Echoes of Tomorrow Read Free Page B

chill bumps formed on her arms.  The tear gas canister fell unheeded to clatter on the table. 
    In her hand she held a clipping from a financial page of an old New Orleans newspaper, dated March 18, 1844.  The problem was, the paper didn't look old; no yellowing or dry, cracked edges.  It looked as if it had been freshly printed.  But Elise knew by instinct that this wasn't one of those novelty papers that can be printed at the mall for five dollars.
    "That was given to me last night," Reed stated quietly, "by a friend who wanted to interest me in investing in one of the companies in that article."   He pointed to one that gave details of several "up and coming businesses."
    She continued to stare at the paper.  She walked blindly into the parlor and dropped like a rock into the nearest chair.
    The ridiculous gown she'd been struggling to get into earlier immediately flew up and whacked her in the face.  She knocked the stupid hoop skirt back down and rearranged her position to accommodate the skirt.
    Thank God, she’d slipped on a pair of jogging shorts under her skirts.  Embarrassed at her clumsiness, she shrugged and tried to act nonchalant.
    "This is Azalea Festival time, and since my home is on the tour, the Chamber suggested we wear period costumes.  I'm not used to wearing a bird cage."
    Reed took a breath to reply when a loud knock jarred the front door.
    "Damn."  Elise catapulted out of the chair and rushed to the  door.
    At least fifteen people of all ages and sizes filtered into the foyer.  Most of them came in gawking at the staircase and furniture.
    "Hey, he really looks authentic."  A rotund woman in shorts batted her eyes at Reed.  "This is the first house we've come to that has a man dressed in costume.  All he needs is a silver mint julep cup in his hand."
    Elise chanced a glance at Reed.  He stood there, looking thunderstruck, then turned on his heel and strode into the drawing room and out of sight.
    Dear heavens, the woman was right.  He looked as if he'd just stepped out of the nineteenth century.
    "Excuse me, everyone.  Excuse me," Elise shouted.  "I'm  sorry, but this house will have to be taken off the tour for today.  We have a problem, you see.  A, uh...an illness that needs to be quarantined.  The measles.  And I'm sure none of you want to be exposed.  I assure you your money for the tour of this home will be refunded.  Just see your tour guide.  Thank you."  Elise herded everyone out the door and apologized again as they left.  She stuck her head out for a few words with the tour guide, then shut and locked the door.
    When she turned to dash back to Reed in the drawing room she was brought up short.  The day was getting worse by the minute.
    At the foot of the staircase, leaning against the polished banister, stood someone she had hoped she'd never see again.  He must have come in with the tourists.
    Her first instinct was to kill him.
    "Jeffrey, get out."  Her calm voice belied what she really felt inside. 
    The trim, blond, unwanted visitor stared at her with cocky gray eyes while he made himself more comfortable against the newel post.
    "I said get out."
    "Now Elise, you don't really mean that.  I think you and I should talk.  I've always said we could work things out."  Jeffrey pushed himself away from the banister and took a step toward her.
    Rage and hate swelled inside her chest.  She watched the tall, arrogant man swagger in her direction.  She knew if he came any closer to her she would claw the carefully groomed stubble from his cheeks.
    "We have nothing to talk about.  There is nothing to work out.  You make me sick, and if you don't get the hell out of here I'm calling the police."
    When Elise picked up the phone on the entry table Jeffrey grabbed it out of her hand.
    "You're not calling anyone, and I'm not going anywhere until we've had a chance to talk.  Besides," he said, obviously thinking he was witty, "I paid good money to get in here."