Zeitgeist Read online

  Zeitgeist

  by Grace Jelsnik

  Kindle edition

  Copyright © 2016 Grace Jelsnik

  Plainswomen Press

  All rights reserved

  Zeitgeist is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to people living or dead is purely coincidental.

  Grace Jelsnik Novels

  Dominoes

  Road Trip

  Sparrow

  The Missionaries’ Daughter

  Tranquility

  White Girl

  Zeitgeist

  Birthrights Series

  A Home on the Range, Volume 1

  The Stronghold, Volume 2

  The Roundup, Volume 3

  The Maverick, Volume 4

  Range Wars, Volume 5

  Birthrights Omnibus

  Volume 1

  Volume 2

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Author Biography

  Chapter 1

  Propelled by the winds of fury, Fiona stormed into the airport women’s room, her attempt to slam the door behind her thwarted by the phlegmatic self-closing mechanism at its top. Stupid door! Settling for an unsatisfactory puff of exhaled air when door met jamb, she whirled and flung her back against the wood, consumed with anger, the tears in her eyes blurring the tan stalls, ivory walls, and cream counter into a monochromatic abstract canvas.

  Pushing away, she stalked to the counter. At least, she tried to stalk to the counter, but in an apparent conspiracy of inanimate objects, even her rubber-soled winter boots betrayed her, denying her the satisfaction of anger-expressing clicks. Curling her fingers over the counter’s edge, Fiona leaned forward and studied her reflection. Tears trembled on spiky eyelashes, threatening to spill over onto her cheeks, but she saw anger, not sorrow, in the brown eyes.

  Was Daddy right? Did she want to stay in Saint Paul because she was determined to have her own way? Was this current upheaval of composure-shredding emotions nothing more than a tantrum?

  No. He was wrong. Fiona snatched a tissue from the box by the sink and dabbed at her eyes, taking care not to smudge her makeup. She was in love. For the first time in her life, she was truly in love.

  When she’d told her father this, he’d looked exasperated, reminding her this was the second time in the past year she’d thought she’d been in love and arguing that, if it were indeed true love, the feeling would last until they returned in three days. He contended what she felt was infatuation or attraction. When a girl was in her late teens, he’d said, it was normal to believe herself in love with a handsome man. She’d be besotted another half-dozen times before she finally fell in love with one special man.

  He hadn’t been there, so he couldn’t know Chad was that one special man.

  Of course Chad was handsome—all her men were—a regular Adonis, with his even, flawless features and his square chin with a mere hint of a dimple in the center, with his wavy, chestnut hair and those dreamy green eyes that set her heart to flip-flopping. However, her feelings for him had to do with much more than mere attraction. She’d met him last night, and it was love at first sight. Those had been his words exactly: “Do you believe in love at first sight?” She’d told him to make it love at first stumble. He’d been on his way out of the Turf Club while she was on her way in. Stunned by his gorgeous appearance, Fiona’s feet hadn’t received her brain’s message to continue in a straight line. She’d tripped and literally fallen into his arms.

  Chad had changed his mind about leaving, joining Fiona and her friends for a drink. One drink. They’d been drunk on love and hadn’t needed alcohol to add to an already pleasant buzz. Excusing herself to her friends, Fiona had left with Chad, walking together through a city hushed beneath a fresh blanket of snow. Talking about nothing and about everything. Stopping once to make snow angels. Stopping again, this time at his hotel room, to make love.

  When she woke at 6 AM, he’d been asleep. She’d dressed quietly, not wanting to wake him, not wanting to let him know what she’d decided. It would be a surprise. She wouldn’t be flying to Amarillo that morning with her father, as she’d told him. Instead, she’d stay in town with him. It was high time Daddy found himself another hostess for his grand openings, conventions, and retreats. He’d been a widower far too long, nine whole years, having lost Fiona’s mother in a car crash when Fiona was ten.

  If Daddy would only meet the right woman, he’d understand what Fiona felt for Chad. He wouldn’t treat his nineteen-year-old daughter like a child then. He wouldn’t have argued with her during the drive from the hotel to the airport. He wouldn’t have shut her down when she tried to again make her case after their arrival, instead directing her to this airport powder room and telling her to get herself under control and rejoin him in fifteen minutes. The plane would be ready by then, and she must be prepared to board.

  If only she were twenty-nine instead of nineteen. Then she could stare at him in disdain, perhaps placing one hand on her hip while giving him a half-smile revealing bored amusement. If only she were twenty-nine instead of nineteen, she could tell him exactly what to do with his grand opening of the new Amarillo fulfillment center.

  Nineteen sucked.

  Her temper flared anew at the sound of the restroom door hissing open and closed. If he’d sent someone to retrieve her, the errand girl had better be prepared for a long wait. Ignoring the intrusion, she pulled a tube of lip gloss from her purse and began repairing the ravages left from her recent argument with a heartless man.

  The new arrival, a woman with black hair, copper skin, and sharp brown eyes, moved to stand beside her at the counter. Addressing Fiona’s reflection, she said, “I have something you want, and you have something I want. I propose a trade.”

  Alarm rose. The woman’s voice, neutral and matter-of-fact, wasn’t meant to be intimidating, but the words had the feel of a threat. Recapping her lip gloss, Fiona thrust it in her purse and turned away, stopping at the woman’s next words, which, though hurried, were clearly enunciated, bitten off rather than spoken.

  “I overheard your argument. I want access to your father. You want to stay in Saint Paul. I propose we trade places for the next three days, me on the plane, you in my hotel room.”

  Fiona may not always see eye to eye with her father, but she loved him. She turned to face the woman, allowing her anger to show. “You misunderstood my argument with my father. I would never do anything to harm him.”

  “I don’t want to harm him.”

  Fiona scrutinized her expression. She seemed sincere. “Then why do you want access?”

  “I’ve been noticing disturbing patterns in online searches on his website.”

  Fiona’s father owned and operated the nation’s largest online media retailer, having built it up from a brick-and-mortar bookstore to a Fortune 500 company selling books, eBooks, magazines, ‘zines, DVD’s, CD’s, and video games. More expansion was in the offing: The Amarillo fulfillment center was the second he’d opened in two years. “What kind of
disturbing patterns?”

  “Too complicated to get into in any detail now, not when your plane is leaving in ten minutes. Briefly, I will say I am a concerned anthropologist who worries Delaney.com is being used to artificially shape American society, its ideas, beliefs, customs, and values. I don’t yet understand the purpose behind these search results, nor do I know whether they are deliberate or coincidental. Maybe, as my friends tell me, I’m seeing patterns where none exist. However, I need to talk with your father face-to-face. I need to tell him what I’ve found, and I want to see the look on his face when I share my data with him.”

  This wasn’t the first time Fiona had been approached by someone hoping to use her as a stepping stone to her father. Ex-employees, journalists, once even a hair stylist—none could make it past Vince, her father’s personal secretary, who guarded his boss’s time with all the zeal of a mother bear her cub. “You could give me your data. I could make certain he saw it.”

  “And what? Take a selfie with him and send me the photo so I can see the look on his face? No, thank you. I need to gauge for myself his reaction, but he won’t see me. To be perfectly honest, I don’t think he knows I exist. I’ve been shuttled from one office to the next, from one VP to the next, for the past week, and I don’t think a one of them passed on my message. I sense stonewall, and now I’m more worried than I was when I first began my research. I need to speak with your father. I need to see him, face-to-face. You want to be with your new boyfriend—”

  Alarmed again, Fiona interrupted. “How do you know that?”

  The woman looked frustrated. “Like I said, I overheard your argument. I and half the commuters and airport staff know you want to be with your new boyfriend. You made quite a scene before your father sent you to this restroom. I was waiting around the next corner, hoping to button-hole him before he boarded his plane, and then I saw you and decided we could be mutually beneficial to each other. We look alike from a distance, same coloring, same height, close to the same weight. We’re both wearing blue jeans and black boots. Yes, I’m considerably older, but it’s cold outside, and we’re both wearing weather-appropriate outerwear. If we exchanged coats, gloves, scarves, and purses, we could wear the scarves high on our faces, not unusual in these temperatures, and you could have what you want while I have what I need. You could be with your lover, and I could be with your father.”

  Fiona felt herself beginning to weaken beneath the woman’s persuasive tone. No, not the persuasive tone as much as the strain on her face. Fiona didn’t like Vince, never had, never would, and she knew well the sting of being denied even one spare minute of her father’s time because his personal secretary couldn’t have her interrupting the great man during a call or a meeting or his lunch. It didn’t help that the man had an irritating way of looking down his nose at other people as though they were bugs and he an exterminator.

  She inspected the woman’s appearance. Yes, they did look alike. The woman’s nose was aquiline, suggesting Native American or Spanish ancestry, but that was the only noticeable difference. From a distance, they’d be indistinguishable. From a distance. “He’ll know as soon as you board.”

  “No, he won’t. You’re sulking. That’s what you were doing when I walked in. That’s what he’ll be expecting. I’ll continue to sulk, refusing to look at him while we board, slumping in my seat and staring out the window until we’re halfway to Amarillo. Then, when it’s too late to turn around, I’ll approach your father and share with him my findings. If he’s innocent of what I suspect, he’ll thank me for having alerted him to my findings. He’ll put me up in Amarillo and fly me back to pick up my car and check out of my hotel room. If he’s guilty of what I suspect, he’ll leave me stranded in Amarillo, and I’ll have to make my own travel arrangements. Either way, I’ll have learned what I need to know, and you’ll have three days with your new boyfriend, in your own hotel room so you don’t have to sneak around to see him.”

  A suspicion arose. “Why exchange purses?”

  “For this to work, we need to exchange everything, including identities. That means our purses. You won’t be able to drive my car or get into my hotel room without my ID, and I don’t want to be left without an ID. And if you promise not have a spending spree at my expense, I promise not to have one at your expense. I daresay one of my charge cards could buy all of yours combined.”

  “Not likely.” Fiona’s cards were capped at a figure that was more than some people earned in a year.

  The woman’s lips curved upward in a slight smile, but she didn’t respond.

  Finding the lack of response more convincing than any argument the woman could have made, Fiona considered the proposition. What could it hurt? The woman gets her face-to-face with her father, and Fiona gets three days with the man she loves. Yes, her father would be angry, but this might be exactly what it took for him to realize she was no longer a child but a woman with a woman’s wants and needs and independence. Next time, he wouldn’t be so quick to demand she join him on a business trip. Next time, he’d listen.

  Even better would be the opportunity to settle old scores with Vince, who was almost certainly behind the stonewall the woman sensed.

  Coming to a quick decision, Fiona stripped off her coat and scarf, placing them on the counter beside her gloves and setting her purse on top. A minute later, she wore the woman’s parka, gloves, and scarf; her purse rested on the counter before her; and she was watching the woman tuck a slender laptop beneath one arm before zipping up Fiona’s parka over it. “How do we do this?”

  “I’ll leave. By now they have to be wondering what’s taking you so long. You’ll give me five minutes before you leave the restroom. That way, if I’m caught, you can say I overpowered you. I’ll take the blame. If I’m not caught, you’ll leave, winding the scarf high around your face. You won’t look up into any cameras. You’ll stare down. There’s a mini-iPad in my purse, code 0622. You can pretend to be reading a book. Once you get outside, go to short-term parking. The ticket stub is in my purse. My car is a black 2016 Chevy Impala with Massachusetts plates. Take it and drive to the downtown Saint Paul Doubletree Hotel. Room 538. My room key is in the purse. Once you get settled, call your friend from there. Enjoy your three days of freedom from paternal tyranny.”

  Both women froze at the sound of the door opening. A man’s voice called, “Fiona? It’s time to board.”

  It was Vince. “In a minute!” she snapped.

  “Yes, ma’am.” She heard the door close and looked at her companion, who was staring at her in approval.

  “Well done,” she said, nodding her head. “That sounded quite sullen and beautifully rude. Are you ready?”

  For a second, a split second, Fiona doubted the wisdom of the plan. Then she remembered Chad, and she remembered last night, and she remembered she was in love. Besides, if the plan failed, the older woman would take the blame. No one would believe Fiona had devised such a crazy scheme. How could she, never having even been aware of this woman’s existence? If the plan failed, she’d lose only the five minutes she’d waited in the powder room. “Go. I’ll wait five minutes.”

  After dragging Fiona’s scarf up over the aquiline nose, the woman exited, leaving behind a hushed, cotton-ball silence lending the powder room a surreal feel. Fiona began counting the seconds in the longest five minutes of her life, glancing at her watch, trying to force herself to wait a full minute before glancing at it again, but never lasting longer than twenty seconds. She wondered whether her watch was working correctly. Time couldn’t possibly be passing this slowly.

  By the time three minutes had passed, she began to second- and third-guess her decision. She didn’t want to upset her father. She never wanted to upset him. He was the best father ever. If he’d only once see things her way, they’d never even argue.

  She glanced at her watch again. Four minutes and thirty-five seconds had passed. Patience didn’t come easily to Fiona, but this time she held fast, watching the second hand creep i
ts way around the watch face and remaining motionless until exactly five minutes had passed. Moving to the door, she cracked it wide enough to poke her head through and survey her surroundings. Daddy and his entourage were gone. They’d be on the plane by now.

  Fiona stepped through the doorway and began walking, keeping her head down while digging through the woman’s purse for the iPad. Pulling it out, she flipped it open and keyed in the passcode, clicking on the eReader application and leafing through the offerings. Relief rose at the appearance of legitimacy, based on the books downloaded on the iPad. Only a cultural anthropologist would read books with chapters addressing cultural universals, cultural repositioning, social mobility, and ideological shifts in social structures, whatever those may be. Daddy may well thank her for having forced a meeting between the two.

  Fiona realized she hadn’t even asked the woman’s name. When she had time and there were no cameras on her, she’d dig through the purse and learn her name for the next three days. Someone jostled her and snapped at her to watch where she was going, but she didn’t look up. She couldn’t take a chance on revealing her face, a potentially recognizable face in Saint Paul, to anyone monitoring the cameras right now. This crazy plan wouldn’t happen if she were seen before Daddy’s plane took off.

  If indeed it happened, she cautioned herself. She couldn’t be certain of anything until she saw the plane fly overhead. Because he was using his private jet for the flight, the woman would have to walk across the tarmac to board the plane. She’d be walking behind Fiona’s father. He wouldn’t speak to her. Whenever they had an argument, it was his custom to allow Fiona’s temper to cool before approaching her.

  The woman would be followed by Vince. Her father’s secretary wouldn’t speak to her. He never spoke to Fiona unless he absolutely had to, deeming her unworthy of his attention.

  Behind Vince would be Ted, Daddy’s public relations specialist and Delaney.com’s spokesperson. A sharp-featured man with horn-rimmed glasses, Ted never spoke to Fiona. He rarely spoke to anyone, not in person, all his conversation being routed through the Bluetooth attached to his ear. He never looked at her either, invariably frowning at some distant object only he perceived.