Indiana Belle (American Journey Book 3) (4 page)

"Call me Jeanette," she said. "Mrs. Bell sounds like an old woman."

"All right," Cameron said. He smiled. "Hi, Jeanette."

Cameron shook her hand and then motioned for the Bells to take their seats. He reclaimed his own chair a second later and settled in for what he knew would be an interesting lunch.

"Did you have a nice flight?" Bell asked.

"I did," Cameron said.

"When did you arrive?"

"I got into LAX around five."

"I see," Bell said. "So you haven't had a chance to explore."

"No."

"Well, I hope that changes. There is much to see and do here."

Cameron started to say something but stopped when a waiter came around with menus and glasses of ice water. Like the Bells, he ordered fish tacos, lemon chicken tortilla soup, and a melon margarita. When the server moved on to another table, he restarted a conversation that he knew could go in any of several directions.

"Thank you for bringing me to Los Angeles," Cameron said. "I have to admit I'm still curious as to why you would do that for a complete stranger."

"I brought you here because I wanted to talk to you," Bell said.

"You could have done that on the phone."

"That's true. I could have. I didn't because I wanted to meet you face to face and discuss your recent acquisitions in a relaxing environment."

"I gather your interest in Candice Bell is more than casual," Cameron said.

"It is."

"How so?"

Bell paused when the waiter returned with three margaritas. When he left a moment later, he took a sip of his frozen concoction, rubbed his hands atop the table, and looked at Cameron.

"I'm interested in Miss Bell because she documented not only her life and her times but also much of my family's history – or at least its history to 1925," Bell said. "I'm sure you've read about her unfortunate demise."

"I know she was murdered," Cameron said.

"You understate things, Mr. Coelho. Candice was bludgeoned beyond recognition and left in an alley to rot. Her paper didn't mention the particulars, but a rival paper did. So did the police and other investigators. All the details came out in the trial of the man accused of the crime."

"I read about that trial. Do you think the janitor did it?"

"I do," Bell said matter-of-factly. "It's true that the evidence against him was thin and that he made a convenient scapegoat, but it's also true that he was an extraordinarily violent man and the only suspect without an alibi."

Cameron frowned.

"It was a tragedy either way."

"Yes," Bell said. "It was. It was a tragedy for the
victim
. My cousin deserved better."

"I have a picture of her," Cameron said.

"You do?" Jeanette asked with surprise in her voice.

"I do. Would you like to see it?"

"Of course."

Cameron retrieved his portfolio from the unoccupied chair, opened it on top of the table, and pulled the sepia portrait from a document sleeve. He gazed at the photo for a few seconds and then carefully handed it to Mrs. Bell.

Jeanette studied the image. When she was finished, she gave Cameron a soft smile, sipped her margarita, and handed the picture to her husband.

"You never told me she was gorgeous," Jeanette said.

"That's because I didn't think it was relevant. Candice Bell was first and foremost a talented journalist," Bell said. He inspected the photo. "She was also a free spirit. I must admit it's been years since I've seen this photo. My grandfather kept a copy in his den."

"He must have admired her," Cameron said.

"He adored her. He shared many stories about her as I was growing up. He called Candice, his first cousin, the Flapper, the Rebel, the Indiana Belle."

"Is that so?" Cameron asked.

"It is," Bell said. "She had many names because she was many things, including, as Jeanette pointed out, an exceptionally beautiful woman. I'm sure that fact did not escape you."

Cameron chuckled.

"No. It did not."

Bell handed the picture back to Cameron. He watched closely as his new acquaintance opened the portfolio, rearranged a few papers, and returned the photo to its sleeve.

"Are those some of Candice's letters?" Bell asked.

"They are," Cameron said.

"Do you mind if I look at them?"

"Of course not. That's why I brought them."

Cameron pulled a few papers from the portfolio. He started to give them to Bell but stopped when the waiter returned with their orders. A moment later, he handed the physics professor copies of six handwritten letters, sipped his margarita, and took his first bite of a fish taco.

"How did you get these letters?" Bell asked.

Cameron put down his taco.

"I got them from Mary Murphy. I believe I told you about her."

"You did. She is a distant cousin of mine. I met her once at a wedding fifteen years ago. I guess what I really want to know is how
she
got them."

"She got them from her father," Cameron said.

"How did he get them?" Bell asked.

"He got them from Molly Kennedy, the recipient of the letters. According to Mrs. Murphy, Molly was Candice's roommate at Indiana University and her best friend. Candice wrote to her regularly after she returned to Evansville and began working for the newspaper. Molly gave Lawrence Bell, Candice's older brother, the letters at the funeral. She apparently thought they had literary and historic value and wanted them to be preserved and appreciated."

"I see."

Cameron watched Bell closely as he examined each of the letters. He wondered why the professor did not know more about his own relative.

He looked at Jeanette, who returned his polite smile, and then at Bell. Like the letters he held in his hands, the professor was an object worthy of study.

Cameron took a moment to assess his acquaintance. He conceded that Geoffrey Bell was not what he had expected. Though he conducted himself like a serious academic, he looked more like a character from a favorite movie. With unruly blond hair, lively eyes, and a devilish smirk, Bell was the spitting image of Gene Wilder's Willy Wonka.

Cameron watched with interest as Bell went through the letters a second time and handed them one by one to his wife. He frowned when he saw the professor sigh.

"Did you find what you were looking for?" Cameron asked.

"No. I did not," Bell said. "I was hoping to learn more about the expedition."

"You mean Percival and Henry Bell's trip through the Sierra Nevada?"

"Yes."

"You won't find any information on the expedition in those letters," Cameron said. "Candice mentioned it only in her diary."

"Do you have the diary?" Bell asked.

"I have some pages from the diary."

"May I see them?"

"Of course."

Cameron reached into his portfolio and retrieved two pieces of paper. He handed Bell copies of the diary pages from January 30, 1920, and October 3, 1922. He did
not
give him the page from September 20, 1921, the one that mentioned the approximate location of the cave.

He had decided even before leaving Providence to keep that page in reserve. He wanted to reveal what he knew on a need-to-know basis.

Bell read the diary entries as Cameron and Jeanette looked on. When he was finished, he lowered the pages to the table and looked at the doctoral student with serious eyes.

"Are these the only pages that mention the expedition?" Bell asked.

"No," Cameron said. "There is one more."

"Do you have it with you?"

Cameron shook his head.

"I left it in a safe place."

"Can you tell me what Candice wrote?" Bell asked.

"I can. I will, too, as soon as you answer a question."

"Fair enough."

"Do you think there is anything to those passages?" Cameron asked. "Do you think Percival and Henry discovered the secret of time travel?"

Cameron knew the second he saw Bell's lips tighten that he had struck gold. He braced himself for a turn in the conversation he had hoped to avoid.

"I would prefer not to answer that question," Bell said.

"Why not?"

"I have my reasons."

"You disappoint me, Professor. I thought we came here today to share information," Cameron said. "It appears now that you came here only to
obtain
information."

"I did. I thought I made that clear on the phone."

"No, actually, you didn't."

Bell sipped his cocktail.

"What is it that you really want, Mr. Coelho? I can't imagine that my observations on time travel are relevant to your dissertation on the Roaring Twenties."

"You're right. They're not."

"Then what do you want?" Bell asked.

"I want a straight answer from an expert," Cameron said. "I want you to tell me what you know about Percival Bell, Henry Bell, time-travel formulas, and Sierra Nevada caves."

"So you
do
know about the cave."

"I know a little."

"Do you know its location?" Bell asked.

"I know its approximate location," Cameron said. "What does it matter though? Professor Rutherford, our mutual friend and your former colleague, told me that time travel is impossible. He said physicists in Hong Kong proved that backward time travel was impossible six years ago. Given that, what possible reason could
you
have for withholding information from me?"

The professor leaned back in his chair.

"It appears we've reached an impasse," Bell said with obvious irritation.

"It appears we have," Cameron replied.

Bell looked at Jeanette, as if seeking support. He got something else.

Jeanette tilted her head, raised a brow, and stared at Bell like a wife who had grown weary of her husband's stubbornness. She maintained the stare until he smiled and turned to Cameron.

"My wife seems to think I should break our impasse," Bell said. "I can't say I want to. I did not plan to speak about my relatives and their discoveries, but I guess I will."

"What discoveries?" Cameron said.

"Discoveries I cannot discuss on a restaurant patio."

"You have my attention, Professor."

"I'm sure I do," Bell said.

"So what do we do now?" Cameron asked.

Bell smiled in an irritated sort of way.

"We finish our meals and then go on a walk."

"A walk?"

"Yes," Bell said. "A walk. We have a lot to talk about."

CHAPTER 5: CAMERON

Dazed, confused, and taken aback, Cameron stepped off Ocean Front Walk, leaned against a palm tree and stared blankly at the Pacific. Geoffrey Bell had given him more than an answer to his question. He had given him enough food for thought to feed thousands.

Cameron waited for a pair of skateboarders to pass before turning to Bell, his wife, and a subject that now intrigued him more than ever. He took a breath and addressed the professor.

"Let me get this straight. You have
actually
traveled through time?"

"We both have," Bell said. "Jeanette and I have visited the past many times."

"I don't believe you."

"You don't?"

"No," Cameron said. He laughed. "What I do believe is that you've been smoking something strong, something I could probably find on this beach by snapping my fingers."

Bell smiled.

"I assure you that I've smoked nothing more than salmon steaks since moving to California. I am telling you the truth. I have traveled to the past. So has Jeanette."

"You have proof of this, of course."

"I do. I have many wonderful memories."

Cameron shook his head. He didn't know what to make of Bell's revelation, but he did know he couldn't afford to ignore it. He had come to Los Angeles to get this man's thoughts on time travel. To dismiss them now would be foolish, counterproductive, and downright dumb.

"All right, Professor, I'll play along," Cameron said. "I'm pretty sure I'll regret it, but I'll play along. Please tell me
how
you and Mrs. Bell have managed to defy the laws of physics."

"We've done so by accessing a tunnel."

Cameron smiled.

"Don't you mean a time machine?"

"No. I mean a tunnel."

Cameron chuckled.

"Is this tunnel something you built in your spare time?"

"No," Bell said. "It's something Percival Bell built in his. It's an extraordinary chamber he constructed more than a hundred years ago in a place not far from here."

"I see," Cameron said with amusement. "Please continue."

"My great-grandfather was more than an academic and an explorer, Mr. Coelho. He was an inventive man who never let an opportunity go to waste. When he discovered that the writing on the wall of the mountain cave was a formula for time travel, he set out to apply what he had learned. He built a limestone tunnel similar to the one he found in the Sierra Nevada and – through the use of synchronized gypsum crystals – traveled to the past three times in early 1900."

"Where is this tunnel?" Cameron asked.

Bell smiled.

"I'm sure you would like to know."

"Yes, I would."

"Well, I'll tell you," Bell said. "I'll tell you just as soon as you tell me the approximate location of the cave."

Cameron did not answer right away. He instead took a moment to weigh the pros and cons of two radically different courses. If he told Bell what he knew up front, he might get nothing in return. If he used what he knew as leverage, he might get everything in return.

"Let me ask you something first," Cameron said.

"OK."

"Why don't
you
know where the cave is? I mean Percival Bell is your ancestor. Henry Bell and Candice Bell are your relatives. You should know at least as much about them and their adventures as I do. I'm frankly surprised that you don't."

Bell took Jeanette's hand and looked at Cameron.

"Let's keep walking."

"All right," Cameron said.

The three resumed their northbound stroll on the concrete boardwalk as the traffic in both directions picked up. Bell restarted the conversation when they achieved a degree of separation from the dozens of skaters, bikers, joggers, and tourists that plied the famous path.