The Guests on South Battery (18 page)

Without taking my eyes off the door, I reached down and picked up General Lee, feeling his little body quivering in my arms. A loud meow came from the other side of the door, making the three of us jump.

A vigorous scratching began in earnest, causing General Lee to whimper and struggle in my arms. “We can't leave it in there,” Sophie said.

“We can't?”

Sophie frowned at me. “No. It could damage the doll. And it would be inhumane,” she added hastily. She was horribly allergic to animal hair and had never been a pet person—which was why my dogs liked to sit on her lap when she visited. “One of us has to open the door and let it out.”

“Let me guess,” I said. “You're volunteering the one of us who's had more experience with unexplained things like doors slamming with nobody there.”

Her eyes widened innocently. “You said it, not me.”

I unceremoniously dumped the dog in her arms, then faced the door again. “Is there anything up there?”

She sneezed, and I felt partially gratified. “It's the little girl's bedroom, I think—although why one would put a child in a hot attic is beyond me. I don't think it's been touched since she died. Well, except for water damage from the leaking roof. Didn't you show it to Jayne?”

I shook my head. “We assumed it was just the attic with the usual collection of attic junk.”

“Jayne needs to come take a look, decide what to do with it. The girl's nightgown is still at the foot of the bed.”

I was sure my look of horror matched her own. The sound of vigorous scratching was louder now, but that was not what propelled me forward. I felt the other presence, too, the one I associated with the flash of white that I'd seen several times on my visits to the house, a presence that was light and without malice. I could almost feel gentle hands moving me toward the door. It opened as I neared, revealing a bright ray of sunlight streaming down the stairs from the attic window, illuminating the doll and the cat sitting next to it. The other presence was mercifully gone.

With a loud screech, the cat leaped past me and then down the stairs, General Lee barking his annoyance at being held back.

“Did you get it?” Sophie asked.

I turned to her with the doll in my arms. “Yeah, I have it.”

“No. I meant the cat. Did you find it or did it run back up the stairs?”

“It ran past you—didn't you see it?”

She shook her head. “I must have been too busy trying to restrain Cujo here when it slipped by. As long as it's not trapped in the attic.”

“Yeah,” I said. “What a relief.”

She put down the dog and handed me the leash and I happily relinquished the doll. “I have no idea how this got here, but I suggest you plant it in your friend's office so that he thinks he's merely going insane instead of giving him proof.”

We walked quietly down the stairs and were surprised to find Rich Kobylt standing in the middle of the foyer, his Clemson hat off as he scratched the back of his head.

“Anything wrong?” I asked, trying to pretend I hadn't seen one of his workers run from the house like a bat out of hell.

“Can I be honest with you?”

Both Sophie and I nodded.

With a lowered voice, he said, “I don't want to scare you or nothin', but I think this house might be haunted.”

We stared back at him with carefully neutral expressions.

“But don't you worry. I'm a little sensitive to this stuff, and I'll let you know if I think there's any danger.” His eyes drifted to the doll and I saw him shudder violently. “Good Lord, what is that?”

“Not to worry—we're taking it out of the house. One less thing to haunt it.”

“Thanks, Miz Trenholm. Back to those tubs now. I'll keep you posted.”

As soon as he was outside, a door slammed upstairs just as a whirring and popping began deep inside the doll's chest, and then subsided. We held our breaths for a long minute, waiting to see if it would speak. With a sigh of relief, Sophie carried it across the foyer and had almost reached the door when the high tinny voice that brought to mind raw fingernails scratching at the inside lid of a coffin screeched out at us.
Help. Me
.

I
sat on one of the gliders in the nursery with Sarah on my lap as I dried her chubby little toes and smelled her sweet fresh-from-the-bath baby scent. I needed to find a way to bottle that so I could whip it out and sniff it to calm me down when I was feeling stressed. Like now. I had yet to grow used to the furniture rearrangement, and now, adding to the chaos, there were upended bins of primary-colored plastic toys that didn't match the décor at all. The carefully stacked and labeled bins of blocks and educational toys that I'd spent hours creating and organizing were untouched in their spots on the shelves against the walls.

I had to turn my head away from the mismatched outfits Jayne had laid out on the changing tables. It was too much for me. Instead I closed my eyes and inhaled the sweet scent of my baby. Even JJ's cries of protest about being removed from the bathtub didn't faze me.

Jayne emerged from the children's bathroom with JJ swaddled in a baby towel and his head covered by a hood with panda bear ears. It was cute and made of organic and self-sustaining cotton—a gift from Sophie—but it didn't match the one I'd used for Sarah. I closed my eyes again and took a big sniff of Sarah's damp, dark hair.

I didn't need to be in the office until one o'clock, so I'd offered to
help Jayne with the twins' bath time. I had it on the children's spreadsheet to be done at night before bedtime, but JJ had upended his bowl of oatmeal over his head at breakfast. It was just easier to keep them both on the same schedule whether Sarah also needed a bath or not.

I'd wanted an opportunity to speak with Jayne about going back to the Pinckney house. I was meeting Jack's mother, Amelia, there at ten o'clock to look at some of the decorative items and furnishings to determine value. Whether Jayne sold the house or not, she'd have to make a choice about what to do with everything inside it. Neither Sophie nor I was willing to make those decisions for her.

“Jayne,” I started at the same time she said, “Melanie . . .”

“You first,” I said, happy to wait a little longer.

She sat down on the other glider with JJ on her lap and began drying him gently with the towel. His eyes closed halfway as she rubbed his scalp and dried behind his ears, JJ looking remarkably like Jack when I massaged his shoulders after a long day of writing.

“It's not like I'm going to go or anything, but I just wanted to let you know so that if she asks why I'm not there, you'll know what to say.”

I stared at her, blinking, trying to unravel her words to make sense of them, but couldn't. “Excuse me?”

She moved down to JJ's toes, making him arch his back and squeal with delight. Sarah frowned at him. “Sorry. When I'm nervous or uncomfortable, I tend to babble and not make sense.”

“Yeah, I noticed.”

She glanced up at me with a small flush in her cheeks. “You're talking about Detective Riley, aren't you? We're supposed to have dinner on Friday night, but I'm thinking about canceling. I mean, I'd probably choke on my own tongue.”

“He's a police detective,” I pointed out. “I bet he knows the Heimlich maneuver.”

She grimaced. “Point taken. We were supposed to go to dinner after reviewing the inventory of the house after what we thought was the break-in, but I couldn't stand the thought of going back inside, so I gave
it to Sophie to check and then canceled dinner. But then he called and asked again, so I'm stuck.”

“And you wanted me to tell you what I think?”

“Oh, no,” she said, standing to take JJ to his changing table and expertly fastening a disposable diaper onto him. “I mean, I'd love your opinion if you'd like to give it, but that's not what I was trying to say. It's about that party.” She wrinkled her nose. “I got an invitation, too.”

I opened my eyes wide, her words suddenly sinking in. “The book launch? They invited you?”

“I know—weird, right? But don't worry—I won't go. You need me to stay here with the children anyway.”

I carried Sarah over to her changing table and pulled out a clean diaper, weighing my words. I had a good idea of why Rebecca had invited Jayne, but I would never say it out loud. “I do agree it's odd, but please don't decline unless you really don't want to go. I'm sure I could get Jack's parents or my parents or even Nola to babysit.”

“The invitation was addressed to me and a guest. I could ask Detective Riley. Assuming I went.”

I snapped the white onesie with more concentration than it required. “Really, Jayne, if you want to go, then go. And I'm sure Thomas would love to be your guest.” I bit my lower lip hard enough to make it bleed. My cousin was a meddler, loving to create drama and to irritate me. Or maybe that was just her personality and she couldn't help it.

“Well, if you're sure. I don't have many chances to dress up, so it could be fun. But only if you can find a sitter. If you can't, just tell me and I'll stay home with the twins.” She hoisted a fully dressed JJ on her hip and he smiled at her. She looked at me while I was fumbling on my third attempt to snap the one hundred or so buttons on the front of Sarah's one-piece outfit, just realizing now that I was nearing the end that I'd missed the third button and would need to start all over. Or leave it as it was and let people think she'd dressed herself.

“Why don't we trade?” Jayne suggested.

I nodded with resignation and reached out for JJ, then switched places with Jayne. “We'd better let the expert handle this, I guess.”

“No,” said Jayne. “I'm not the expert. I'm the nanny and you're the mother. I wouldn't call either one of us an expert, but that's not what we're going for, is it?”

“I guess not,” I said with an unforced smile.

Jayne focused on refastening Sarah's outfit while I watched her. I knew from Thomas's background check that she was about ten years younger than I was, yet she seemed so much older. Or more mature, I thought. She was a great nanny, terrific with the children and dogs, Nola, and just about anybody we put in her path. Except maybe Thomas, but he didn't count. She was kind, and funny, and—remembering her set-down of Rebecca at the lingerie shop—very astute and not the kind of person to be walked over. I liked her, I supposed.
Really
liked her, although it was hard to admit even to myself. I wondered if my own insecurities would ever stop interfering with my relationships.

“It's your turn,” she said, lifting a fully dressed Sarah. I glanced over at the little hairbrush and untouched bows on the dresser, torn between putting them in myself and waiting for Jayne to do it. Sarah hated them, but I kept telling Jack that it was just a matter of Sarah getting used to them. He'd said that the more I pushed, the more she'd resist, having inherited a certain amount of stubbornness from her mother. I hadn't spoken to him for the rest of the day, not because I thought he was completely off base, but because I was afraid he was right.

I sat down again, bouncing JJ on my knee and enjoying listening to him chortle. “I'm meeting Jack's mother, Amelia, at the Pinckney house later this morning. She owns an antiques store on King Street and knows quite a bit about old furniture and decorative accessories. I suggested she come look and see what's there, to give you a general idea of value. To maybe even help you decide what you might want to keep, or even auction separately. You'll get more that way than if you sell the contents with the house.”

“You don't need me for that, do you?” Her eyes were round and wary and oddly familiar to me.

“No, I suppose not. Although it would make things go faster if you
could tell her right off the bat what you don't want to keep. Like that hideous rose china set in the butler's pantry.”

“How did you know I hated that?”

“Didn't you say so?” I shrugged. “Maybe it's just because I thought it was ugly that I couldn't imagine you not agreeing.” I looked at her for a moment. “And there's another thing, too. Sophie thinks you should come look at the attic. Apparently, it was the bedroom for the little girl who died—Button's niece. According to Sophie, it's rather . . . extraordinary. She doesn't think she should be the one to determine what to do with it.”

“Have you seen it?”

I shook my head, remembering the screaming doll and the slamming door. “I was in a rush last time I was there and didn't have the chance. But I thought today would be a good time for us to head over there. Jack's home and said he'd be happy to watch the children. I think he's procrastinating—I think that's what writers do with most of their time anyway, so it's not like we'll be taking him away from his work.”

She smoothed Sarah's hair behind her ears, the bows apparently forgotten. I closed my eyes and sniffed JJ's head until the irritation passed.

“How long do you think it would take?” she asked.

“I wouldn't think more than an hour. I'll treat you to a pastry from Ruth's Bakery afterward as a reward.”

She worried her lower lip between her teeth. “I do love her bacon and chocolate cupcakes.”

I swallowed at the thought, embarrassed to find myself salivating. It had been too long since I'd had anything that resembled sugar. “I haven't tried those yet. I'll split one with you.”

She frowned.

“Or we could each get our own,” I added hastily.

An almost imperceptible shudder went through her. “Okay—you win. I can stand anything for an hour, right?”

I pretended to be busy nibbling on JJ's neck so I wouldn't have to
answer, remembering my last visit to the house with Sophie when fifteen minutes had seemed more like an eternity.

Amelia's Jaguar was parked in the driveway when we arrived. Standing at the bottom of the outside steps, I'd thought for a minute that I'd have to hold Jayne's hand and drag her with me. I hadn't seen the cat, nor did I feel any presence, sinister or otherwise. So far so good. Maybe whatever it had been was still too exhausted from terrifying us the last time. Jayne took a deep breath and followed me inside.

Scaffolding had been constructed in the downstairs rooms, where most of the water damage and crumbling moldings had been, and a few of Sophie's students and hired conservation experts were busy with the laborious job of removing most of the damaged cornices and medallions bit by bit. As Sophie had explained it, they had been removed so they could be restored and the missing pieces reconstructed while the roof and ceilings were being repaired. I refrained from mentioning to Sophie that a huge sander would do the job in a fraction of the time and that there wasn't really anything wrong with a smooth ceiling. I suppose I treasured our friendship too much.

“Melanie, is that you?” Amelia called from the dining room.

Jayne and I found her next to the large breakfront between the windows. There was even more of the hideous rose china in there, along with more crystal than I'd seen in one place outside Vieuxtemps on King Street. There were also, I was disappointed to see, even more of those salt-and-pepper sets, giving the intricately carved antique breakfront an almost clownish appearance. If it could express itself, I was sure it would have cried at the injustice.

“Hello, Amelia,” I said, kissing each cheek as was her custom. Perfectly turned out in a Chanel suit and pearls, her blond hair in a tight French twist, she appeared tiny and reserved, but I knew her to be a lovely, warm person who adored her grandchildren and was known to crawl on her hands and knees just to make the babies laugh, or to lie on the floor to create a barrier for the children to clamber over.

“And this is Jayne Smith, our nanny.”

They shook hands and I saw the look I'd grown accustomed to when introducing Jayne. “She has one of those faces,” I explained. “So that you think you've met but you haven't.”

But Amelia didn't laugh or step back. Instead she continued to hold on to Jayne's hand and stare into her face. “It's just the oddest thing. . . .” She stopped and then smiled, finally dropping Jayne's hand. “I'm sorry. I know we haven't met. But for a moment there, I could have sworn you were someone else. Wrong age entirely, which brought me to my senses. They say we all have a doppelgänger—perhaps not in the same generation.” She laughed, but the sound seemed forced.

“So you're the marvelous nanny Jack has told us so much about. I thought that you might have a halo and wings the way he carries on.”

Jayne blushed and I laughed, although I didn't find it funny at all. Not the image of Jayne as an angel, but the fact that Jack talked about her to other people. But she was our
nanny
. Of course he talked about her. Other people with nannies talked about them, too, didn't they? I didn't know anyone with a nanny, so I'd have to take that as a probably.

“We have no idea how we'd get on without her,” I said.

Amelia smiled at Jayne, but there was something behind the look I couldn't translate. “I got here a little early and one of the nice workmen let me in. I hope you don't mind, but I took the liberty of walking around and jotting down some notes. You have some very valuable and sought-after furniture here. Several pieces by famed cabinetmaker Thomas Elf as well as a few from Chippendale. And you have quite a collection of Royal Albert bone china—I believe I counted place settings for at least seventy, with plenty of serving pieces.”