Jimmy was staring at Aidan as if he were going to cry.
Aidan left Jimmy and went back to the house. He’d left the door open when he’d run out to catch the trespasser, so he locked it once he was inside, then started going through the house room by room.
It took a lot more time than going through Kendall’s apartment. The house was huge, but at least there were wardrobes rather than closets, each one containing clothes that represented decades worth of history—and reeked of mothballs. The attic took him the longest. While he was up there, he found a rocking chair by a trunk and realized that not all that long ago, someone had come here, set a glass—which was still there—on the trunk and enjoyed some quiet moments, looking out the dormer window at the river.
Kendall?
He could almost breathe in her scent…
Maybe he was losing his mind. Maybe he should have stayed in town—with her. She had been so doubtful when he had left that morning, as if she was afraid he would hold her responsible for the voodoo dolls.
Should he? Admittedly, she couldn’t have done it herself, but what about one of her friends?
No. He just couldn’t imagine her doing anything like that.
And he couldn’t forget her expression when she had seen the picture of Jenny Trent and learned that she was missing, or how frantic she had been to find Ann. No one who worried that much about people she hardly knew would ever pull a stunt like the one someone had pulled with the voodoo dolls.
As hard as it was to believe, as much as he had never thought he would be able to feel something for a woman again after Serena’s death, she was slipping under his skin. He couldn’t get her out of his mind, couldn’t forget the feel of her skin, the look of her eyes, the tone of her voice. For so long he’d held back, feeling the guilt of living when Serena was dead. It wasn’t fair that he was even alive, so how could he be allowed to find happiness again?
And, to be honest, he hadn’t wanted to find it before he met Kendall.
He was still standing in the attic, he realized. Looking at a rocking chair, imagining her sitting in it, wondering what she had been thinking about as she stared out at the world.
Kendall had definitely taken root in his mind.
He wished that she were here with him.
But she wasn’t. He had chosen to come out here—alone. Good thing, really. He’d found Jimmy and solved at least one mystery.
He forced himself to finish checking out the attic. He even looked in some of the trunks, where he was amazed to find Civil War weapons, old letters, clothing, boots, buckles…some things that probably even predated the Civil War. A trove of riches.
So why the hell hadn’t Amelia left this place or at least some of these rarities to the young woman who had become like a daughter to her?
Maybe she hadn’t known what she had.
He went back to bed at last, where he lay awake, pondering just what was making him feel so uneasy about this house. He should have been pleased at solving the riddle of Amelia’s eerie lights, which had only been Jimmy, living there in the old slave quarters. But something was still bugging him.
Impatient with himself, he got desperate enough to try counting sheep, which failed when his sheep kept turning into voodoo dolls. He gave up and counted those instead, and at last, when the light was just starting to brush the horizon, he fell asleep.
He woke when he heard the first workman coming up the drive.
Kendall gasped, then realized she was staring straight into Jezebel’s eyes.
She didn’t know whether to scream or laugh. Then Jezebel meowed pathetically, and she managed to laugh.
Light was also peeking around her drapes, and she realized it was morning.
She cradled Jezebel to her. “What is it, cat? Am I scaring you? That’s okay, I’m scaring myself. But things are going to get back to normal, I promise. Come on. I’m betting you want some breakfast.”
She rose, fed the cat, put on the coffee and went to take a shower. The water was bracing, and she studiously concentrated on washing her hair, shaving her legs and scrubbing her face. A few minutes later, wrapped in a bathrobe, she went out to pour her coffee. Last night’s dream seemed ridiculous in the light of morning.