The Guests on South Battery (Tradd Street #5)(34)
“Positive,” Jayne said with a smile. “Because I’m pretty sure I would have remembered meeting you.” Her cheeks pinkened as she seemed to notice for the first time that he was an attractive male and not just a police detective. “I mean, well, you’re a detective. And tall. With clean fingernails. And I like your shirt.”
I rolled my eyes behind her back and tugged on her elbow to get her to stop. She was worse than I’d been when I met Jack. I’d also sounded like a teenager who’d never been on a date before. Which was actually pretty accurate at the time. I supposed that was something else Jayne and I had in common—lonely childhoods that didn’t leave a lot of room for a social life or relationships of any kind.
“Thank you,” Thomas said with a smile in his voice. “My oldest sister bought me this shirt for my birthday. I’ll let her know that I received a compliment on it today.”
Jayne was saved from spouting more infantile gibberish by the distinct sound of a ringing bell. She looked at me in surprise. “I thought the servants’ bells didn’t work.”
“I thought so, too,” I said, avoiding her gaze. “I guess we were wrong.” We turned back to the kitchen.
“They’re over here,” Jayne said as she walked into the butler’s pantry, its glass-covered cabinets full of crystal and china and what looked like a salt-and-pepper-shaker collection. I peered closely at what appeared to be a peanut-shaped ceramic saltshaker with the word “Georgia” painted on its side. I had a sinking feeling that there was a set from all fifty states. I’d have to get Amelia in here to see what was in these cabinets and the rest of the house and let Jayne know whether any of it was valuable. I hoped for Jayne’s sake that the china was rare and expensive so she’d have an excuse to sell it and not keep it out of obligation to Button Pinckney. The china was covered in pink roses, with gold-covered scalloped edges. Definitely old, and definitely European. And definitely hideous. I assumed all the Pinckneys had been very slim, since eating off those plates must have diminished appetites.
Jayne pointed to a metal box with a single bell. “That must have been what made the noise.”
“I don’t think so,” Thomas said, using his height to full advantage and getting a closer look. “There’s no hammer anymore—or it rusted away. But this dog won’t hunt, that’s for sure.”
I found it odd that nobody asked the obvious question: Then how did the bell ring?
After an awkward pause, Jayne said, “It must have been the doorbell,” and began marching toward the front door, Thomas and me dutifully following. She opened it and swung the door wide, then stepped out onto the front landing as if to make sure nobody was hiding. Turning around, she pressed her finger into the old doorbell button, her effort rewarded by silence.
“Actually, Jayne,” I said, “most doorbells in these old houses rarely operate because of the high humidity and salt in the air.”
She walked into the foyer and slowly closed the door. Crossing her arms over her chest, she said, “It must have been a bike from outside, then. So many people on bikes in Charleston, I noticed. I’ll have to get one.”
A flash of white from the landing flitted across my peripheral vision, but I dared not turn my head. I became aware of my second sight being blocked again, like a hand being held over my eyes, allowing me to see only what it thought I should.
A loud thump and then the sound of scurrying little feet tumbled downstairs. “Help me!” It was the doll’s voice, high-pitched and strident, the words seeming to echo in the otherwise silent house. Jayne and I turned around in time to see the black cat race across the landing and disappear up the stairs.
Thomas immediately held out his hand to prevent us from moving forward. “Is there anybody here?” he called up the stairs. Stepping forward, he pulled his gun from his shoulder holster and began climbing. “I’m Detective Thomas Riley from the Charleston Police Department and I’m armed. Please show yourself.”
He motioned for us to stay back as he silently climbed the stairs two at a time. We listened as each door was thrown open, then waited as Thomas moved from room to room upstairs searching for an intruder. After several long minutes, he reappeared on the landing, his eyebrows knitted together. “It’s all clear. But, well, this is the dangedest thing I’ve seen in a while.”
Jayne and I nearly collided as we raced toward the stairs, then halted as we reached the upper hallway. The Thomas Edison doll, so fragile and valuable, stood by a half-open door at the end of the hallway, one of its arms reaching upward as if trying to grasp the doorknob. Or as if it had already opened the door.
“Those are the stairs to the attic,” Thomas provided.
“Do you think somebody’s trying to play a prank on me?” Jayne asked with a quavering voice.
Thomas returned his gun to the holster and approached Jayne. “I suppose we need to consider the possibility. It certainly doesn’t appear to be a burglary—nothing’s been ransacked, anyway. You might want to check with Miss Pinckney’s lawyers to see if they have an inventory of the house you can check against what’s here.” His eyes met mine for a moment over Jayne’s head. “Just in case, I would suggest changing the locks and installing a security system—there doesn’t seem to already be one. It’s an up-front expense, but from what Melanie has told me, there are a lot of valuable items inside the house.”