But she could smell blood and candle wax.
She could hear the sound of the voices in her mind. The slight Scottish burr of the midwife’s, the exhaustion in Marianne’s, the grief in Hugh Poole’s.
And the hard, vicious edge in Hester Dobbs’s.
Why had she woken up standing by the bed instead of lying in it?
She’d fallen asleep reading, she remembered. But the light was off now, the book closed and on the nightstand. The mug of tea she’d brought up was nowhere to be seen.
She knew she’d find it washed and put away in the kitchen.
So someone looked after her, doing little kindnesses and household chores.
And someone wanted to scare her.
Just how many were there in the house with her? And who were they—or had they been?
She glanced at the clock. Three-twenty-two.
No piano music, no banging on the door.
Apparently it was over for the night.
But when she got back in bed, she took the dog with her.
“I saw it all so clearly. The mirror, then the room on the other side. The people in it. I think I could draw them. Not my strongest skill, but I think I could draw them.
“I watched two babies being born—the first so beautiful, the second so tragic—but I saw, and heard, and felt. I saw a woman die, a woman who fought so hard to bring her babies into the world. I saw her just … fade away.”
She stroked the dog, grateful for that sweet, warm body against hers.
“I saw Hester Dobbs. I saw that bitch take Marianne’s ring while her husband grieved. And she saw me. She saw me, spoke to me. Marianne saw me, spoke to me as she died. But no one else did.
“I was the ghost there. Hester Dobbs had that right. On the other side of the mirror—or whatever the hell it is—I was the ghost.”
Chapter Fifteen
Considering the night she’d had, she might have slept through the morning. But she dragged herself out of bed for the dog. A walk in the brisk wind did a lot to blow the cobwebs away.
Determined to stick with routine, she sat down at her desk—a little late, and in her pajamas—but she sat down at her desk.
The first order of business: adding the mirror dream/incident to her log.
Once done, she got out a sketch pad and did her best to draw the figures in that dream/incident.
She didn’t have Cleo’s skill with illustration, but she thought she managed decent likenesses.
Then she set them aside.
“A girl and her dog still have to eat,” she said, and got to work.
Nothing and no one disturbed her. She no longer counted the musical iPad greetings, as she’d grown used to them. She shut down at three-thirty.
“I’m not meeting Trey Doyle—man and/or potential client—in my pj’s and with a naked face.” She tapped Yoda’s nose and made him wag. “Gotta be professional. Plus, he always looks so damn good. You haven’t met him yet,” she added as they walked over to her bedroom, “but take my word on it.”
She stopped short at the sight of the short, sort of sassy red dress laid out neatly on her bed.
“Okay, that’s new—not the dress, but the gesture. And, ah, thanks? But this is more for date night than client meeting. It’s a great dress though.”
And now, Sonya thought, she talked to ghosts as well as to herself.
Holding it up, she turned this way, that way in the mirror. “And who knows when I’ll have a reason to wear it again. But not today.”
She hung it back in the closet.
She hadn’t thought of wearing a dress, but she could. Client meeting and all that. But not anything suit-y. Something casual.
She pulled out a slim ribbed knit dress in a dark, deep green. Simple lines, long sleeves, and the midi length looked good with booties.
“And done.”
When she’d changed, she studied herself in the mirror again. “Okay, this works. It’s like I take my work seriously, but I’m still friendly and easy.” Amused, she pointed at Yoda. “Not that kind of easy.
“Although, God, I do miss sex. No thinking about sex during a client meeting,” she told herself, and went into the bathroom to deal with makeup.
Same rules applied. Professional, but casual and friendly.
As she debated just the right eye shadow, she asked herself if she really intended to carve in a six hour–plus round trip to visit her longtime hairdresser.
The sensible thing? Give the local salon a try. If they screwed it up, she’d never return.
She added earrings—just studs—and took a last look.
“I think I hit the mark, and it only took me three times as long as it would have if I’d tossed on jeans and a sweater like I figured I would. But this is better.”
Her iPad let out with Roy Orbison’s classic “Oh, Pretty Woman.”
“Thanks. I’m getting pretty comfortable here, despite everything. It doesn’t hurt to remember how to take some time. The whole self-care thing. Now, I should make coffee.”
She’d use the coffee service in the butler’s pantry, set it up in front of the library fire. Or would the kitchen suit better?
No, the library.
“I’m thinking about it too much. And not,” she admitted to the dog, “just because he’s a potential client. He’s just so damn attractive. The way he looks, yeah, but also the way he is. What I know of the way he is, because I hardly know him really.
“And this has to stop.”
She made the coffee, then carried the tray up.
Professional, she thought. A woman running her own business.
She plumped the pillows on the sofa, added another log to the fire.
And decided: Perfect.
The dog let out a series of barks and raced out of the room seconds before the doorbell sounded.
“No one’s going to sneak in from outside anyway.”
She went down, pointed at Yoda, who danced in place by the front door. “You behave. This is business.”
She opened the door and there he stood, tall, handsome, with his big, adorable dog.
“Right on time. Come in. Meet Yoda.”
“Hey there.” Inside the door, Trey crouched right down and gave the dancing Yoda a good rub. “You’ve got Yoda eyes, all right. What do you think, Mookie?”
In answer, Mookie slapped a long tongue kiss straight up Yoda’s face, which caused the smaller dog to spin in circles.
“We brought a homecoming gift.” Trey pulled a tug rope out of his back pocket. “Show him how it’s done, Mook.”
In five seconds flat, the dogs were playing tug-of-war and fake growling.
“You know the big guy could drag the little guy all over the house with that.”
“Yeah.” Trey just grinned at him. “And he probably will.”
“Let me take your coat.”
As she went to hang it up, Sonya shut her eyes.
He’d brought a present for the dog. How was she supposed to resist that?
“So, I’m set up in the library, with coffee.”
“Appreciate the coffee, and you making the time.”
“I took a look at your website,” she said as they went upstairs with the dogs behind them. “It’s very serviceable.”
“I think that’s a dig.”