The Sapphire Brooch Katherine Logan (best beach reads TXT) 📖

“Where’s the cat?” she asked.

“Curled up on my bed or catching mice in the barn. Ciao.”

By Friday, the tightness in her chest since leaving the nineteenth century finally loosened, and she could breathe without it catching on the lump in her throat. However, more than once she had found herself staring at her finger and visualizing the missing sapphire ring. She would always miss Braham, but she was strong enough to get on with her life. Teary moments would come, but they were simply part of her new reality.

After a cup of strong black coffee, Charlotte laced up her running shoes and headed to the beach for a five-mile run before she drove home. Somewhere around mile two or three she made the decision to call the hospital on Monday. She needed to work and lose herself in caring for others instead of worrying about herself and a man she would never see again.

She closed up the house and packed the car for the six-hour drive back to Richmond. Before getting on the road, she stopped at Starbucks, ordered a banana smoothie, and while waiting for it, sent Jack a text, but he never responded. Halfway home, she stopped and sent another text. He didn’t respond to it either. Shortly before she reached Richmond, she called. The call went straight to voice mail. He could have gone back to LA, but he would have told her. Regardless of where he was in the world, he might not take her call, but he’d always answer her texts.

Instead of driving directly home, she decided to stop at Jack’s condo. The doorman in his building would know if Jack had gone out of town. She parked and took the elevator to the ground level, magnificent with its polished chrome finishes, shiny glass windows, and Italian marble floor. To her, the building was cold and impersonal, but it fit Jack’s taste for everything modern from art to fixtures, while she preferred subdued colors and early American antiques.

The doorman wasn’t at his desk. He’d probably stepped away to see to the needs of a tenant. She’d wait a few minutes. As she waited, leaning on the counter, she watched the security monitors. There were six: one spied on the exercise room, another the parking garage, one in each of two elevators, the front door, and the playroom. While her eyes were glued to the screens, the doorman returned to his station.

“Hello, Doctor Mallory. Hope you haven’t been waiting long.”

“Hi, Frank. I just arrived. Have you seen Jack? He’s not answering his phone.”

Frank plopped his right butt cheek on the edge of a high stool behind the counter, raised his eyebrows, and studied the ceiling. “Hmm. Don’t think I’ve seen him since yesterday afternoon. He went out and never came back while I was on duty. But let me check the log.” He thumbed through several sheets of paper attached to a clipboard. “There’s nothing here.”

“Doesn’t he always tell the desk when he’s going out of town?”

“I’ve worked here ten years and Jack has always notified the desk even it’s a…you know… overnight situation,” Frank said, looking at her with one eyebrow raised.

“He said he’d cook dinner tonight.”

“We haven’t gotten a grocery delivery for him, and he always has an order delivered from the market when he’s cooking for company. I’m sorry, Doctor Mallory. Looks like he’s MIA.”

“Great,” she said. “I’m worried and hungry. I’ll go upstairs and look around. Maybe he left a note.”

She took the elevator to the tenth floor and walked down the long corridor toward his unit. Other than trips to the mountains to write in seclusion, he was always available. He might have caught a plane and flown back to California, but even then, he would have called or texted prior to boarding.

She unlocked the door and walked in, sniffing. No mouth-watering, tempting smells wafted from the gourmet kitchen he had personally designed to accommodate his passion for cooking. Thank goodness at least one of them had gotten the gourmet chef gene. She couldn’t cook soup in the microwave without it boiling over.

A jade carving of a cat with its legs tucked tightly under its body sat on the table inside the door. She dropped her clutch and keys and picked up the antique. “Well, well, so Jack finally got a pet.” She turned it upside down and around. “You’re beautiful. And you don’t shed. Exactly what he needs.” The first question Jack asked every girl who tried to ask him out was do you have a house pet? If she said yes, he said no, thank you.

Charlotte placed the cat carefully back on the table and patted its head.

“Jack, are you here?” Calling out wasn’t necessary. She’d already sensed his absence in the coolness of the room.

The view of the James River from the wall of windows in the living room brought her to a standstill as it did every time she stepped into Jack’s home. In all of Richmond, his unit probably had the best view of the river. The corner office had views of both the river and the city. He had paid a premium price for it, but the view was worth the extra money.

On top of the glass desk sat his MacBook Air and half a cup of day-old coffee, along with a notepad and pen. Something seemed very wrong, but she couldn’t identify what caused an odd sensation trickling down her spine other than intuition.

She wandered into his bedroom. An unpacked suitcase rested on a folding luggage rack. The bed was neatly made, and the room would easily pass a white glove test, and so would the bathroom: seat down, sink clean, shower curtain open at both ends to prevent accumulating mold and mildew. She rolled her eyes. He got the neat gene, too, but then he often had overnight guests.

Scratching her head, she returned to the office and placed a call from the landline. He still didn’t answer, and