I closed the door behind Amelia an hour later, wondering again how such a kind and intelligent woman could have given birth to Jack Trenholm. I’d only met his father briefly, so I was left to assume that the answer might lie in that end of the gene pool.
Preoccupied with my conversation with Amelia and thoughts of my mother, I didn’t remember to be afraid as I began to walk toward the kitchen to call Jack and find out where he was. He’d promised to help me move in, after all, and I was dreading dragging all the stuff from my car into the house after having done it all by myself in reverse just a few hours before.
As I reached for my purse, I heard my name.
Melanie.
I straightened slowly, realizing I could see my breath in the suddenly chilly kitchen. I turned around, clutching my cell phone to my chest.
Go away, Melanie. This is my house.
I trembled, more afraid than even I wanted to admit.
I am stronger than you
, I said to myself, repeating my mother’s mantra. I wanted to ask who it was, but I knew that to engage it in conversation would give it strength I wasn’t sure I wanted to witness.
I am stronger than you
, I repeated, beginning to back out of the room.
Your mother does not want you, either. That is why she went away.
Something cold and sharp brushed against my cheek and I cried out, feeling something sticky drip down my skin. I touched my fingers to my face, then brought my hand in front of me to see what it was. My hand was shaking so badly it took me a moment to see the blood staining my fingertips.
I recalled the wet footprints in the kitchen and belatedly realized that whatever or whoever it was, was no longer bound to the back staircase or the back rooms. It was venturing farther than it had in the past as if something was giving it strength. Something or someone.
I tried to move but I was held in place, as if my feet were encased in cement blocks. I looked around desperately, trying to determine from what direction the next attack would come. That’s when I heard another voice, a familiar one that sent palpable relief surging through me. The presence left me immediately, but the temperature in the room remained cold, my breath coming out in fast little puffs.
My knees betrayed me by buckling, and I sank down onto the kitchen floor before I embarrassed myself by falling.
Melanie.
From the corner of my eye, I spotted my protector leaning against the stove, one booted ankle crossed over the other.
“Thank you,” I said out loud, more glad to see him than I could express.
You are hurt.
“Yes. Something scratched me. Who was it?”
He didn’t answer. Instead I heard him walk toward me, his heels striking the kitchen floor tiles. I didn’t look up as he stopped next to me.
You are very brave, my beautiful Melanie. A very attractive combination.
I was aware of his German accent, and of how solid he felt next to me. I was also aware that he’d avoided answering my question.
Close your eyes, Melanie.
I shook my head. “No.”
I will not hurt you. I am your friend. Close your eyes and I will make you better.
After hesitating again for a moment, I closed my eyes. I felt him lean down next to me and use gentle fingers to move the hair away from my injured cheek, followed by the distinct sensation of lips brushing mine. Warmth pressed through to me, sending electric sparks directly into my bloodstream. My eyes flickered open in surprise and he vanished. Bringing my fingers to my cheek, I realized that my cheek had healed.
“Mellie?”
It was Jack. I twisted around and saw him standing in the kitchen doorway. “The front door was unlocked, so I let myself in. What are you doing on the floor?”
“I, um, I—I was waiting for you. No chairs,” I said, indicating the obvious. I wasn’t sure why I didn’t tell Jack the truth. It wasn’t that I didn’t think Jack wouldn’t believe me. I think it had more to do with the random thought of wanting to keep my protector all to myself.
He looked at me oddly. “Are you alone?”
“Of course,” I answered a little too quickly.
“Because I thought I heard you talking.”
I struggled to my feet, my knees still feeling weak. “I was. To myself.” I held up my cell phone. “I was leaving my to-do list on my voice mail.”
He continued to stare at me oddly.
“What?” I asked.
“Well, you’re flushed and your eyes are sparkling. Maybe your to-do lists have that effect on you, but if you were anybody else, I’d say that you’d just been soundly kissed. Or more.”
Realizing that was pretty much the way I was feeling, I brushed past him. “You really need to get your mind out of the gutter, Jack.”
He followed me out of the kitchen. “Hold up, Mellie. I was about to give you a compliment.”
Suspicious, I slowed down and turned to look at him.
He smiled, his blue eyes doing their thing again. “I was going to say that when you look like that, you don’t look like a—how did you put it?—‘dried-out husk of a woman.’ ”
Oh, God.
So those scraps of conversation I thought had been completely in my head hadn’t been. I thought briefly of throwing my cell phone at him, but I knew Jack wasn’t worth the trouble of getting a new one. “You lied to me. You said I didn’t say anything embarrassing when I was drunk.”
“No, I said that you didn’t say anything that would make me think less of you. Giving in to your innermost fears about turning forty was sort of sweet, actually. I think we may have bonded.”
I held up my hand to get him to stop speaking. “Enough. I don’t want to hear another word about it. Instead, do you think you could make yourself useful and help me bring my things in from the car? Just pile everything in the foyer because I don’t know where I’m going to be sleeping yet.”
Without waiting for him to answer, I yanked the front door open and headed down the steps, taking gulps of the cold air to try and cool myself down.
“Is it okay if I still think you’re beautiful?” he called after me.
I didn’t answer, remembering instead the kiss on my lips, and how my protector had made me forget for a few moments what the other voice had said:
Your mother does not want you, either. That is why she went away.
I turned around to make sure Jack was following, then made my way to unload the car for my return to the house on Legare Street.
Juggling my donuts and coffee, I backed into the door to Henderson Realty, the wind buffeting my coat and hair so I could barely see. The door was whipped out of my hand and as I struggled to grab it, a small feminine hand reached around and held it open for me so that I could enter the building.
I turned with a smile to thank my rescuer, but felt my smile faltering when I recognized Rebecca Edgerton.
“Good morning, Melanie,” she said, her face and perky attitude more than I could usually handle first thing in the morning. “I know it’s awfully early, but Jack told me that you’re an early bird just like me so I figured this might be the best time to catch you.”
Nancy came from behind the receptionist’s desk to help us with our coats. I tried not to stare when I realized she was dressed in head-to-toe argyle. I knew she went through golf withdrawal when the weather didn’t cooperate with her plans to play, and I figured this was her way of dealing with the grief.
“Thanks, Nancy. This is Rebecca Edgerton, a reporter at the newspaper. She’s an old friend of Jack’s.”
I wished I hadn’t said that last part when I watched Nancy’s smile broaden. “Oh, a friend of Jack’s! How nice. I haven’t seen him in a while. How’s he doing?”
“He’s doing great, actually. He’s heading to the airport later this morning to pick up Melanie’s mother.”
“He is?” I asked, shocked that she’d know this tidbit of information but I wouldn’t.
“Yes. She called Jack a few days ago to set it all up. Seems that she’s done with all of her business in New York and she’s ready to move in to her house.”
I felt sick, not sure if it was because I’d been left out of my mother’s plans or because her return meant that tonight would be my first night in the Legare Street house. Sophie was growing impatient waiting to start on the floors, but I’d explained that I wasn’t spending a single night in my mother’s house alone. Frowning, I said, “I wonder why she didn’t call me.”
Both Nancy and Rebecca looked at me. Finally, Rebecca said, “Probably because she wasn’t sure you’d answer.”
I opened my mouth to protest, then closed it, knowing she was most likely correct. Instead I turned to Nancy. “Could you please hold my calls and bring some coffee for Rebecca?”
“Sure, no problem. Do you like cream and sugar, Rebecca?”
“Lots of sugar and real cream, if you have it. I can never have enough sugar!” She let out a little laugh until she realized that both Nancy and I were looking at her oddly.
“No problem,” Nancy said, raising her eyebrows at my bag of donuts and latte with extra sugar. “I get that a lot around here.”
I led the way back to my office and motioned for Rebecca to follow. I set my coffee and donuts on my desk and sat down, indicating the chair opposite for Rebecca. She sat while I flicked on my computer and opened up my appointment calendar, placing my BlackBerry next to it so I could reconcile my schedule. I knew it was overkill, but after first getting my BlackBerry, I would lie awake at night worrying about missing appointments because I’d lost my BlackBerry and my backup on my laptop had disappeared. Better safe than sorry had been my motto since I learned at an early age that I needed to set two alarms for my dad so he could get up in time for work.
I looked up and saw Rebecca eyeing my donut bag with the grease spots on the bottom of it. I opened up my second drawer and dropped the bag inside before she had the chance to ask me to share with her.
“So, what brings you here first thing in the morning?” I asked, trying to sound interested.
She slapped her hands on her knees. “Well, two things, actually. Firstly, Jack and I were having so much fun at dinner last night that I forgot to ask him if you two discovered anything at Mimosa Hall.” Her blue eyes widened as she waited for my response, but I sensed more than just casual interest.
“The trip itself to Ulmer was pretty uneventful,” I said slowly, skipping over the sweet potatoes, icy water puddle, and brandy. “But inside the house, we did see a portrait of a girl wearing a locket that looked pretty identical to the one worn by the girls in the portrait we found in the Legare Street attic.”
“Really? How interesting. Did you take pictures?”
“Jack did. We haven’t had a chance to compare them yet. I stuck the portrait back in the attic because I have painters coming to the house this week and Jack and I keep missing each other.” I kept the part about the menacing voice to myself, not willing to share that bit of information with Rebecca. I still wasn’t sure that I trusted her—and that everything I said wouldn’t end up as fodder in a newspaper exposé one day.
“Did it have an initial on it like the ones in the portrait?” Rebecca leaned forward, almost imperceptibly.
I frowned, trying to remember beyond the haze of the brandy. “Yes. Actually, it did. The letter
A
.”
I watched as her already-pale face turned a shade whiter. “An
A
? Are you sure?”
“Definitely. No doubt about that. I believe Jack took a close-up so you can ask him when you see him again.” I tried unsuccessfully to keep the snide tone from my voice. I looked at her closely. “Are you feeling all right?”
She nodded, but her smile was shaky. “I didn’t sleep well last night.”
She didn’t explain and I wasn’t interested in a blow-by-blow account. Still, she looked as if she might keel over in her chair. With a heavy sigh, I pulled the donuts out of my drawer. “Maybe you should eat something.”
Her eyes brightened as she spotted the grease-spotted bag. “Thank you. I think that might help.”
I spread two napkins on my desk, placing a donut on top of one before sliding it over to her. “Careful with the powdered sugar. It gets everywhere.”
Nancy entered my office with the coffee and set two mugs down on the desk. Before I could reach for my personal mug—the one with “I’m #1” on one side and a magic ink image of a house that was replaced with the word “SOLD” on the other whenever hot liquid was poured inside—Rebecca picked it up and took a sip. I stared at the remaining mug with golf balls splattered all over it and slid it toward me so Rebecca wouldn’t take that, too.
Nancy eyed the donuts. “Something big must be going on here because I’ve never seen Melanie share her donuts with anybody. People fear for their fingers if they get too close.”
I sent her a withering glance. “Rebecca wasn’t feeling well. Figured a sugar rush could help.”
We both watched as Rebecca took a huge bite out of her donut, then quickly polished off the rest of it with a second bite. She smiled at us while chewing, then took another sip from my mug before speaking.
“Sorry. I guess I was hungry.”
Nancy watched as I edged my donut closer to me and quickly took a bite of it to stake my claim. I even thought about licking it, just in case. “I bought cinnamon rolls for the office,” Nancy said. “I could bring a couple of them in if you’re still hungry.”
Rebecca perked up even more. “Oh, yes. Please. If it’s not too much trouble, that is.” Her smile widened and a speck of powdered sugar fell from her lower lip.
Nancy’s questioning look was quickly replaced by a polite smile. “I’ll go get those rolls for you and be right back.”
“Thanks,” Rebecca called to Nancy’s departing back. “And when you have a minute, I want to know where you got those argyle pants. They look great.”
Nancy shot back an appreciative grin before heading toward the break room.
Rebecca turned back to me. “Where were we? Oh, yes. We were talking about my not sleeping last night.”
I shoved half of my donut into my mouth so I couldn’t say what I really wanted to and instead just nodded politely.
“I had another dream. About you, believe it or not.” She smiled tentatively and I noticed that she had more powdered sugar on her chin. “You were with a man, and I had the strong impression that there was something—between you. Like you were lovers.”
“Really?” I nonchalantly picked up my mug and took a sip.
“It wasn’t Jack.”
I thought I saw a gleam of satisfaction in her eyes. “Well, that’s a relief,” I said through a surprising stab of disappointment. I took another sip of coffee.
“Actually, he was blond. And he spoke English but with a heavy accent.”
My leg had begun to bounce on my knee and I lowered my hand to get it to stop. “That’s weird,” I said, trying not to show any interest. “What were we doing?”
Rebecca squirmed a little in her seat. “Um, well, not that I saw anything specifically, but I got the strongest feeling that the two of you had been—intimate.”
I coughed, spitting up coffee. I jerked to a stand and grabbed a napkin from the donut bag to wipe my chin and desk. I wanted to ask her if the man was wearing a Revolutionary War uniform but that would give too much away. Instead, I said, “That’s pretty disturbing, seeing as how I’m not dating anybody right now.”
“Oh, I didn’t say that you were dating him.”
Our eyes met and she sent me a half smile full of innuendo. “Any idea who he is?” she asked.
“Not at all,” I said without looking away. I sat back down. “Any idea who you think he might be?”
Rebecca shook her head. “Not exactly, although I know that you were in the kitchen in the house on Legare Street. And he kept pointing at a fireplace that I don’t remember seeing when I was there.”
“Interesting,” I said. “Because there used to be a fireplace in the kitchen, but the previous owners plastered over it.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Well, then. Maybe whoever he is wants you to restore it.”
“Maybe,” I said. “He’s probably some dead historical preservationist who’s appalled by what the house looks like now. Believe me. Even I might be tempted to rise from the dead if somebody did that to my house.”
Nancy reentered the office with two plates, each with a cinnamon roll and fork, and placed one in front of each of us. Rebecca was already reaching for her fork before Nancy even made it back to the door.
Rebecca smiled and dabbed at the corners of her mouth with a napkin. “Speaking of old houses, I was wondering if you recalled the name of the current owner at Mimosa Hall. Thought it might ring a bell and help us tie the girls in the portraits together.”
“The last name is McGowan, but they weren’t the original owners. Jack told me that the McGowans bought the house from the Crandall family during the Depression. Mrs. McGowan—who was out of town when we stopped by—is going through her attic to look for more information, but she remembers some sort of tragedy in the last half of the 1800s that affected the family. She said she’d let Jack know when she finds out.”
Rebecca’s hand froze in midair as she held her napkin up to her face. “Crandall? Are you sure?”
“Yes, that’s definitely what Jack told me. Why, do you know of them?”
She seemed to studiously relax. “It’s just that, well, Crandall doesn’t sound like a local name, that’s all.”
“No, they were from Connecticut. According to Jack’s research with Yvonne, the Crandalls were always having family come visit from up north.”
“Interesting,” she said, her voice tight. “Maybe researching the family is something I could do. Help figure out at least who the girl with the
A
locket is, which may or may not lead us to the identity of the two girls in your portrait.”
“Great,” I said, moving my calendar and BlackBerry closer to me to give Rebecca the hint that I needed to get back to work.
Surprisingly astute, she stood. “I’ll let you get back to work, then. Thanks for the donut and the cinnamon roll—can’t think of a better way to start my day.”
I frowned, recalling having said the exact same thing more than once. “Thanks for stopping by. Let me know if you find out anything about the girl in the portrait.”
“Will do.” She slung her purse over her shoulder. “Oh, and I almost forgot about the second thing I wanted to ask you about.”
I looked up at her, my BlackBerry poised and ready in my hand. “Yes?”
“It’s a favor, actually. Every year, the historical society presents a Christmas tour of homes and I suggested that we include your mother’s house on the tour this year. It’s a rather late addition, but I thought it should be included.”
I stared at her in horror. “You can’t be serious. It’s like the inside of a frat house on a psychedelic trip, and there’s no way we can decorate in time for the tour. . . .”
Rebecca cut me off with a wave of her hand. “That’s the point. I thought we could make the Legare Street house the first on the tour to show people what happens when the historical aspects of these homes are ignored, then follow with the rest of the homes of the tour, which shows the other end of the spectrum.”
I shook my head. “My mother would never agree. . . .”
Rebecca cut me off again. “Actually, she already has. I spoke with her while she was in New York and she thought it a great idea.”
I frowned. “She answered your phone call?”
Rebecca had the decency to look abashed. “Actually, I borrowed Jack’s phone when he was taking out the trash. She didn’t know it was me.”
I frowned again, wondering if I should be more appalled by Rebecca’s subterfuge or the fact that my mother had agreed to open her house for a home tour. “She said yes?”
“Yes. It’s a great fund-raiser for the historical society, and she thought it would be a great way to reintroduce herself to Charleston. She’s already promised them that the house will be included on next year’s tour as a sort of ‘before and after’ home. She also said that you would be more than happy to act as tour guide for the house.”
“She did?” My surprise easily slipped into anger. “Wasn’t that generous of her.”
Rebecca nodded. “I said the same thing. She said that now you’re such a pro on restoration, you could give the tour explaining your plans for the house.”
I was shaking my head. “No. I won’t do it. Sorry. I’m not an expert, nor do I pretend to be. Ask Sophie.”
Rebecca looked crestfallen. “But Jack already said you’d be happy to do it and you’re already on the roster.”
I dropped my BlackBerry on the desk. “Jack?”
“Yes. He’s already working on your Civil War-era costumes. He thought the two of you could do it together.” Her face brightened a bit. “Photographers from the
Post & Courier
and
Charleston
magazine will be there. I would think it would be good for business to get your face and name out there.”