The Guests on South Battery (Tradd Street #5)(65)
I took a sip of wine to make sure the food was all washed down before speaking. “Jack—didn’t you have this clock fixed?”
He turned to it with a frown. “It wasn’t broken. I just wound it and set the time and it seemed fine. Has it stopped again?”
“Yes. At the same time as the clock at the Pinckney house and in the kitchen. I’m thinking that can’t be a coincidence.”
He sent me a knowing look, then took another sip of his Coke, and I knew he was wishing it were Scotch.
“Really, Jack, it’s just a dance. And we know Cooper is a very nice young man. Besides, they’re just going as friends. His sister will be there, as well as their friend Lindsey, with a couple of Cooper’s friends. Yes, there’s the age difference, but nobody’s on a date here—it’s just a group thing.”
“He’s nineteen years old, Mellie. I remember what being a nineteen-year-old boy is like. Very little brain matter and a lot of hormones.” He drained his glass and walked over to the bar to pour another one.
“Cooper is not you, Jack. I’m not saying he doesn’t have a roaring libido, but he’s a Citadel cadet. Surely they teach them how to restrain certain urges. Besides, you know how Nola feels about alcohol. She’s already told Cooper that if she sees anything that might resemble underage drinking, she’s calling you. Same goes for any of what you refer to as ‘hanky-panky.’ That should put the fear of God in them. They’re even renting a limo so they will all be together the entire time, and leave together, so no backseat shenanigans—to use your word, not mine.”
“Should I wait on the front porch cleaning my rifle just to send the right message?”
I started to laugh but then realized he might actually be serious. “No, please don’t. I don’t know what the other parents might think.”
“Daddy?” Nola appeared in the doorway looking beautiful and stunning and completely like her father’s daughter. I’d helped her select her dress, a pretty purple satin swing dress that was very retro but not too mini, so it wouldn’t make Jack’s blood pressure hit alarmingly high levels. I’d helped her with her hair—a small bouffant ponytail worn over the full length of her thick, dark hair that was flipped out at the ends.
Jack smiled, his worry erased from his face as he looked at his older daughter. Of all the things I loved about Jack, I thought it was his love for his children that I treasured the most, and that made my heart squeeze. Even when he was acting like a caveman.
He embraced her carefully, not wanting to mess up her hair or makeup, and kissed her gently on the forehead. “You look lovely,” he said. His smile slowly morphed into a thoughtful frown. “Did you put that Mace I gave you in your pocketbook?”
She rolled her eyes. “No, Dad. And nobody calls it a pocketbook anymore, either. Unless you’re old.”
The doorbell rang. Jack put down his drink and smoothed his tie. “I’ll get it. And if I don’t like the looks of any of those boys, I’m sending them home with a warning.”
“Daddy!” Nola called out with alarm.
“He’s only kidding,” I said to reassure her, although I wasn’t quite certain that was true.
The three young men with their uniforms and short-cropped hair looked exceptionally handsome. They were tall, and fit, and had perfect manners. The more I liked them, the more I saw Jack’s brow lower.
We already knew Alston and her parents, Cecily and Cal Ravenel, and Cooper, and introductions were made for Lindsey’s father, Michael Farrell. I knew Veronica, of course, and had met her again at my mother’s house but hadn’t spoken to her since Thomas gave me her sister’s necklace. I introduced them to Jack, who was friendly and polite, but it was clear his attention was on his daughter and Cooper.
Mrs. Houlihan had stayed to help with the little party, and was busy passing around the trays of food and napkins while Jack tended the bar, making a point of giving the boys glasses of ice water even if they asked for a Coke or lemonade, as if caffeine and sugar might affect their judgment.
Nola had forbidden me from taking photos, but this would have been unnecessary anyway, judging by the number of cell phone photos and selfies that were being snapped. I’d ask Nola to curate hers and forward them on to me. When I’d realized that she didn’t have any baby or early childhood photos, it had become my mission to document every moment of her life since she’d come to live with us, as if that could make up for all her early years. I was hoping to give her a scrapbook album as part of her high school graduation gift. It was my little secret, which was hard to keep when Jack and Nola both teased me for my excessive photo taking at every family and school event.
I found myself standing alone with Michael, Lindsey’s father. He didn’t strike me as being overly shy, but I saw that he kept to himself, smiling and nodding while in a group, then slowly extricating himself with an excuse for food or drink. He never rejoined the people he’d been speaking with, preferring instead to stand by himself, wearing what I would almost call a look of smug satisfaction. He seemed to have an excessive fascination with the furniture and artwork in the room. He’d paused by the grandfather clock when I joined him.
“These old clocks never work, do they?” he said dismissively.
“Actually, this clock has been keeping perfect time for almost two centuries. It’s only recently that we’ve begun to have issues with it.” I wanted to tell him that it also had an ingenious hidden compartment where Confederate diamonds had once been hidden, but I had the perverse need to deprive him of the knowledge.