“Well, then,” Jayne said, crumpling up her napkin and placing it on her foam plate, “I say start practicing your ABBA.”
By the time we left the restaurant, it had started to rain again. I unlocked my car door with my remote. Then Jayne and I ran in a fruitless attempt not to get wet, and neither of us made any moves to fasten our seat belts as we stared at the splashes of rain hitting the windshield.
Finally, Jayne spoke. “I think Veronica knows more than she’s telling us.”
“Why? Because she shredded napkins at lunch?”
“Well, that and also because of Veronica’s guilt over her belief that she let Adrienne down. Mostly, it’s just a feeling. I’ve learned over the years to listen to my intuition. It’s never wrong.”
I studied my wedding ring as I gripped the steering wheel. “I’ve wondered about the phone calls Adrienne made to Veronica before she died. Adrienne might not have told her everything, but what if she said something?”
“And what could Veronica’s reasoning be for not telling us?” Jayne pulled on her seat belt, pausing as she caught sight of something on the floor in front of her. She reached down, then held up the red heart pillow. “I would ask you why you’re carrying this around in your car, but I have a feeling you didn’t put it here.”
I stared at the pillow, aware now of the faint scent of Vanilla Musk inside the car. “I didn’t.”
I put on my seat belt and shifted the car into reverse. We were silent as I backed out of the parking space, neither one of us speaking until I turned the car onto Morrison Drive, when both of us broke out into an impromptu and imperfect rendition of “Waterloo.”
CHAPTER 22
I replaced the key in the lockbox on the front door of the Lowcountry-style home on James Island I’d just toured with Veronica and Michael, firmly affixing a smile I definitely didn’t feel before I turned around. Broad front porch—check. Large eat-in kitchen—check. Pool in backyard—check. Accessible to downtown Charleston—check. Miles of marsh views—check. It had been the eighth house I’d shown the couple that day, another perfect home—according to my spreadsheet—that clicked the most boxes for both of them. Yet Veronica remained as unimpressed and undecided as Michael was enthusiastic and ready to sign on the dotted line.
Veronica looked a little startled when I turned around, and I relaxed my cheek muscles a bit to avoid looking like the Cheshire cat.
“So, what did you think?” I asked, girding myself.
“The pool was a little big,” she said.
“?‘A little big,’?” Michael repeated slowly, an edge to his voice I was becoming familiar with.
“And I’m afraid that with the marsh so close, we’ll be inundated with mosquitoes.”
I could almost hear Michael holding his breath and counting to ten.
I unclenched my teeth. “You know, Veronica, this is South Carolina. Mosquitoes are part of the deal. The back of this house has one of the largest screened-in porches I’ve ever seen in my career as a Realtor. And to get that view at this price is unheard-of. It’s a brand-new listing but I guarantee this house will be gone in a day or two. I don’t think we’re going to find a more perfect house that the two of you will agree on. I suggest making an offer today.”
She turned to look back at the house, at its pristine lawn with moss-laden oak trees and its new roof. “I’m not a fan of the front porch lights.”
“Veronica . . .” Michael started.
I held up my hand. “Those are easily changed, and at this price, replacing them wouldn’t be an issue.” I took a deep, cleansing breath. “Look, why don’t we get back into the car and drive around the neighborhood a bit so you can think? Stiles Point Plantation is one of the most sought-after neighborhoods on James Island, so not only is it a beautiful home to live in now, but it’s also a great investment.”
We piled back into the car, with Veronica in the passenger seat and Michael in the rear, and I began to drive slowly around the established neighborhood with older-growth trees and well-manicured lawns. I attempted to dispel the thick miasma of tension with real estate chatter.
“There’s a neighborhood tennis court, a basketball court, and a five-acre park all right here. And so close to the Ravenel Bridge that Lindsey can easily make the six-mile drive to Ashley Hall in less than twenty minutes—depending on traffic, of course.”
Veronica was silent as she looked out her window, although I wasn’t sure she was actually seeing the scenery. Eventually, she said, “I think I want to look again in South of Broad. It’s just that it’s so familiar to me and I can’t see moving away from it.”
“But that’s exactly why we’re moving, Veronica,” Michael said from the backseat, his anger barely concealed behind his words. “We might as well stay where we are if we’re just going to move down the street!”
“Is that an option?” Veronica asked, turning her head to face her husband. “Because that’s what I’d prefer to do. None of these houses, as lovely as they are, will ever be the home I grew up in and love.”
“Look,” I said in a last-ditch effort to dispel the tension. “Why don’t you two sleep on it, talk it through, then call me in the morning? We’re all tired, we’ve seen a lot of options today, and after a good night’s rest, we can regroup.”
I took their simmering quiet as an assent and headed out of the neighborhood and back toward Charleston. As I turned onto the James Island Expressway, I said, “You know, there’s no need to rush this decision. Even if you sell your Queen Street house quickly—which I suspect will be the case—you can always rent somewhere. That would buy you time to figure out what you really want.” I met Michael’s eyes in the rearview mirror. “I think I heard Lindsey mention that you have a fishing cabin on Sullivan’s Island, right?”