The Strangers On Montagu Street Part 2

I frowned. "There's only one problem. I'm happy for her to stay with me as long as you think this will take, but I'm about to be kicked out of my house again."

Jack quirked an eyebrow.

"Sophie and the plumber were yammering about it this morning, but it all comes down to a cracked foundation. I haven't asked my mother yet, but it looks like I'll be moving in with her for about three months. I'm sure she'd love to have Nola, too, but I'll need to check with her. She's always going on and on about someday having a grandchild, so maybe having her best friend's granddaughter living with her might cure her of that for a while."

"Or cure her of ever wanting one of her own," Jack said with a strained look. "Teenagers aren't for wussies."

"Then it's a good thing my mother and I aren't."

The waitress brought our checks and I could see her straining to see if Jack wore a ring on his left hand. She sent me a smug glance when she caught me watching her. Jack shoved his hand in one pocket of his jeans and then the other. "That's odd. My wallet's missing."

Calmly, I reached into my purse and pulled out the wallet General Lee had found on my dresser. I'd left it on the hall table and had picked it up on my way out of the house that morning. "Is this it?"

He took it from me and flipped it open. "It's definitely mine. Where'd you find it?"

"In my bedroom."

He furrowed his brow. "Not to be coy, but if my wallet was in your bedroom, wouldn't I have had to have been there, too? And believe me, I would have remembered that."

I swatted his sleeve. "I have no idea. All I know is that I got one of my calls from a disconnected phone right before I found it. I'm sure they're related."

"Your grandmother again?"

Jack was one of the few people who knew about my sixth sense. Although it had been a closely guarded secret for most of my childhood and adult years, the idea that it was more of a gift than a curse was gradually growing on me at my mother's urging. But only gradually.

I nodded.

"Did she say anything?"

I thought about her words-listen to your heart for a change-and knew better than to tell Jack. He'd find some way to embarra.s.s me or bribe me later if he knew. "Not really," I said. "You know it's never clear."

"True, but we've also learned that there's no such thing as a coincidence. If she's responsible for my wallet being in your room, then she wants to tell you something about me."

I dug into my own wallet to hide the color rus.h.i.+ng to my face. "Maybe. Like 'don't answer the door.' If only I'd listened." I smiled up at him but he wasn't looking. Instead he was looking inside his very empty wallet.

"I had fifty dollars in here. Any idea what might have happened to it?"

I shook my head. "It was there when I found it last night. I didn't check it again before I slid it into my purse before coming here."

Our eyes met as a mutual understanding dawned. "Don't jump to conclusions, Jack," I said. "I'm sure there's a logical explanation. Maybe it fell out and it's still on the table. I'll ask Mrs. Houlihan as soon as I get home. Just don't do anything until you hear from me, okay?"

He pressed his lips together, then relaxed. "Fine. But I want you to call me the second you find out."

"I will." I stood and picked up his ticket. "My treat. You can get the next one."

"Already asking me for the next date. That's sweet, Mellie."

Before I had a chance to respond his cell phone rang, but when he looked at it he just frowned and turned off the ringer.

"Bill collector?" I asked as I pushed open the door.

"Rebecca, actually," he said, following me out of the cafe.

I wanted to ask him why he wasn't taking her call, but I held back. I didn't want him to think that I cared. As I slid on my sungla.s.ses I said, "There's something you should know, Jack."

He folded his arms and gave me his famous half grin. "I already know you think I'm pretty hot, Mellie. Tell me something I don't know."

This time I gave in to the temptation to roll my eyes. "Nola didn't come alone, if you know what I mean."

He straightened, his face serious. "Bonnie?"

"I have no idea. Whoever it is stuck the guitar in Nola's bed last night and opened her window. All I know is that it wasn't me or General Lee."

"Did you tell Nola?"

I shook my head. "She's already having a hard enough time adjusting, so I don't think it would be a good idea right now-or ever. At best it would freak her out, and at worst she'd never believe another word I said to her. Which could be a problem if you're using me to help build her trust."

"True. We'll just play it by ear, then."

"Fine." I fumbled in my purse for my car keys. "Look, why don't you give her a couple of days and then come to dinner Friday night? We can do a cookout. Burgers, hot dogs, cole slaw-that kind of thing. Sophie and Nola kind of hit it off this morning, so I'll invite Sophie and Chad, too. It might help move things along." I frowned up at him. "Nola's really vulnerable right now, Jack. As difficult as she's bound to be, we need to give her a little slack."

Surprising me, Jack pulled me forward in a close embrace, and after a moment of trying to figure out where my own arms should go, I let them fall around his broad shoulders.

"Thanks, Mellie. I knew you were the right person to come to."

I patted his back, wondering whether he'd drag out that awful "friend" word, but enjoying being held in his arms anyway. Finally, I pulled back, ending the embrace, if only because it reminded me too much of what I'd willingly given up. "You're welcome. I'm glad I can help." Clearing my throat of something I couldn't identify, I added, "And don't think I won't expect some kind of payment in the future."

His face brightened. "Is that an invitation, Mellie?"

Looking up to heaven and shaking my head, I turned and started walking down Broad. "Grow up, Jack," I called over my shoulder, then listened to his laughter until I turned the corner onto King Street.

CHAPTER 3.

I stood with Nola outside Trenholm's Antiques on King Street and paused. I didn't like being around old furniture any more than I liked being in hospitals or cemeteries; it made it far too easy for lost souls to find me. I caught sight of our reflection in the large plate-gla.s.s window: me in my sharp navy D&G suit and heels, and Nola dressed like Sophie's protege in worn Converse sneakers, striped leggings, and a short floral dress. And there, right behind Nola's left shoulder, was the face of a woman that disappeared almost as soon as I saw it. So quickly that for a moment I thought I'd imagined it, except for the lingering aura of sadness that permeated the air and pressed against my chest.

Taking a deep breath, I pulled open the door and held it open for Nola before following her into the store. Jack's parents had owned Trenholm's Antiques since before he was born, and it was not only a fixture in Charleston, but also known and respected worldwide for its high quality and oftentimes rare furniture and objets d'art. Even as a child, I'd admired the store, but only from the sidewalk and from what I could see through the large front windows. As it was, I already heard the rustling of old skirts and the murmurings of soft voices as I stood inside the door, waiting for my eyes to become accustomed to the dark interior.

"Melanie, Nola. What a lovely surprise." Impeccably dressed as always in a St. John cream-colored suit, Jack's mother, Amelia, approached from the rear of the store, where she'd been arranging delphiniums and foxgloves in a very large blue-and-white Meissen urn. She appeared to be as delicate and rare as the porcelain, but I knew better. Anybody who'd raised Jack Trenholm and lived to tell about it had to have been made of stronger stuff.

She enveloped me in a whiff of Chanel No. 5 as she kissed both cheeks before turning to Nola. Nola conveniently crossed her arms in a successful attempt to avert a hug or any kind of physical contact.

Amelia looked confused for a moment but quickly regained her equilibrium. "I was doing some shopping yesterday on King Street and I saw something in a window that I couldn't resist. I hope you like it." She walked quickly to an Italian marquetry desk in the corner and reached behind it.

When I saw the shopping bag from Palm Avenue, I cringed a little. I loved Palm Avenue: What's not to love about pink and green and Lilly Pulitzer prints? But I somehow couldn't quite picture Nola in a cotton pique polo s.h.i.+rt, or in any color that might be called pastel.

Amelia continued. "Your daddy said Miss Middleton is having a little cookout on Friday, so I thought you might like something new to wear. I had to guess at your size, but I think I got it right-I'm a bit of a pro at shopping." She gave a little laugh and I was surprised to hear nervousness in it. "I hope you like it." She held out the shopping bag to Nola like a queen bestowing a knighthood.

Nola took the bag, frowning into the pastel-colored tissue depths, and I knew an immediate intercession was necessary. "Here," I said, taking the bag. "Let me put this by the door so we don't forget it on the way out." I smiled broadly as I placed it by the door and returned, hoping they couldn't tell I was gritting my teeth.

We both watched as Nola turned to study an intricately carved che-val mirror. A thick fog had begun to form around Nola's reflection in the mirror, although nothing was visible in the store. I looked at Nola and Amelia to see whether they'd noticed anything, relieved when it appeared that they hadn't. The whispered voices around me seemed to get louder, and I recognized my name spoken several times from more than one voice. As I'd learned to do since I was a child, I began humming to myself to drown out the noise and let the spirits know that I didn't want them speaking to me.

I stopped suddenly when I realized that both Amelia and Nola were staring at me.

Nola frowned. "Was that supposed to be music?"

I gave her the look I normally reserved for Realtors who'd just given me a less than favorable counteroffer. "Of course. 'Fernando' was one of ABBA's greatest-selling singles."

Nola snorted. "ABBA? As in the guys who wrote the music for that lame musical Mamma Mia!? What are you-like a member of their fan club or something?"

I was spared from answering by Amelia. "Why don't you look around, Nola? Miss Middleton and I have a little business to talk about. I promise it won't take long, and then maybe we can go have lunch. Do you like pizza?"

I took Amelia's arm and began to lead her back to the desk. "Only if it's made of gra.s.s and tastes like cardboard."

Amelia sent me a questioning look.

"I'll explain later," I said as we each took a seat at her desk. I reached into my purse and pulled out the spreadsheet I'd made of my home's inventory, separated by room. There were columns for the approximate year each piece was built and its value, along with a column for my thoughts about each piece and whether or not I liked it. I wasn't really sure of the reason for this last column, only that an inventory seemed incomplete without it. I spread it out on Amelia's desk and turned it to face her.

"Sophie said it would be a good idea to empty the house before they begin working on the foundation. I figure I could either put it all in storage, or you and Sophie could find several house museums that would be interested in hosting an entire room from my home for a short period of time. It just all needs to be gone as soon as possible."

Amelia slipped on her reading gla.s.ses and stared down at the spreadsheet. "What's this?" she asked, indicating a column head.

"That's the amount of time it would take to bring each piece down and up the steps based on its weight and how many men it would take to carry it."

Her eyes were wide and blue over the tops of her gla.s.ses as she regarded me. After a while, she returned to the spreadsheet. The manicured nail of her index finger indicated another column. "What does this say?"

I squinted, not having brought my own gla.s.ses, then sat back, embarra.s.sed. "Nothing. Just my personal thoughts about a piece of furniture."

"Isn't that Jack's name?" She adjusted her gla.s.ses on her nose. "The print's so tiny-I guess you were trying to make sure it fit in the box. It has to do with the grandfather clock in the front parlor."

I stared at the indicated box, squinting and trying to pretend I couldn't read it.

"I'm pretty sure that's Jack's name," she said, turning it around to face me. "In fact, I'm sure that's it-isn't it?"

Resigned, I nodded. "It says, 'Reminds me of Jack.' That's the clock where we found the Confederate diamonds."

She was looking up at me, a small smile on her lips. "I see," she said, and I was afraid that she actually did.

We went through the entire list, and as we were finis.h.i.+ng up I realized that I'd lost track of Nola. I stood suddenly, wondering whether she might have sneaked out, but saw her in the back corner of the showroom, her back to me. She seemed mesmerized by whatever she was staring at, and I moved to stand next to her, Amelia behind me.

"I just got that in and stuck it back here while I try to figure out the best way to display it," Amelia said. "John thought the front window would work best."

Nola took a step back and I got a better view of the enormous dollhouse that sat on the ground yet whose turreted roof was visible behind Nola. It was a Victorian with lacy fretwork, decorative brackets and spindle work, and a large circular turret that claimed one corner of the house and culminated in a mansard-style roof.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" Amelia asked as she moved to stand next to Nola.

Nola just shrugged as if uninterested, but her gaze was fixed on the house. Mine was, too, but I guessed not for the reason hers was. The edges of the house seemed smudged to me, like the surface of a highway in the midday sun, and when I stepped closer to try to see more clearly, my skin felt singed.

Amelia continued. "We think it's about seventy years old, but I'm not sure yet. I'm still tracking down its provenance-something Jack has always helped me with. I purchased it here in Charleston, but it's had lots of owners. For some reason, people don't like hanging on to it for very long."

I watched as the house's edges continued to undulate, the air heated and suffocating along its periphery. I took a step back. "So you don't know anything about the original owners?"

Amelia shook her head. "Not yet. I do know that the most recent owners had had it less than a year and were eager to sell it. The price they were selling it for was so low I almost feel as if I should send them an additional check."

My gaze s.h.i.+fted to Nola, who was now using her index finger to delicately trace the scrollwork on the front porch bal.u.s.trades. My skin felt burned just watching her, but she didn't even flinch.

"Did you have a dollhouse like this when you were little?" I asked Nola, eager to draw her out of the trance she seemed to be in. The blurred edges around the house were now becoming blackened, like the way approaching night throws everything in shadows. I wanted to grab her arm and pull her back, but I hesitated, not wanting to have to explain myself.

Nola's black-rimmed eyes met mine as she dropped her hand. "No," she said, the word short and harsh. Amelia looked at me and I could tell that she'd heard the hollowness, too. Nola turned her back on the dollhouse and crossed her arms. "It's just a stupid kid's toy. I'm glad my mom never wasted her money on something like that."

The words. .h.i.t Amelia like raindrops, so that she seemed to droop under the weight of them. I imagined she was thinking of all the years her granddaughter had grown up without her, without all the love Amelia would have showered on Jack's only child. She managed to hold on to her smile. "You're probably right, Nola. I imagine this dollhouse has been pa.s.sed around so much because little girls grow tired of it fairly quickly and don't want it taking up so much s.p.a.ce in their bedrooms."

I looked back at the dollhouse, where the spindles and brackets had now all turned black, and knew that whether or not Amelia really believed what she was saying, she was wrong: Apparently there was another compelling reason why little girls didn't want that dollhouse in their bedrooms.

The rustle of long skirts brought my attention to a woman in an Empire-style gown with a high waistline and ruffled sleeves sitting at an eighteenth-century dressing table with a marble top and three-way mirror. The green of her gown was marred only by the red stain spread across the bodice of her dress. I looked away as soon as she stood and began walking toward me.

"We need to take a rain check on lunch, Amelia. I just remembered an appointment," I said as I took hold of Nola's arm and began leading her toward the door. "Thanks so much for your help. I'll see you and John at the barbecue." I stopped for a moment and faced her, seeing the woman in the green dress coming toward me again and hearing the rise and fall of more voices. "You know you're welcome to drop by anytime to see Nola."

Amelia smiled at me gratefully. "I know." She turned to her granddaughter. "I hope that's all right with you. I want us to get to know each other better." She stepped forward as if to embrace Nola, but Nola quickly turned, pretending not to see.

I spotted the shopping bag by the door and thrust it into Nola's hands. "Thanks, Amelia, for the clothes. I'm sure Nola will love them." I opened the door for Nola and she started to go through it before she stopped and turned back to Amelia.

"Thanks," she said slowly. "For the clothes." She gave Amelia a brief smile before ducking through the door.

The light in Amelia's eyes brightened. "You're welcome," she said, but Nola had already moved down to the front window, where she'd pressed her forehead against the gla.s.s and was staring at the dollhouse again while pretending not to.

I began to walk down King Street toward Market, and Nola followed. I had almost two hours before my next appointment, and even though I liked to spend my mornings coordinating my BlackBerry with my other two calendars I kept for backup, I figured a chat with Nola was overdue.

I turned to her. "I've got a little time right now, so I figured I'd show you a bit of Charleston. If you don't mind the walk, I thought we'd go to the open-air market. It's kind of touristy this time of year, but there are some pretty neat local vendors and handcrafted items you might enjoy."

Nola shrugged and I took that as a yes. We continued walking past the windows of the small boutiques and chain stores along King Street, but I kept my gaze focused straight ahead. I didn't want to be distracted by the tempting displays or from my real reason for taking a long walk with Nola.

Although the temperature was only in the high seventies, the humidity hovered around ninety percent, and I could feel it in the way my skirt was beginning to stick to my legs. I glanced over at Nola and saw beads of perspiration on her upper lip, her heavy makeup beginning to run. I reached into my purse and pulled out a neatly folded tissue before handing it to her. Frowning, she stared at it for a moment before taking it and pressing it against her cheeks. "It's so frigging hot here," she said.

I refrained from mentioning that it wasn't even summer yet, or that she wore too many clothes for the climate. I also didn't comment on her choice of words. I figured all that could wait for later. Instead I said, "I know you took the money from your father's wallet."

Her steps didn't falter and she didn't look at me, but I saw her shoulders go back as if preparing for an a.s.sault. "So?"

At least she hadn't denied it. Still, I hadn't been raised by an army father for nothing. Despite his battles with alcohol, I'd been raised by the strict military code and still adhered to it. "It's stealing. There are two things I won't tolerate and that's stealing and lying. Don't do it again. Do you understand?"

She didn't say anything, and when I stopped walking, she stopped, too. "Do you understand?" I asked again.

She met my eyes-something I hadn't expected-and replied, "Yeah. I get it." There was still defiance in her words, but there was relief there, too. "It's stuffed under my pillow. I'll give it back."