The Guests on South Battery (Tradd Street #5)(87)

“You want to do what?” I asked, the sun already baking the back of my neck with no hint of shade in sight. She’d driven me to what she referred to as simply “a new place for us to exercise.” I hadn’t suspected that she was actually trying to kill me.

“I thought we could do the bridge run. It’s only ten K—six-point-two miles for those of you who didn’t learn metric—and you only have to go one way. It’s on April second, so we’re too late for this year, but if we start conditioning now we can run it next year.”

I stared at her for a few moments, then began walking away. “I’ll wait for you in the car. I’ve got some calls I need to make.”

Sophie ran after me and grabbed my elbow. “I’m not suggesting that we run six miles today. I’m saying we do a little bit every week, and build up slowly. It’s like restoring a house—you can’t do it in just a day.”

She smiled brightly, and I wanted to shake her. With my hands on my hips, I stared up at the bridge again. “I don’t know, Sophie. . . .”

“Jayne said that she’s already registered to run it this year.”

That captured my attention. “Is she?” I looked at the various groups of walkers and runners moving on and off the bridge. They appeared to be of all ages and genders, some with well-muscled calves and toned hips in their running gear, and a whole lot of others that, well, looked more like me.

“The great thing about running,” Sophie said as almost an afterthought, “is that it burns enough calories that you can splurge on a doughnut once in a while and it won’t make the scale tip.”

I frowned at her, but when I didn’t start running for the car, she went in for the kill. “We can start by walking. I’ll set my phone for fifteen minutes and when it beeps we’ll head back. No fuss, no muss.”

I wasn’t sure whether it was the thought of Jayne’s running 6.2 miles or my eating a doughnut without censure, but I dropped my arms and walked past Sophie. “Come on, then, let’s get this over with. But we’re only walking today. I don’t think I could handle running up this incline right now.”

“Deal,” she said, catching up to me and beginning to pump her arms.

Half an hour later we’d returned to our starting spot. Sophie had barely broken a sweat, whereas I was panting like a dog that had just finished the Iditarod and was soaked with enough sweat that an unsuspecting passerby might assume that I’d just swum across the river. Once I was back in Sophie’s Prius and had the air-conditioning blasting on me, I felt a modicum of pride that I had managed something.

Sophie turned the key in the ignition. “Before I take you home, do you have a few minutes to drop by the Pinckney house? I found a stack of photo albums in Button’s room. I thought we could box them up and you can bring them to Jayne to go through and figure out what she wants to do with them. I’m afraid they’ll get damaged if we leave them in the house during the renovation.”

I checked my phone and then my watch before checking the clock in the car just to make sure. “I’ve got a closing at eleven, but I think I can spare about an hour before I have to get ready. Do you think we could get it done by then?”

Sophie stuck out her lower lip as she looked in her rearview mirror and flipped on her signal before pulling out onto East Bay. “Oh, absolutely. I seriously doubt it will take long at all.”

I sent her a dubious look but refrained from mentioning that my house was a never-ending construction zone despite her earlier assurances that the renovation would last less than six months. I’d reconciled with both parents, gotten married, had two babies, and added a stepdaughter since we began work and the house still wasn’t completely renovated. I simply didn’t have enough breath in my lungs, so I kept silent and stuck my face in front of the air-conditioning vent.

I was relieved to see that Rich Kobylt and several workers were at the house when we pulled up. Not that I was convinced the spirits would leave us alone if we outnumbered them, but it bolstered my nerves before I walked up the steps to the front door. I stood in the foyer, listening to the now-familiar sounds of construction in various places in the house—sawing, hammering, the metallic clank and squeak of ladders and scaffolding. It took me a moment to realize that I was listening for something else, too. And then I heard it. Or maybe I felt it. I was semirelieved that the curtain had been pulled back so there were no barriers between me and the spirit world, and I knew it would be only a matter of time before it showed itself to me, too.

“Anna?” I whispered, preferring not to be surprised by an appearance. “Hasell?” I said a little louder. The soft tread of bare feet on the floor above us let me know that I’d been heard. Hasell, I thought. But she didn’t want to be seen, not yet. I could sense the presence of the other spirit, the one I was convinced was poor Anna, and I wondered if she was the one holding Hasell back. And I wondered why.

I followed Sophie up to the second floor, feeling someone watching us as we proceeded down the hallway to Button’s bedroom. I held my breath as I walked in and focused my gaze on the thankfully empty chair where the Edison doll had been found.

“Any word on the value of the doll yet?” I asked.

She shook her head. “Not yet. John took it to an antique doll show in Cleveland, which is probably why we haven’t heard from her recently. Isn’t there some rule about spirits not being able to cross water?”