The Guests on South Battery (Tradd Street #5)(33)
“Somebody really lived here, huh?” He was staring at the mildew-speckled wallpaper in the dining room.
“Yes—although Miss Pinckney stayed in her bedroom for the last few years of her life. She didn’t have any family—just cats, from what I’ve learned.”
“Cats? That’s a bit of a cliché, isn’t it?”
I sent him a sidelong glance as I walked past him to examine what looked to be a button in the wall. “Kind of like finding a cop in a doughnut shop, don’t you think? There’s always a seed of truth in every cliché.”
He chuckled behind me. “Guilty as charged. Guess there aren’t any stereotypes for psychic Realtors, huh? Don’t think there are too many of those around.”
I pressed the metal button, pausing for a moment to see if I heard an echoing bell somewhere in the house. All I heard was the passing traffic outside and the rumbling wheels of a horse-drawn carriage. I assumed it was from one of the tourist companies, but I wouldn’t have been surprised if I looked outside and saw an eighteen sixties Brougham with the bottom half of its wheels invisible as it traversed a street that was currently below the level of the present one. In my world, there was no such thing as a guarantee that the restless dead would leave me alone long enough to simply look out the window and see what everybody else did.
“Hello?”
Startled, I turned toward the front door to see Jayne peering around it, her hand still on the doorknob. “Sorry; didn’t mean to scare you.”
“Please don’t apologize. It’s your house.” I studied her closely, wondering when she’d come in and if she’d heard what Thomas had said about psychic Realtors. It wasn’t that it was something I hid. It was just something I didn’t advertise or tell anybody about. I especially didn’t share my “gift” with clients. It was a competitive enough business without making clients run away from me screaming right into the arms of one of my competitors on the grounds that I was insane. It simply wasn’t good for business.
“Come in,” I said, drawing her into the room. I had to pry her hand from the doorknob so I could close the door. I followed her gaze behind me to where it settled on the black cat crouched low at the bottom of the stairs.
“How did he get in here?” she asked as the cat ran soundlessly up the stairs and out of sight.
“Who, me?” Thomas asked as he approached.
“No. A fat black cat,” I explained. “We keep seeing him, but he’s very fast. I don’t know who he belongs to, but someone must be feeding him, because he’s definitely not starving.”
Thomas didn’t seem to be listening. Instead he was staring at Jayne, a small crease between his eyebrows. Before he could say anything, Jayne said, “I have one of those faces, so you think we’ve met before. But I know we haven’t.” She held out her hand to him. “I’m Jayne Smith. Apparently, the new owner of this house.”
Thomas smiled, revealing perfect teeth and exaggerating the smile lines on the side of his face, transforming him from simply handsome to devastating. “I’m Detective Thomas Riley. I understand from Melanie here that you think you had an intruder?”
Even though he continued to smile, I could tell that he was still studying Jayne with his detective eyes, wondering if she really just had one of those faces.
“Well, we’re not sure. But Melanie’s cell phone has had several phone calls from a landline number assigned to this house. It’s actually been in service for nearly forty years and has not been reassigned according to the phone company.” She bit her lower lip and glanced at me as if for affirmation. “There’s just one thing. . . .” There was a long pause, and I wondered if she wanted me to speak. Instead I gave her an encouraging look. This was her house, after all. “When Miss Pinckney died, the telephone service was cut off.”
Thomas raised his eyebrows, and I knew he wanted to look at me to get my take on the matter, but dared not. “Maybe the records show that there’s no service, but there might have been a paperwork glitch. Have you lifted any of the receivers to check?”
Jayne’s eyes widened hopefully. “No—we haven’t had a chance. I know I saw an old turquoise phone on the wall in the kitchen.” She began walking excitedly to the kitchen, as if the thought of having an intruder in the house making phone calls to my cell was much more palatable—and conceivable—than any other explanation.
We followed her into the kitchen and watched as she picked the handset from the wall and held it to her ear. Her eyes closed briefly before she shook her head, then slowly hung up the phone. “It’s dead,” she said.
That’s not the only thing, I thought, but kept my mouth closed. She’d made her decision about keeping the house—for now—and I didn’t want to muddy the waters. Whatever was here could be dealt with or just ignored, depending on how persistent it became. I hoped without Jayne being any the wiser.
Thomas leaned against a kitchen counter, then immediately straightened and brushed at his sleeves as he noticed the dust coating the kitchen table and chairs. “I’ll double-check to see if the number’s been reassigned and who it’s been reassigned to. If it hasn’t, well, things get a little more complicated.” He didn’t look at me, but I could tell he wanted to. Instead he tilted his head slightly to regard Jayne. “Are you sure we haven’t met?”