The Guests on South Battery (Tradd Street #5)(93)
“I don’t know,” I said. “But I’m not willing to rock the boat and upset her. If I can just figure out how to get rid of the ghosts in her new house, she doesn’t need to know anything.”
Nola stared at me skeptically. I was saved from having to say more by my phone ringing the familiar tone of “Dancing Queen.” I pulled my phone from my pocket and looked at the screen. “It’s your dad.” I thrust the bag at her. “Put these in a closet or something until I can explain to Jayne what they are. I’m going to take this.”
She took the bag and gave me a thumbs-up before heading to her room with the two puppies at her heel, General Lee at mine.
“Hello?” I said, leaning against my closed bedroom door.
“Hey, sexy.” Jack’s voice on the phone always did shocking things to my system, but tonight the effect seemed amplified, most likely because of his absence and me missing him so much.
“I miss you,” I said, trying not to sound too pathetic.
“Not as much as I miss you. How are Nola and the twins?”
“We’re all good.” I made the snap decision not to tell him about that morning’s episode. It would just make him worry, and there wasn’t anything he could do about it anyway. “Just missing you. The whole time I was trying to feed Sarah in her high chair, she kept glancing over at the kitchen door as if expecting you to walk through it.” I stopped, recalling my earlier conversation with Nola and realizing that there might actually have been other reasons for her to be looking at the back door. “I can’t wait for you to get home.” I sounded pathetic but didn’t care. I did miss him. It was hard to believe that I’d been single for the first forty years of my life, living on my own, until Jack Trenholm came into my life and flipped it on its back. Literally.
There was a pause. “Actually, that’s why I’m calling. I need to spend another night here before I head back.”
I didn’t say anything, afraid I’d start crying and embarrass myself.
“Every lead was turning into a dead end and I was thinking I’d probably come back a day early. I was headed out of town when I stopped at the public library that contains the historic archives from the whole county, and also includes the archives of the flooded town.”
I could hear the excitement in his voice, so I focused on that instead of my own disappointment. “And what did you find?”
“Well, I was talking to the archivist, a lovely woman named Mabel, and when I told her I was looking for information on the Pinckney family and their house on Lake Jasper, she got all excited. Her older sister was the housekeeper—the one mentioned in Rosalind’s letter—at the lake house. Her husband, now deceased, was the caretaker. Her name is Rena Olsen, and Mabel gave me her phone number, so I called her and she told me to come tomorrow. She’s in an assisted-living facility in Birmingham, so it’s a bit of a drive, but I have a feeling it would be worth it. She said she’s been wanting to tell her stories for a long time—just waiting for someone to ask, I guess. She said she took a toaster and a few other items from the house before it was flooded, and feels guilty about it. She probably wants absolution or something. I should find out more tomorrow.”
I couldn’t share his enthusiasm, as it seemed the old woman was simply looking for someone to talk to. But this was his job, this researching of every avenue even when it might terminate in a dead end. And even when I believed it would be a waste of time. “That’s wonderful, Jack. Maybe you can ask her if the city of Miami means anything.” I gave him a brief account of Hasell’s broken snow globes and Sarah’s odd behavior.
“Sounds like an obscure lead, but I hate to leave any stone unturned. I’ll definitely ask her. And when I’m done with the interview, I’ll head home.”
“Will you call me as soon as you’re done?” I hated the neediness in my voice, but I was too tired to disguise it.
“Of course. But only if you keep my side of the bed warm for me.”
“You know I will. Good night, Jack.”
“Good night, Mellie.”
“I love you,” I said before realizing that he’d already ended the call.
I dropped my phone on top of the bedside table, then leaned against the side of the tall bed to stroke General Lee’s ears while I tried to get a handle on my emotions. He rolled over on his back so I could give his undercarriage a good scratch that somehow made both of us feel a little better.
After a few moments I straightened and was headed toward my closet when I heard a strange sound from behind me. I looked back at General Lee, who was now sound asleep with all four paws in the air, but I was fairly certain what I’d heard hadn’t been a dog snore. My gaze scanned the room until it came to rest on the dresser across from the bed, where I’d placed my three extra alarm clocks. I held my breath—but not because all the clocks still showed ten minutes after four despite my having changed them multiple times. Someone had nudged the framed photo of Button and Sumter between them, the reflection from the glass whitewashing the picture and replacing it with a long sliver of light that closely resembled a finger.
“Leave me alone,” I said, too exhausted to face one more thing. I turned back around and was almost at my closet door when I felt more than heard the frame whip the air behind me and smack the far wall before landing with a soft thud onto the rug.