The Guests on South Battery (Tradd Street #5)(35)

“Including that doll,” I said, indicating Chucky posed at the door.

Thomas gave an involuntary shudder. “Really? I’m glad you told me. Otherwise I would have offered to take it with me and toss it in a Dumpster on the way home.”

“It talks,” I said. “Although it’s not supposed to, but Sophie told us that it has to be wound up first and that the mechanism is too delicate for it to work now. And it only recites a single nursery rhyme.”

Our eyes met, recalling the two words we’d all heard. Help me. That wasn’t part of any nursery rhyme I knew. I swallowed. “I’m thinking Sophie got it wrong, but she’s arranging for an expert to take a look at it so we at least have an idea of its value.”

Jayne’s arms remained crossed tightly in front of her, with little half-moons dug into her skin where her fingernails were. “I’m wondering if there might be a secret entrance to the house or something. That might be where the stray cat gets in and out.”

Leaving the doll where it was—nobody volunteered to put it back in the rocking chair in Button Pinckney’s bedroom—Thomas led us toward the stairs. “I’ll walk around the house and give a thorough search for what might look like any hidden openings. Melanie—why don’t you call your friend Yvonne at the archives and see if she has any of the old blueprints from this house? You never know what you might find.”

You never know what you might find. “I’ll do that. Jack and I haven’t seen Yvonne in a while, so that will be nice.”

I noticed a large two-bell brass carriage clock—the metal splotched in places, giving the surface the appearance of reflected clouds—sitting on a narrow hall table at the top of the stairs. As we passed it, it began to chime. Out of habit I looked at my watch but was surprised to see that it was eleven twenty—not a time that would warrant a chime on any clock. I stopped to look at the face of the clock and stilled. Although it was still chiming, the hands of the clock weren’t moving, frozen on a time that was becoming frighteningly familiar. Ten minutes past four.

“Oomph.”

My head whipped around in time to see Jayne pitch forward on the stairs. She seemed to roll forward in slow motion, her body hitting the wall of the landing, before momentum flipped her head over heels down the rest of the stairs.

Thomas had already reached the foyer and was quick enough to break Jayne’s fall before she could hit the hard floor. I raced down after her, careful to hold on to the bannister, then crouched next to where Thomas had sat her on the bottom step. “Are you all right?”

She was rubbing her ankle. “I think so. But my ankle’s hurt.”

Thomas carefully removed her shoe and began gently pressing on her ankle. “Doesn’t seem to be broken, but I’m taking you to the hospital to be completely checked out. You hit your head pretty hard on the landing wall.”

“Really, that’s not necessary—”

“Yes, it is. Both professionally and personally. If my mother found out that I witnessed a pretty woman fall down the stairs and didn’t take her to the hospital, she’d hit me with a frying pan.”

Jayne’s cheeks flushed as she lifted her lips in a half smile, then looked back up the stairway. “That was the weirdest thing. . . .”

“What?” I asked uneasily. “How you tripped?” I felt like a liar, knowing full well she hadn’t tripped.

Jayne shook her head. “No. I should be more seriously hurt than just a twisted ankle. But it was as if I had a little cushion each time I hit a step or the wall.”

“That is weird,” I said, shrugging as if that sort of thing happened every day. Which it did in my world, but I didn’t want to tell her that. But I’d felt it, too, the softer presence that wasn’t afraid of whatever other spirits still lingered between the old walls. There were battling forces in this house, and something was keeping me from seeing the whole picture. But there was one thing I was sure of: I couldn’t let Jayne Smith back in the house until I knew what—or who—did not want any guests.

Thomas leaned down and picked Jayne up, her arm sliding around his shoulders, her cheeks a dark scarlet. “Can you grab her purse and shoe? You can toss them into the back of my car.”

“I’ll go with you . . .” I said as I ran after him.

“I’m off duty and you’ve got a husband and two babies to get home to. We’ll be fine—I’ll call you and let you know what’s going on.”

“Your shampoo smells nice,” Jayne said to the side of Thomas’s head. “Or is that your deodorant? I’m glad you wear deodorant.”

I rolled my eyes as I threw her stuff into the back of Thomas’s sedan, then watched as Thomas carefully buckled Jayne’s seat belt. She sent me a thumbs-up and I reciprocated, still holding up my thumb as I watched his car pull away.

I realized I hadn’t locked up the house and was almost to the front door when it slammed in my face, the rusted key scraping against the decrepit lock from the inside of the house, and leaving me with the distinct impression that I wasn’t welcome.





CHAPTER 10


Ichecked the mailbox on the front gate as I came home for lunch the following day. I always made a point of dumping anything we didn’t need into the outside recycling bin before it even made it into the house. Jack was forbidden from getting the mail because it always ended up in a pile on the kitchen counter that would stay there until the next millennium if I didn’t take charge. He’d thanked me for taking over this chore with a grin that had showed all his teeth. It was nice to be appreciated.