The Guests on South Battery (Tradd Street #5)(86)
He slid back his chair so quickly it almost toppled backward. He wagged his index finger at me. “I’ve read about you and your ‘adventures’ finding dead bodies. I’ve even spoken to that reporter, Suzy Dorf. We had a nice conversation about you, as a matter of fact. And how it’s so convenient that dead bodies are always turning up around you. It’s easy to pass off as ‘psychic powers,’ isn’t it? Sounds so much better than insider information.”
We heard Jack outside the door, and Michael’s demeanor immediately softened. “I’m sorry. It’s just my whole household is in such turmoil because of all this. And I just want it to . . . go away.”
The door opened and Jack poked his head in. “There you are—we were wondering where you’d gone to. Lindsey’s ready to go. They both look dead on their feet.” He opened the door wide to allow us to pass through.
Michael smiled amenably. “I was parched, and your lovely wife invited me to have a glass of tea.”
We found the girls in the foyer, still in their rumpled school uniforms, looking exhausted. I put my arm around Nola’s shoulders and she leaned into me. “Want to know about Manifest Destiny and the acquisition of Texas?”
“Sounds fascinating, but not tonight. I think you both need to get to bed. And, Nola, please pick up your room first—Mrs. Houlihan said she’d like to be able to fit a vacuum in there tomorrow.”
Nola pushed away from me. “But I’m so tired!” she said, her shoulders and body slumping as if she’d been excavating rocks and moving them uphill all day.
“You should have thought about that when you were dropping your dirty socks on the floor instead of in your laundry basket,” Jack said, and I looked at him appreciatively.
We said our good-byes and watched as Nola slowly climbed the stairs, her feet dragging exaggeratedly. “Time to milk the cows, plow the back forty, feed the chickens . . .”
I hid my smile. “I’m just asking you to pick up your room, Nola.”
“. . . stack hay in the barn, fix the tractor . . .” she continued until we heard her door shut upstairs.
I thought about telling Jack about my conversation with Michael, but then thought better of it. His expression was drawn and thoughtful, a look I recognized when the writing wasn’t going well. I knew at least one way to make him feel better.
I tugged on Jack’s hands. “You ready to go upstairs?”
“Actually, it’s weird, but ever since you came down the stairs after settling Jayne, I’m feeling a little rush of creativity. I haven’t written at night in a long time, but with my daylight writing sort of dwindling, I think tonight’s a good time to resurrect it.” As if anticipating my protests, he put his finger to my lips. “Only temporarily—until I get a good idea where I’m heading with this book. Don’t forget, you’ll have General Lee if your feet get cold. And there’s always the morning.” He looked at me suggestively.
“All right,” I said, already missing him upstairs in our bed, trying to focus on how General Lee was a much better foot warmer anyway. “Why do you think you’re getting this little shot of adrenaline now?”
“I have no idea. Maybe it’s the pictures and the saltshaker—maybe I just needed visuals. Which is why I’m now convinced that I need to go to Alabama for a few days. See if I can talk to anybody who remembers Lake Jasper and who might know if May thirtieth, 1984, is significant. I’m probably grasping at straws, but there are so many different loose ends and I’m convinced that there’s a real story here somewhere.”
I threaded my fingers through his hair. “I’ll miss you. I’d go with you if my schedule weren’t jam-packed at work—which is a really good thing. We could use the money.” I hadn’t yet mentioned the wood-boring beetles Sophie had discovered in the dining room floor, and thought I’d save that for later, too.
“It’s just for a few nights. And then hopefully I’ll get some new material to inspire me and that might actually make a book.”
My gaze fell to the hall table. “What’s this doing here?” I asked, walking over to pick up the frame that had been on Button’s nightstand, the one of her and Sumter at a party. I stared at their smiling faces, barely noticing the anonymous woman neatly clipped from the photo.
Jack came over and took it from me. “I have no idea. It was on my desk last time I looked. Nola must have moved it. Remind me to ask her in the morning.”
I looked closely at the photo, noticing for the first time the date in tiny, faded ink on the bottom right of the photo. “March seventeenth, 1984. Must have been a St. Patrick’s Day party—that’s why her dress is green and he’s wearing a green-striped tie.”
“Probably,” Jack agreed, taking the frame from me.
We kissed good night and then he retired to his study, bringing the frame with him. I slowly climbed the stairs, thinking about my conversation with Michael, and the photo of Sumter and Button on my hallway table. I was halfway up before the grandfather clock struck the hour, four long chimes that echoed in the sleeping house.
CHAPTER 25
Istared out at the spidery cables holding up the Ravenel Bridge from my spot at the beginning of the footpath that ran parallel to the traffic bridge as it crossed the Cooper River. A large semi thundered by, making me take a step back, and then look again at Sophie.