The Attic on Queen Street (Tradd Street #7)

Marc feigned surprise as he faced me. He stepped out from behind the curtain, failing again at looking contrite or conciliatory. “We’re taking a break—union rules. I was curious about the growth chart, so I thought I’d take the opportunity to come check it out. I’d heard about it, but I didn’t think it was important enough to put in my book.”

He was lying, but I played along. “I know,” I said, not bothering to disguise my disdain. “The most important part of the story of Louisa and Nevin Vanderhorst is the love between mother and son—something you completely ignored in your rendition and then twisted into an unsavory tale of adultery and child abandonment. You shouldn’t be surprised that Louisa is angry with you.”

His lips whitened as he tried to control his anger, his reluctance to release his true emotions letting me know that he wasn’t done asking for favors. “But you can talk to her, right?”

“I already told you—”

“Not about this.” He leaned forward, his voice quiet, his eyes shifting to make sure no one else was listening. “About the lost diamond.”

“You know as well as I do that the news article that started all that was based purely on conjecture.”

His eyes narrowed. “But there’s photographic proof.”

I was unable to resist rolling my eyes. “Yes, the Sultan of Brunei is wearing a large diamond on the same ribbon King Louis XIV used to wear the diamond then known as the French Blue. But besides there being a lack of evidence that the sultan’s diamond is the missing half, I can assure you that there are no more diamonds hidden in that clock or anywhere else in the house. Trust me. We’ve looked.”

“Yes, well, it wouldn’t be the first time you and Jack were completely oblivious, would it?”

I wanted to slap the look of self-satisfaction off his face, but restrained myself with every ounce of self-control I possessed. I would not be the reason for the breach of contract. If it were to happen, it would have to come from Marc.

“I’ve heard enough. And please stop snooping around our house. Not only because you won’t find anything, but because I don’t want your dirty fingerprints all over everything. God only knows where your fingers have been.”

I turned to leave, but Marc grabbed my elbow, an odd light in his eyes. He lowered his voice. “Everything I’ve read online tells me that the sultan’s diamond was hidden with or near the rest of the Confederate diamonds. And we found those right here in your clock.”

His thumb caressed my arm, making my stomach turn. “We didn’t find anything—Jack and I did, despite your best efforts.”

I tried to yank my arm from his grasp, but he held on, his thumb running revolting circles on my sleeve. “We used to have something, remember?”

He raised his eyebrows with insinuation, and I sincerely believed I would throw up right there on the Aubusson rug. I wrenched my arm from his grasp.

Unaware of my growing nausea, he continued. “Since you and Jack are on the outs, I say you and I put our brains together and find this treasure. We’ll never have to worry about money again.”

I stared at him dumbly for a long moment, waiting for him to tell me that he was joking. When he didn’t, I said, “That would mean just one brain working, and I’m not referring to yours. There is no we. There never was and there never will be. You’re forgetting that you have a wife with a baby on the way. And besides, the rumors online are just that—rumors. Just in case nobody ever told you, don’t believe everything you read online.” I swallowed back the bile that had risen in my throat. “Now, why don’t you get back to your crew so you can finish filming and leave us alone?”

I started to leave but paused. “By the way, how tall are you?”

He narrowed his eyes. “Why do you want to know?”

I blew out an exasperated breath. “Because I’m having a coffin made.” I left the room, unable to stay in his presence for a moment longer without ruining the antique rug.



* * *



? ? ?

I found Jack and Nola in the rear garden, away from the actors and crew at the fountain. The twins sat in the mini swing set my father had made for them. They were wearing mismatched outfits that Jack had apparently pulled at random instead of reading the labels on the drawers. I took a deep breath and counted to ten as Jayne often suggested, focusing on how cute the twins looked despite their uncoordinated apparel. I bit back a comment about how Sophie must have dressed them while blindfolded, in an attempt not to disrupt the scene of family harmony before me.

Nola sat next to Jack on the bench pulled up in front of the swings, resting her head on his shoulder while occasionally giving a gentle push to her little sister’s swing.

“Good morning,” I said, handing Jack a cup of coffee, which he inexplicably drank black. I might have actually shuddered when I had set it next to mine while I added the sugar and cream into my own mug.

I kissed all three kids on the forehead and tweaked only the babies’ cheeks, since Nola wouldn’t allow me to tweak hers. Then I joined them on the bench, Nola in the middle.

“Thanks,” Jack said, holding his mug. He smiled at me, his eyes sparkling, and I had to look away so I didn’t do anything foolish or inappropriate in front of Nola and the twins.

“I finally forced myself to finish Marc’s book,” he said.

“I’m sorry. I wish I could have spared you the trauma, but you probably needed to see it for yourself.”

He took a sip of coffee. “It’s a lot like looking at Rich Kobylt’s backside—there are just some things you can’t unsee.”

Nola sat up. “At least the sex scenes are being filmed on a sound set in LA. They’re pretty graphic. Especially the scenes between ‘John and Margot Trellis.’ They’re obviously meant to be the two of you. I mean, ew.”

Jack and I stared at her.

She shrugged. “I found the book lying around, so I read it. Awkward.”

We were silent for a moment before Jack said, “So, how ’bout those RiverDogs?”