“Yes, sir,” Beau said, nonplussed, as he put the container back into his backpack.
Something made me hug Beau. Maybe it was what he’d said about his parents and sister. Or maybe I just recognized the same lost expression Nola had worn when she’d first shown up at my front door.
“Thank you for bringing the buttons and talking to your grandmother about everything. I really appreciate it.”
“You’re welcome.” Beau turned toward Nola, who was now juggling Sarah on her hip. “See you later. I won’t be in on Sunday, so I’ll leave a list of things for you on my desk. The back room really needs a good dusting and mopping. It aggravates my allergies every time I have to walk back there.”
I placed a calming hand on Nola’s arm to keep her silent. “Thanks, Beau. I hope to see you again soon.”
I wasn’t about to suggest that Nola walk him to the door, so I escorted him out, and waited until he’d reached the end of the piazza before I closed the door.
When I turned around, I saw Jack with his suitcase at the bottom of the stairs. “I thought I’d go ahead and unpack before supper.”
“I guess you know where the guest room is.”
“I do.” Jack lifted his suitcase and began climbing the stairs.
I watched him for a moment before I blurted, “The Frozen Charlotte has a friend who left footprints in the snow that stopped at the dining room window. And wet footprints followed me to work, and I have no idea where they came from, but I don’t think it’s the same person because they’re different sizes. I also took a Discman and a yearbook that belonged to Veronica’s sister from her attic to see if I can figure out anything more about Adrienne’s murder. I’m also pretty sure that there’s another spirit up in the attic with Adrienne who doesn’t want me there. At lunch today I bought a really beautiful skirt at the Finicky Filly that wasn’t on sale but it’s a classic and well-made, and I’ll have it forever, so that justified the price. Plus it matches the new shoes I bought at Charleston Shoe Company, which I went into only because it was practically across the street from Buxton Books. I’d popped in only to get a copy of Marc’s book so I’d understand what was being filmed in my house, but ended up buying a few other books because Sophie says I need to read more than just the real estate ads in the paper.”
Jack tilted his head, his eyes narrowed in confusion, his lips twitching as if he was trying to hold back laughter. Or unable to think of something to say.
“You said you wanted me to tell you everything. So I am.”
“Well, then, that’s a start.” He resumed his ascent.
The smell of burning I’d first detected when we’d opened the Frozen Charlotte coffin filled my nostrils again, and I had a desperate need for fresh air. I moved out onto the piazza to feel the cool breeze, breathing in deeply to capture the sweet scent of the Carolina jessamine vines creeping up the piazza, unfazed by the cool February evening.
I was beyond happy that Jack was back. In the guest room, but better than in a separate house. My conversation with Amelia kept playing out in my head, as did my argument that he’d never be coerced. Which meant that regardless of the reasons he’d given his mother or me, Jack had come back because he’d wanted to.
A small ball of heat sparked to life somewhere in my chest, giving me the first ray of hope I’d had since Jack had left me.
I turned to go back inside, the porch light reflecting what looked like puddles on the floorboards despite the fact that it hadn’t rained in several days. I leaned over to see better, then jerked back. Puddles in the shape of footprints led across the piazza from the steps, then stopped decisively at the front door, waiting to be let inside.
CHAPTER 7
I awoke to the scent of roses. Half asleep, I pressed my face into the warm body lying in bed next to me. Reveling in the knowledge that I wasn’t alone in the bed, I pressed myself closer and began rubbing my nose on his back. And a thick coat of fur. My eyes shot open, and I was horrified to see in the glow of Jack’s bedside clock the small sleeping form of General Lee, who’d apparently forgiven me enough to return to my bed. I rolled over onto my back and breathed in deeply, the heady scent of the roses calming me, and helping me to forget that Jack slept just down the hallway. My eyelids drooped as I began to drift into sleep, content in the knowledge that my family was at last under the same roof again.
I bolted upright, my gaze shifting to the video child monitor on my nightstand, on which the motionless forms of JJ and Sarah could be detected behind the rails of their cribs. The smell of roses could mean only one thing: Louisa Vanderhorst had returned. The spirit of the young mother who’d once been buried in our garden fountain wasn’t one to stick around for fun. She always had a purpose, appearing almost as an omen of something about to happen. The anticipation of which was always softened by the reassurance that she’d returned to protect the children until the danger had passed.
Shivering as I slid out of bed, I put on my fluffy bathrobe and matching slippers, both Christmas gifts from Nola. The door opened and I took a step forward before I paused. The key was still in the lock, but I hadn’t turned it. I distinctly remembered locking it the night before—if only because I’d heard Jack turning the key in his own lock.