The Attic on Queen Street (Tradd Street #7)

“You do that. I’ll be right back.”

I jogged across the yard to the back door, skirting the cistern, which my father had judiciously encircled with caution tape and parking cones he’d painted pink and red, and entered the kitchen. Jack had already left, so after a quick pat on the head for Ghost, I ran through to the dining room, calling Jack’s name.

“In here,” he said from the direction of the front parlor.

I skidded to a stop in the foyer on the threshold of the parlor, the sight of Rich Kobylt leaning over the prostrate grandfather clock forcing me to clench my eyes, although I was sure I’d seen enough to give me nightmares for weeks. A young man I recognized as his son, Brian, greeted me, causing his father to mercifully straighten. Rich turned to face me, allowing me to read his T-shirt. That’s what I do, I drink beer, smoke cigars, and know things.

“Hello there, Miz Trenholm. I’m afraid I’ve got some bad news.”

My gaze flicked up to Jack as I realized that the professional he’d hired to move the clock was our jack-of-all-trades, Rich Kobylt. Not that I didn’t like Rich, or thought he didn’t do a good job. I’d just hoped Jack would find someone cheaper. Or at least someone who wouldn’t discover some waiting catastrophe that needed fixing, too.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“Well, my boy, Brian, here and me tried to lift up the clock, but it won’t budge. It’s the strangest thing, too. I don’t think it weighs more than three hundred pounds, but it feels like an elephant is sitting on top of it. I’m afraid we’re going to need to bring in some special equipment.”

“Of course you are,” I muttered, looking at the six-inch drag marks on the hardwood floor.

Brian spoke up. “We did manage to slide it out from the wall enough so that a person can stand at the base, but that messed up the floors a bit, and we don’t want to do any more damage. Besides, we can’t get it over the lip of the rug, and if we damage that, well, gosh, it will probably have to go back to France for reweaving. Anyway, we’re going to have to resand and polish the floor as it is, and didn’t want to have to replace boards, too.”

“Definitely not.” I might have shouted the words, because all three men were looking at me with concern. “Sorry,” I said. “I was just thinking out loud.” My only consolation was that I might be able to get Marc to pay for the damage since he was the one who’d caused it, regardless of what he said. A grandfather clock didn’t just fall over without provocation.

Rich adjusted his pants. “I’ll give you a call next week to discuss when I can come back here with the proper equipment.”

“Wait—so you’re going to leave it like this? I’ve got a party tonight. Not that anyone will need to come in here, but still . . . it just looks so . . . wrong.”

“Yes, ma’am, I understand. But there’s nothing I can do about it. I don’t own the equipment, so I have to borrow it from a buddy of mine and I need to make sure he doesn’t need it right now. It could be a couple of weeks or more.”

Jack gently took hold of my arm, apparently sensing my misplaced anger and growing frustration. “Thanks, guys, for coming out. Just give me a call when you can come back to take care of it.”

“Yes, sir.” Rich and Brian headed toward the front door, but Rich held back. “Uh, one thing, if you don’t mind me saying. I know you’ve got little ones here, but I don’t think they should be playing with an antique like that.”

“What do you mean?” I gritted my teeth, preparing for the worst.

“There’s a baby doll inside the case there and a bunch of buttons—which, to be honest, is a choking hazard for the little ones.”

“And that baby doll’s a little creepy,” Brian said with a small shudder. “I’m not really sure any kid should be playing with it.”

Jack squeezed my arm to keep me from saying anything I might regret. “Yes, you’re both right. We’ll take care of it. Thanks again for coming out.”

Jack walked them to the door as I bent over the casement and saw the face of Frozen Charlotte staring up at me. I glanced over to the coffee table, where her coffin remained, the lid ominously open.

Jack returned to stand next to me. “I’ll put caution tape across the doorway to prevent people from coming in. I’ll stick balloons on it to go with the theme. Maybe borrow some of your bras and panties, too? I’d hang a few of your nightgowns instead, but they’re all flannel. Not the same vibe, you know?”

“Very funny,” I said, resisting a smile.

Jack’s face became serious. “I haven’t forgotten, Mellie.”

I looked up at him. “About the twinkling lights?”

“No. Not that. You said you’d be able to talk about us when you were done planning the party, and the party is tonight. What time do you want me here in the morning? Or I could sleep in the guest room so I’m ready when you are.”

I flushed, remembering what had happened the last night he’d spent in the guest room. I was tempted to ask for a few extra days, as if somehow all of our troubles would solve themselves if we gave them just a little more time. Yet, regardless of how unfinished the new Melanie worksheet was, I had learned something in the last few months. Things rarely worked themselves out, and no matter how many things I pushed off until tomorrow, tomorrow always arrived, carrying its own baggage.

I met his gaze. I miss you when I close my eyes. Even though I was still hurt and confused, I couldn’t forget that he’d said that. And that my love for him hadn’t diminished despite everything. “As soon as you want to get here. I’m an early riser.”

“I remember, Mellie. It hasn’t been that long.”

I nodded, then retrieved poor Charlotte from the clock and returned her to her coffin before closing the lid. “I’m going to assume Evangeline put the doll in there, because no one I know would voluntarily touch her. I only wish I knew why.”