals. Instead, she sat at a desk in the Human Resources Department of one of the biggest public relations firms in New York City. Content with life, but feeling that there might be a greater purpose, especially now that she was 30, Amelia was waiting for something to happen.

Moving to New York City from Massachusetts after her parents passed away three years prior was a huge step. She was an only child, but was born late in her parent’s life, so when she started college, her dad was just turning 60 and her mother, who claimed 49 was probably closer to 59. Amelia’s mother was always sick, and had fought cancer and won. Twice. During her college career, her mother was diagnosed with a rarer pancreatic cancer, and fought it diligently, but in the end, lost the battle. After college, Amelia moved close to home to take care of her father and got a job. Her father, who had retired from being a doctor a few years before his wife’s passing, had nothing to keep him busy. A few months later, he passed away in his sleep. Amelia, always the romantic, liked to think that her father missed her mother so much that he couldn’t live without her, and moved on to heaven to be with her.

She missed both parents, especially at the holidays, but in a way, it made life a bit easier. So many of her friends had complaints about their parents and how they were always nagging them to better themselves, get better careers, and get married. Amelia’s parents were the more hands-off type, but still, she was glad she didn’t have to report in and hear the disguised disappointment across the phone lines or at holidays. Instead, she just imagined that they were both off traveling and they wished her well in whatever endeavor she chose.

***

About six months ago, Amelia met Jack. He was a bright young surgeon who was passionate about saving the less fortunate. They met the night Jack was out celebrating with friends about his application acceptance to work for a ‘Doctors Without Borders’ type of group. He was very excited to go to third world countries to offer his surgery skills to those who would need it most. He also had a mentor with whom he wanted to study. He was a chairman of the group, and he was excited to study with and work alongside of him. She admired that he had a drive and a purpose. It felt like she fell in love with him almost immediately. He seemed to be almost a picture-perfect drawing of what a parent would want for their daughter; Chestnut hair and light brown eyes that twinkled when he smiled or talked about saving a patient. Successful. Driven. And his body—he had tone and definition, just enough to make him look manly, but not so much like he should be on a calendar or a marble statue should be erected of him. He was 6 feet tall, so even when she wore heels, he was still taller. He would take her on dates to great restaurants, and they would take turns sleeping at his apartment or hers. After the sixth date—a romantic French restaurant and a movie--Jack gave Amelia a toothbrush with a bow on it, and asked her to be exclusive. He took her back to his apartment that night, gave her a key and a drawer in his dresser. Amelia, swept away by his gestures, agreed. She loved romance. But romance and practicality mixed together were her favorite.

They both loved reading, and would spend hours together wrapped up in bed, reading books or sharing the newspaper. Many observers might say they had a whirlwind romance, but Amelia just felt like she didn’t need to spend time on her own to claim her independence, nor did she need to play games with this man. They just… fit. Amelia felt very content and very loved.

Three months after they started dating, Jack got his assignment for the program. He was ecstatic. After sharing the news with Amelia, he said that he was willing to sacrifice it for Amelia if she didn’t want him to go. She couldn’t do that to him, and told him that he had to follow his dream. It was only for a year. The program allowed Jack to leave every couple of months for a week here and there, and they could see each other then. Besides, she knew that if she asked him to deny himself this experience that he was so passionate about, he could possibly end up resenting her for it, and she told him so. She also felt solid enough in their relationship and knew it was right to encourage and support his decision.

"You are an amazing woman," Jack told her in his warm baritone voice as he swept her up in his arms and nuzzled her neck. He didn’t throw around complimentary adjectives regularly, so she knew that when he did, not only was he sincere but he meant it wholeheartedly.

The night before he left, they spent the entire evening at his apartment. He packed and then they lay in bed together, alternating between making love and lying awake in each others' arms, both trying to make the time to go slower. In the morning, he gave her the spare keys to his apartment, and they walked to the curb together. He hailed a cab, and held her and kissed her one last time. As the cab drove away, her heart ached. She knew she would see him again in two months, but wouldn’t be able to contact him at all before then. He was going to a remote spot in South America where Internet access was limited, and cell reception was impossible. He told her he would write, but she knew that he would be too busy saving the world. So she held herself on the crisp January day, sending a silent prayer off to follow her Superman wherever life was about to lead him, and keep him safe.

CHAPTER 2

It had been a week since Jack left, and things seemed to settle into a normal stride. Amelia still missed him immensely, but was beginning to regain a feeling of normalcy in her daily routine, and the pang of missing Jack had started to subside. All throughout the relationship they had made sure to maintain their prior friendships and activities—Jack still went golfing with his buddies on Sundays, and Amelia kept up her regular night out with the girls, so as not to abandon their previous lives. They didn’t want to do the thing that new couples do and accidentally ostracize themselves because they were focused on the new relationship. For the past few weeks Jack had encouraged Amelia go out on her own or with her friends at least one extra night a week. He didn’t want her to be completely lonely when he was on leave. With regular hangout time with her friends before he left, her routine would remain intact; while he was gone it wouldn’t seem such a vast emptiness. She was very glad he had done so and was also glad that she had programmed herself for the two weeks after he left with activities like drinks with friends so that she was continually busy and wouldn’t spend that time worrying about him.

Tonight was drinks and dinner with Toni and Alexia from the firm. Toni was an old friend from Amherst whom she had reconnected with when they found through social media that they worked for the same company. Alexia had interviewed Amelia for her position, and they became fast friends in the office. The threesome was a good match that would get together often to gossip about their workplace. As most girlfriends are, they were also a great resource for dating tips and relationship advice. Amelia was looking forward to it, the chance to be single for the evening--although she was ready to have some fun, she wouldn’t do anything to harm her relationship. Flirting only.

She was in a daze, staring at her computer screen, daydreaming about possible flirting candidates she would meet this evening—dreaming never hurt anyone—when her cell phone buzzed on the desk beside her. It was a number she didn’t recognize, but it was a 212 number. A New York number. At first she hesitated to answer it, but last time he called, Jack was rerouted through a local number. Just in case it was Jack she grabbed the phone in the middle of the fourth ring.

Hello.

Ms. Epoch?

Yes?

My name is Banks, and I’m from the law firm Albert, Smith, Banks, and Banks. We represent a client who has left you an inheritance.

Thinking this was a scam, because she had no relatives except her Aunt Susan who was in Philadelphia, and who was very much alive, Amelia was not going to be swept away.

Who was this relative you say that you represented? Amelia asked, trying to buy herself time, as she hopped onto a web browser and searched for the law firm that her mysterious caller was allegedly representing.

I didn’t say it was a relative, Ms. Epoch. It is a very old client of ours, and in fact, I was given very specific instructions on how to handle this case.

Ah, and what are those instructions, Mr… Amelia was still waiting for the results to pop up. Why was the Internet so terribly slow at times like this when she needed information quickly?

Banks.

Right, sorry. Mr. Banks. What were your instructions?

Well, Ms. Epoch…

Amelia. Please, call me Amelia.

Yes, well, Ms. Epoch, Amelia sighed to herself both at the pretension of the man on the other side of the telephone and at the interminable slowness of the computer. The search engine started to spit results as the man continued talking, but nothing that matched, yet. You see, it was stipulated in the will that we were to meet with you in person, preferably at our offices, to complete the legalities.

"Right. And where exactly are your offices?" Come on. Ah ha! A hit. She clicked on the link. It started to load…

We are located on Amsterdam at 63rd street, Mr. Banks said in a true New Yorker fashion, giving away the location without actually offering a street address. In New York City, that could be a thousand address possibilities. We are happy to meet you at your convenience, Ms. Epoch.

Of course you are, she said skeptically. The website was still loading. This was terrible. Her frustration made the wait even more frustrating. She would have to call the company IT guy to have him assess the Internet speed in her section of the building. Finally, the website popped up with the picture of four men at the top on the banner, and lettering that looked official and was very stoic and gold that read: Law Firm of Albert, Smith, Banks, and Banks since 1873. Wow. This was possibly legitimate, Amelia thought to herself.

Alright, Mr. Banks. I think I can fit you into my schedule tomorrow at lunch. Does 12:30 sound alright? Amelia asked, knowing it would be alright to take a little extra time on her lunch break.

Of course, Ms. Epoch. He continued giving her the building number and the floor. Mr. Banks told her that she would just have to let the receptionist know who she was when she arrived.

Amelia hung up the phone. She was confused and intrigued.

Crap, she thought to herself, I probably got left a cat with its own trust fund or an old book collection. She sighed and went back to work, refusing to think about it.

***

That evening Amelia went out with Toni and Alexia. Toni, the self-proclaimed Samantha of the group (as it seemed that every group of females now automatically delineated themselves into one of the Sex and the City archetypes), because she was blonde, driven, and sexually ambitious. Alexia was the brunette who always complained that she was five pounds overweight, and always had a new trend diet and a new designer purse to brag about. Amelia felt she was extremely close to both and could confide in them. It took Amelia until their third drink to bring up the phone call from Mr. Banks.

Alexia, the more opportunistic of the two (she had moved up three times in the last two years, and was the only woman that was under 45 with her own office, with a real door), told Amelia that it wouldn’t hurt to go check the place out, especially if the law firm checked out and was legitimate. Toni advised that whatever the mysterious inheritance might be, it was most likely something that would help Amelia. After the night of liquid courage, Amelia was resolved to visit Mr. Banks, and promised to call the girls the moment she left his office.

CHAPTER 3

After hopping in a cab at 12:05, Amelia arrived with five minutes to spare. The elevator opened to a circular, floor-to-ceiling wood-paneled reception area. The woman behind the oversized reception desk greeted Amelia, and confirmed her 12:30 appointment with Mr. Banks. Amelia started to wonder if she needed to specify which Banks she was there to see, when the receptionist invaded her thoughts by replying, Mr. Banks said to show you into the conference room, and he will meet with you in a moment, Ms. Epoch.

The receptionist, a brunette watchdog in her 50s with harsh bangs and a bob that curled right at the starched collar of her skirt-suit, stood and led Amelia through the giant glass doors that were to the left of the reception desk. They took a few steps through the busy offices, and made a quick turn into a large room made completely of glass except one wall, which hosted a gigantic flat screen TV. In the center of the room was a gigantic oval table that must have had over 20 chairs around it, with water pitchers in three spots, and empty glasses to match.

Please have a seat, the receptionist said in a way that was meant to be warm, but came off abrupt. Would you care for a beverage?

No, thank you, Amelia replied. Before she was completely seated, placing her purse on the small table in front of her, the receptionist was gone.

After a few silent moments of Amelia feeling a bit like Alice taking the pill that made her shrink, a cute little man with a slight hunch in his back and snowy white hair entered the room with a large box of papers.

Thank you for meeting me, Ms. Epoch. I’m Albert Banks, he said with a warm aging voice.

Nice to meet you, Mr. Banks. Are you the first one or the second one? Amelia asked trying to force a joke to lighten her tension. On the sign, um I mean, the name of the law firm?

As the man sat down in the chair across the table from her he chuckled and put down the box and folders he was carrying. His smile was warm and comforting like that of a proud grandfather. Well, I’m actually the third, but the other partners didn’t want Banks, Banks and Banks. Especially with the others having passed away. He chuckled again. Then looked at Amelia sitting in confusion. He shook his head and started to leaf through the papers in the folders. You see, my dear, my grandfather and his brother started this firm back in the 1870’s. We have been an institution for over 150 years in New York. I did earn my partnership here, as did my father before me. It was sort of a tradition to keep two Banks’ names… he drifted off as he looked back up at her sitting in front of him, trying to take it all in. Ah, but I digress. Let’s talk about why you are here, shall we? And he took a seat. Ms. Epoch—

Amelia, please.

Yes, yes… Ms.… Amelia… you are quite a lucky girl. You have just inherited a tidy amount.

A cat, right? I’ve inherited a cat, and the trust fund to keep it alive for the next 60 years.

No, Ms. E—Amelia, you have not inherited a cat. You have inherited a brownstone in Park Slope and you have received a trust that can pay you up to $3000 a month for 40 years, with a $40,000 expense account to renovate the house.

WHAT?!?

You have inherited, Mr. Banks began to repeat again in his warm monotone, a brownstone in Park—

Brooklyn? I’ve inherited a house in Brooklyn.


I assure you Amelia, that this is a good neighborhood. This firm has been overseeing the house for a good many years.

What do you mean, ‘a good many years’?

Well, it is difficult to explain, Banks continued, but by law and the documents drawn up for this particular inheritance and trust, I’m not allowed to reveal… Er,--that is, disclose too much about the nature of the transaction to you. This property was entrusted to this legal firm many years ago. It and the trust were not to be revealed to you, as specified by the notarized documents we drew up, Banks said as he gently patted the papers in front of him with his hand arched, so only his fingertips touched them, until the specified date, which was yesterday, February 1, 2012. The firm was to act as legal guardian over the property and to rent it out to qualified and reliable renters until last month. The tenants have vacated per their lease, and the place is to be yours as soon as papers have been signed. All monies earned by the residence have been added to a previously established trust, which were put in the hands of an investor to ensure it continually grew. This was done to ensure you would receive the most money possible upon inheritance. All of it is yours, once you sign these papers here. Mr. Banks passed three sheets of paper over to her along with a pen. 
All three pages had lots of tiny writing that filled the entire page with tiny sticky arrows that said sign here and pointed to blank lines at the bottom that had beneficiary—Amelia Epoch typed under each.

So…no mangy cat.

No, Ms. Epoch. No cat. Only a house and a tidy sum of money. He paused before going on. I hope that is satisfactory. You can always purchase a cat with the inheritance money, if you so desire.

Amelia picked up the pen hesitantly, and poised it over the first line, but stopped before signing. And this money is free and clear? Mine?

"Yes, we have been keeping up with the taxes and tax laws, and all were covered by the trust. You shall receive a check each month in the amount of $3000, or you can specify a lesser amount if you wish for the trust to pay you out for a longer amount of time. The renovation amount will be wired to a bank of your choice, and receipts must be kept for all transactions made for the renovation for tax purposes. The first of the sheets in front of you legally transfers the deed of the house to you. The second, the renovation monies. The third is your trust. As you can see on the third you can specify a lesser amount, or you can contact us in the future for that."

What’s the catch? Amelia turned her head and squinted her eyes at Banks in disbelief.

No catch, I assure you.

And if I don’t sign these papers, what happens to all of it?

Well, there is a clause here that will donate it to the Library Fund of New York.

So, I can have the house and all the money, or it goes off to buy more books?

Precisely, madam.

Mr. Banks, Amelia said as she propped herself up slightly on the table with one arm, this is real, isn’t it? I can trust you?

I assure you, it’s all real. All on the up and up.

Where did it come from?

Ah, Banks suddenly seemed to get excited, or as excited as a man of almost 70 could get, An author, actually. Alexander Frank was his name. I think I have an… ah! Yes, here. Banks rifled through the papers, and came upon a black and white photo, which he passed across the table. A man with round glasses, laugh lines gracing his eyes and cheeks, and lighter slicked hair looked back at her. Amelia didn’t recognize him as anyone she knew.

Are we related?

That, I am not allowed to disclose at this time. There are many other things that are very specific, but why he left it all to you, is not to be shared. He wished his intentions to remain anonymous. I’m sorry.

Ah well…

Ms. Epoch, I realize that this is a lot to take in. Perhaps you’d like to think it over, consult your own lawyer, and return another day?

This could be the stupidest thing I’ve ever done, but for some reason, it seems right, Amelia said, feeling sensibilities return to her for the first time since she walked to the reception desk. If I sign, will you become available to me if I have problems or questions?

Yes, as of now I am the trustee, the executor. I am your direct contact.

Great, Amelia said resolutely. She took the pen that was still resting in her hand, and signed all three documents, glancing at the photo of Alexander Frank in between each signature. Well, Alexander, thanks for the inheritance. Mr. Banks, thank you for contacting me.

Yes, I’m sure we shall be in touch. Where would you like your first check mailed? And here, he said reaching into the box, are the keys and the address.

The rest of the meeting was a bit of a blur. Amelia gave her banking information to Mr. Banks. He made notations within the thick files he kept close to himself. Amelia couldn’t help continue to look at the black and white photo of the laughing man. He was quite handsome. Must be in his 30s in that picture. She wondered what he was laughing at. It looked like he was almost blushing, if she didn’t know better.

With all of the legal issues seemingly sorted out, Mr. Banks started to pack up, taking the papers she signed and the photo and placing them in one of the folders before closing it.

More things that deal with the trust. Nothing for you to worry about now, my dear.

She tried to look in as she stood to leave, but he quickly put the lid and the rest of the files on top.

I’ll walk you out, he said, as he walked to the door and opened it. Amelia, knowing that was her cue, looked curiously at the box one more time, shrugged to herself, and walked out the door.

Banks walked her to the giant glass doors, shook her hand, and gave her his card. After putting it in her pocket, she held up the address to her house. Her new house. In Brooklyn. Well, so much for never moving off the island of Manhattan. She was now a property owner, Amelia thought as she walked into the elevator, and pressed the button for the lobby. She put the keys and the address in her blazer pocket, pulled out her cell, and dialed Alexia’s office. She knew Toni would be waiting and a three-way shriek fest was about to happen via speakerphone.

CHAPTER 4

Luckily, Amelia’s trip to the lawyer’s office was on a Friday. All three girls had the Saturday free and took the train out to Brooklyn for the day to see the house. Alexia was complaining the entire time about how long it took to get to Brooklyn and how she would never see Amelia. Toni couldn’t stop mentioning this great bakery that was in TimeOut Magazine and on some reality cooking show and kept insisting they had to go to it, even though it was nowhere near Park Slope, where Amelia’s new brownstone was located.

They got off the F train (which only Alexia had ever ridden once, and that was a drunken mistake one New Year’s Eve) at 7th Avenue and walked the few blocks to the address on Polhemus Place that the lawyer had given Amelia. As they arrived in front of the correct home, the three women who swore they would never live in Brooklyn looked up at the edifice of the stunning five-story Beaux-Arts style brownstone. The front of the house had an amazing amount of windows. Many curved and protruded, creating bay windows. The building was built of a white limestone. Many different stone carvings swirled and scalloped their way along the front of the building, marking the different floors to passers-by. Although the original entrance was on the street level, a set of stairs up to the second level was prominent. The lawyer had told Amelia that the lower level had been made into its own apartment, and that she could rent it out, if she so desired, but it was self-sufficient with its own kitchen, bedroom, living room, and bathroom. There was an entrance to it from the main house, but it was a double-locked door from both sides.

You own this? asked Alexia in an astonished tone.

Yes, said Amelia.

"No, but you own this."

Yes.

Wow.

Yeah, wow, Toni finally chimed in.

Well, we can stand out here like a flock of idiots, Amelia teased, or we can see what wonders await us.

Was that Willy Wonka? Alexia asked.

It might be, responded Amelia over her shoulder as she ran up the stairs to the main house, keys jingling.

She opened the door, and walked over the threshold. She owned this house, this brownstone. The whole thing. She had never fully owned anything that was only hers. The only thing to come close was the car she was making payments on before she sold it and moved to New York. Property ownership was quite an amazing feeling.

The other two girls followed her through the door and both took off in different directions.

There is still furniture here, Toni said.

Yeah, the lawyer said that over the years some of it was left by tenants, but some of it was left to me by the mysterious benefactor. I don’t know what kind of shape it’s in, so be careful! Amelia shouted out as she saw Toni run to another room.

This place is beautiful, 'Meel. There is so much that you have to do, but it really is beautiful, Alexia said in awe, making slow circles looking everywhere and nowhere at once.

Amelia wandered in further, looking through each door, but not touching anything, as if she were in a museum. She finally got to a set of closed, dark wooden doors. She was drawn to this room for some reason. She slowly turned the handles, forced to give the door a little shove. It felt warped, and didn't want to open easily. Note to self, she thought: sand down the door. Well, her renovation list was started.

She walked into the room. Shelves lined it, and there were some books here and there. The wall directly across the room had three large stained glass windows that were bright with color and thick lines between each oddly shaped piece. The thought crossed Amelia’s mind while looking at the stained glass windows that it was amazing how all of their jagged edges and mismatched colors seemed to fit together perfectly to make a stunning window.

There was a sofa with fabric that seemed to be graying with rips and stuffing coming out of it in many places. Just beyond was a crumbling fireplace. The mantle had jagged edges and large chunks missing. Bricks were crumbling missing, or loose. She started to walk toward it when she heard her name being called from another room and so she left the crumbling study and went to investigate.

All in all, the main house had six bathrooms, a study, two different living rooms, eight possible bedrooms, a huge kitchen, a dining room, a breakfast room, a mud room, a huge foyer, and sixty-six steps—Toni walked them all and counted.

After a thorough inventory of the property, the ladies left and went in search of brunch to talk the place over. Amelia knew it would be a challenge, but she would renovate it with panache—finally making use of her design degree.

***

Amelia started the renovation process slowly. Partially because she had the awful feeling that someone would come along and tell her that the whole inheritance was a huge joke, and partially because she didn’t want to give her life over to the house. But after a month of shuttling out to Brooklyn, sleeping at the brownstone most weekends and a few weeknights here and there, Amelia realized the extra travel was senseless. After going over her personal budgets she realized she could live quite comfortably on the monthly stipend of her inheritance. Amelia gave in and quit her job. With the help of movers, she got her stuff out of her apartment, and her storage unit, and moved to Brooklyn.

Prospect Park was only a few blocks away from her front door, and Amelia started running there every day. It helped clear her mind and helped her figure out what projects she wanted to work on next in the house. She hired a contractor for the heavy stuff, but she wanted to do some of the dirty work herself. With a little assistance from the man at the hardware store, and several YouTube viewings, she ended up re-tiling one of the bathrooms, repainting, sanding, and taking down old draperies to have them cleaned or replaced.

One day after one of her jogs, she went straight into the study with the crumbling fireplace. Hands on her hips, she stared at it. It would probably have to be completely redone. She knew it would cost a lot, but she was saving a lot of money, doing many things herself. The contractor was coming back this afternoon, so she would talk to him about it. To get a closer look she crossed over and noticed a brick protruding out at her eye level. She tried to push it back. It gave a little but it was stuck on something. Shoving it again she got the same result. Amelia pulled on the brick and edged it out of its hole. She could see something in there, but couldn’t see what it was, even on her tiptoes. She reached in, and felt a cloth bag. She pulled the bag out and put the brick back and it fit into place, flush with the other bricks.

Amelia picked up the little bag. It was black velvet, and worn in places so it seemed more purple than black. She loosened the drawstrings and opened the pouch holding her hands out away from her body, in case any creepy crawlies might jump from the pouch. To her delight, nothing crawled out when she looked in the bag. There was a crumpled piece of wispy tissue paper wrapped around something. She pulled it out, and carefully unwrapped the heavy mound it surrounded. It was a skinny, white gold woman’s watch. Odd, Amelia thought, why would someone hide a watch in a fireplace? It looked old, but not as old as the house. Amelia put the watch on her wrist, and a chill ran over her. She suddenly felt as if she was not alone and she looked behind her at the open door. However, no one was there. Amelia shrugged off the feeling and walked out of the study, to go search for her phone so she could look up a local jewelry appraiser to see if the watch was worth anything, or if she could learn more about it.

After the contractor came and discussed options for the fireplace reconstruction, along with a few other projects, Amelia went back to painting. She put the watch back in the pouch and put it near the kitchen sink and completely forgot about it.

CHAPTER 5

Amelia was in a deep sleep, exhausted from renovating. The kitchen remodel had started a few days ago, the floor refinishers replaced the wood flooring in most of the house were in and out of the house constantly while Amelia was continuing to repaint the front hall. Between working on and monitoring all of the action, she was exhausted.

When her cell phone’s ring woke her up, she answered groggily. Amelia didn’t know why anyone was calling her this late, and was very confused for a few moments. A man was asking her where she was and how he was supposed to find her. She had just been out on a balcony waiting for a prince to come and rescue her, and she thought this might be a continuation of her dream. Maybe the man on the phone was the prince who got lost on his way to her. Amelia felt she was awake, but maybe this was one of those dream tricks. She got excited that her prince might have found her. But, how did he get her cell phone number? His voice sounded familiar. She knew that she had heard