I sat on the piazza in a rocking chair, drinking a glass of wine helpfully provided by Mrs. Houlihan before she’d gone home. I usually drank only at parties or on special occasions, and never by myself. And definitely not sitting on my porch, where Jack might see me. He’d been sober for a long time, but he still had moments when his sobriety was challenged by stressful events. Of which there had been quite a few in recent years, up to and including—but not restricted to—the crumbling of his career and a crisis in his marriage. Thankfully, I could claim responsibility for only one of them.
But after spending nearly a full day with Rebecca and then her revelation about her dream, I’d been in need of something to settle my nerves so I could talk with Jack. And not just about what Rebecca had told me.
I sat wrapped in my coat and two blankets—one brought by Mrs. Houlihan along with the wine—as the sinking sun grabbed the warmth from the day and dragged it beneath the horizon. I breathed in the chill air, enjoying the peacefulness. It was still too early for the spring tourist season, allowing the street to fall quiet with only the faint sound of tags clinking as owners took their dogs for end-of-day walks.
Despite the quiet, I couldn’t settle my thoughts. Charleston sat waiting for spring, fat buds of wisteria and jasmine poised to erupt in gardens and window boxes all over the Holy City. I felt suspended, too, waiting for . . . something. Maybe it was the key to discovering what had happened to Adrienne. Or whatever it was that Marc thought would solve his financial woes. Or the elusive insight that would help me solve the problem of Jack and me. Like the eye of a hurricane, I remained still as the world swirled around me, changing directions while I waited for landfall.
The sound of a lone car approaching made me sit up and strain my eyes to see down the street. I recognized Jack’s minivan, and my blood swished through my veins a little faster. Because the film crew had already left, Jack parked his van at the bottom of the driveway. I took a slow sip of my wine as I watched him exit the van, then walk toward the house and the piazza steps. Despite it being dusk and the exterior lights not being on yet, he was as aware of my presence as I was of his. He paused to look up at me, and I once again felt that familiar electric zing as his blue eyes met mine.
“Good evening, Mrs. Trenholm.”
Just the sound of his voice saying those words made me sweat. “Hello, Jack.”
I listened as he ran up the wooden piazza steps, using the time before he came through the door to collect myself and to slow my heartbeat.
He walked down the piazza and sat in the rocker next to me, placing his overstuffed backpack and a small white shopping bag next to his feet. “I’m sorry I’m a little late. I lost track of time at the library doing research, and then I had to run an errand. Did I miss bath time?”
I raised my arms to lift the blankets and open my coat to show off the huge wet spot in the middle of my blouse. “Yes, but I promise you that the twins will get dirty again tomorrow, so you’ll have another chance. Mrs. Houlihan put our dinners in the oven to warm so we can eat together and Nola is in her room studying for the SAT. She’s getting a bit panicked.”
I took another sip of my wine, aware of him watching my every move. “I bought a four-leaf-clover good-luck charm at the Pandora store to give to her for her bracelet before the test.”
A slow smile lit his face. He leaned over and picked up the small shopping bag, holding it close enough for me to recognize the Pandora label. “Me, too.”
A gentle warmth settled on me, and it wasn’t from the wine. “I can exchange mine for another one.”
“Don’t.”
I looked at him in surprise. “Why not?”
He scratched his chin, thinking. “So that she knows that we are at least united in how we feel about her. That despite everything else, she has both of us watching out for her.”
I looked into my wineglass, blinking rapidly. “We need to keep an eye on her. Rebecca’s last dream was about Nola. A tall shadow was pushing the clock down on top of her. We need to talk with her, to tell her to stay away from the clock until we can figure this out.”
“Agreed.”
I nodded and took another sip of my wine. “How was your day? Is your book research going well?”
“Very.” He paused, and I thought for a moment he might finally tell me more. Instead, he asked, “How was your day?”
I sat back in my chair and began rocking. “I spent most of it with Rebecca, which should tell you pretty much everything you need to know. I did have an interesting conversation with her, though, and learned something that we may or may not find helpful.”
I saw his raised eyebrow in the dimming light.
“Marc’s online handle in the treasure-hunting chat rooms and blogs isn’t Blackbeard. It’s Jonathan Goldsmith.”
“You mean the Most Interesting Man in the World?”
I stared at him. “How did you know that?”
He shrugged. “Doesn’t everyone?”
To avoid answering, I said, “I went back through all the saved chats and read through the blogs, and he’s not the most talkative of members. He never adds anything new to the topic being discussed, but he certainly asks a lot of questions. There’s a definite divide between those who believe in the existence of the missing half of the Hope Diamond and those who don’t. And Mr. Goldsmith, from what I could tell, seems to be on the side of the believers.”
Jack didn’t say anything but rocked slowly back and forth, his chair creaking like old bones against the floorboards.
“What about you, Jack? Are you starting to change your mind?”
He continued to rock silently.
“Jack?”
Startled, he turned to me. “I’m sorry. What?”
“I asked you if you’d started to change your mind. About the existence of a Hope Diamond twin.”