Time Spell (12 page)

“Is that…are you doing a spell right now?” Jack stopped making his chart and watched me intently.

I glared at him.

“No, never mind. Just keep going. I’ll make the chart.” He returned to his task.

I focused on the letter. There was no spell I could perform on the writing to find its originator. I could only memorize every evil word that dripped from the page.

Dear Mr. Coleman,

You have in your possession knowledge of a chain of events that occurred in 1968. This knowledge is most certainly not to my benefit. It must be erased and extinguished immediately. However, I am quite reasonable and I’m sure you will find the following requests agreeable. In exchange for the lives of your sister and Ms. Grace’s family, I will accept the remaining VonRue diamonds, proof there will be no sequel to
Vegas Star
, and I want Ivy Grace. She’s not who you think she is, Mr. Coleman. Please, do not involve the authorities; it will only expedite the pursuit of your families. Enclosed you will find a most gracious invitation with additional instructions. Expect to hear from me soon.

Of course there was no signature, no return address, and no postmark on the manila package. I reached inside and pulled out a hotel key and two airline tickets. The flight was booked for tomorrow, and there was a ticket for Jack and one for me. We had four days to meet the demands of these lunatics. I glared at the destination: Las Vegas.

“Jot some of this down and we’ll piece it together.” I ran my fingers through my hair and piled it high on my head in a bun. “At the top of your columns write Helen, Simone, and Holden.”

Dutifully, Jack wrote the names and bordered each one with a box. He waited for me to dole out a plethora of information. Details, details, I needed Jack to help me sift through the details.

Las Vegas, Two Years Ago

After I left Simone’s suite in 1968 and
Time Spelled
back to the present, I stayed at the Starlight for the rest of the week. I sorted through online newspaper articles, researched the Chadsworths, and outlined the parts of the story I wanted to tell. I knew I wanted to write about Helen and Simone. They were fascinating, strong, and beautiful women, one thirty-five, the other twenty-five. They were determined to power through life unaffected by love and uninhibited by men, one man in particular. I also knew I wanted to weave the glamorous casino and hotel empire into the story. Then, there were the diamonds—the VonRue diamonds. But I was still confused. I replayed the scene over in my mind. Simone had scattered the gems across the bed, and the women had toasted to their success.

I pulled out my phone and scrolled through to find the pictures I had snapped in Holden’s office. I reread the contract and focused on “Helen VonRue Chadsworth.” If the diamonds were in Helen’s family, how could Holden have used them for collateral for the casino? Who orchestrated the national tours of the diamond exhibit? I grabbed my coat and decided to hit the Las Vegas library. Even in this high-tech world, sometimes the best information was still on microfilm.

The library sprawled along Las Vegas Boulevard as if to stake out the best sunning spot in the desert. I smiled as I inhaled the familiar scent of fully stocked bookshelves. I waved at the librarian at the front desk. A quick peek at the directory pointed me toward the microfilm room. I selected an open cubicle and began searching for any article I could find on the VonRue diamonds.

An older gentleman sat next to me, scratching out notes in pencil. My eyes and head were beginning to ache from the constant scrolling of the dark screen in front of me when I saw a newspaper headline.

Starlight prepares for diamond gala

I stopped on the article written in 1968 about the premiere the Starlight hosted for the diamond collection. A reporter for the
Sun News
had written a brief entertainment piece on the Chadsworths and Helen’s ties to the collection. Hollywood celebrities, musicians, and politicians were invited to the private event. The reporter focused more on the impending celebrity ambush than the Chadsworths, but he did interview Helen and quoted her:

“Holden and I could not be more thrilled to share the VonRue diamonds with the rest of the world. We’ll start with a private showing for our closest friends here at the Starlight and then launch a world tour. The diamonds have been in my family for years, and as the largest private collection in the world, we know there is no other way for other people to see this gorgeous, masterful assembly of jewels. It is our gift to give, and we’re so proud to start the tour right here in Las Vegas.”

Next to the article was a picture of Holden and Helen, besmirched with smiles, looking down at a glass-enclosed case filled with exquisite bracelets, necklaces, and rings.

I swiveled my chair around to the computer in the station directly behind the microfilm machine and typed in the search engine “1953 marriage property laws.” Helen’s pleas to Holden in the argument I had witnessed revealed the couple was in a fifteen-year marriage, and my instincts already told me what to expect from 1953, but I wanted to confirm my suspicions.

A list of marriage law links popped up on the screen. It looked like the laws evolved in the 1950s, and a variety of common property laws varied from state to state. However, 1953 wasn’t progressive enough to keep the VonRue diamonds in Helen’s hands. I saw law after law, which stated assets before marriage were subject to the terms of the marriage. I had to assume Helen had lost her rights to the diamonds when she married Holden, and that was how he was able to leverage them against the construction debt of the casino and hotel.

I erased my online search, cleared my area at the microfilm station, and smiled at the older gentleman still taking notes. I needed to make one more stop before heading back to the Starlight.

I eased my rental car into the back of the gas station and pulled to an open pump. I chose the one at the end of the stations, facing the mountains in the distance. People were filling up, paying, and driving back into the city. I pushed the unleaded button and left the car to fill up while I made some calls.

Two payphones hung on the exterior of the building. A handwritten sign draped over one, indicating it was out of order. I pulled a tissue out of my pocket and wiped the sticky receiver for the other seemingly functioning phone. Ick! I needed the phone, but definitely not what was caked on the handle. I punched in the number for the Las Vegas police department. The numbered buttons kept sticking but the call went through.

“Police department, is this an emergency?”

“No, ma’am, I need to speak to someone in your cold case division.” I waited while the operator patched me through.

I was on hold just long enough to get nervous. I had never done anything like this before.

“Hobbs.” I heard scanners and beeping devices in the background, and the voice that answered sounded annoyed, as if he was in the middle of something.

“Um, yes, I would like to give you some information on a cold case.” I inhaled and bit my lower lip. This was harder to do than I thought.

“Who is this? Can I get a name?” Hobbs still sounded irritated. More clicking keys and alarms beeped in the background.

“I’d rather not mention my name, but I wanted to give you information about a missing person.”

A guy with a ragged baseball cap stopped to light a cigarette near the convenience store entrance, and I wanted to make sure he passed by before I continued. He threw a match on the pavement and walked toward a pickup truck.

“Ok, go ahead.” Hobbs paused as if he was focused on what I had to say.

I put one hand close to my nose to cover my mouth in case someone was listening. I had to do this. It was the right thing. I closed my eyes.

“There’s a body at the bottom of the River Run Canyon about thirty miles from town. It’s probably a skeleton now; he’s been there awhile. It’s Holden Chadsworth.”

Before Hobbs could embark on the next question, I placed the sticky receiver on the phone cradle and listened for the
clink, clink
as my quarters funneled through the phone. I hoped Detective Hobbs would look into the call, and maybe at least part of the Holden Chadsworth mystery would be solved.

I reloaded the phone with more quarters for my second call and tried the sticky buttons again. I wasn’t finished.

“Dallas Museum of Art. How may I direct your call?” The woman on the other end of the phone had a proper British accent, and I pictured her answering a long-handled phone and sipping tea.

“Benjamin Withey, please.”

I had researched the name of the museum’s special collections director and hoped the website’s information was up-to-date on Mr. Withey.

“One moment.” The operator had transferred my call without even obtaining my name or reason for calling.

“Hello. This is Benjamin Withey.”

In contrast to the British accent of the operator, a man with a long Texas drawl answered the phone. I had expected the receptionist to deposit my call right into his voicemail. I was caught off guard when he answered.

I cleared my throat. “Mr. Withey, thank you for taking my call. I’d rather not give you my name, but I have some important information regarding the VonRue diamond collection that’s on tour at your museum.”

“Ok. Is this a sales pitch? We don’t take solicitor calls, Miss.”

“No, no certainly not.” My stomach churned. This was as nerve-wracking as talking to Hobbs.

“Well then, go ahead, Miss.” He waited for me to reveal the reason for my unscheduled call.

“Mr. Withey, I’m not sure how to say this to you, but the collection you have at the museum isn’t real. The diamonds are fakes. They were swapped out many years ago.” I realized how insane my accusation sounded.

Silence filtered through the phone. “Now, young lady, I think you need to tell me who you are if you’re going to call with an accusation like that. Where did you hear this rumor?” The slow Texas drawl had picked up the pace.

“I really can’t say. Just have the diamonds checked. They are fakes.” I returned the receiver and walked to my car. Glad the anonymous calls had been placed, I drove back to the Starlight.

The next morning I ordered room service and my usual extra large pot of coffee. I tipped the server, and before I had closed the door behind him, I reached for the morning paper. Beneath the fold on the front page of the
Star News
was the bold headline:

Holden Chadsworth found after 45 years

I was pleased Detective Hobbs had acted on my lead and even more pleased they had been able to identify Holden so quickly. According to the article, the Holden Chadsworth case was no longer a missing person’s case but an active murder investigation. It was unlikely the police would make much headway with a forty-five-year-old murder case, especially since both Helen and Simone were dead. I didn’t know what kind of justice could be served, but I felt good knowing someone was working on it.

I tucked the paper into my suitcase, and pulled out a pair of jeans and a sweater before heading to the shower. I turned the handle to the hottest setting and flipped on the other two showerheads strategically located for a perfect back massage. There was even a speaker system built into the shower walls. I fiddled with the blue lights of the touch screen until I found something to listen to. I settled on a new song and belted out a few bars. This was my last morning in Las Vegas. I was ready to go home and start writing my novel, but first, I was going to enjoy a little more Vegas luxury.

After the shower, I pulled my hair back and wrapped the towel around me twice. I sat on the bed with my laptop to search for the update in Dallas on the VonRue diamonds. There it was, the first link on the page:

VonRue Diamond Hoax: Dallas authorities work with museum curator to solve diamond mystery

I skimmed the stories and learned not all of the diamonds in the collection were fakes. Mr. Withey brought in a certified diamond expert, and they discovered almost every other diamond was real. Some of the larger pieces were left intact and were authentic, while the smaller ones had been swapped for fake stones.

Helen and Simone were even smarter than I realized. They had probably known which pieces were most often verified and left those diamonds for the tour. There was a picture of Helen, looking stunning in a long evening gown, displaying some of the diamonds in a high neck choker and bracelets draped along her elbow-length gloves. The caption read:

VonRue diamond heiress Helen VonRue Chadsworth in 1965 casino resort grand opening.

By the time Dallas authorities finished their investigation of the diamonds, I would be well on my way to completing my novel and ready for Jack to start the editing process. I would definitely have a jump on any would-be diamond-stealing writing enthusiasts.