“Remind me later and I’ll write down the name of the store.”
I was relieved to see panic flash in Jayne’s eyes. “Don’t worry,” I said. “She’s been threatening to tell me where she shops for years, but I’ve yet to be persuaded to join the dark side.”
I missed Jayne’s reaction because I was watching Sophie, a small pucker between her eyebrows as she studied Jayne. “Have we met before? You look familiar.”
“No, I’m pretty sure we haven’t. But I get that a lot. I must have one of those faces.”
“Yeah, probably.” Sophie smiled, then turned back to her car and pulled a folded square of cloth out of the passenger seat. “I brought a housewarming gift.” She unfolded it and held it up. “It’s an anti–cruise ship flag. Every homeowner in Charleston should display one in protest.”
I sighed. “Jayne just got here. Let her assimilate first before she’s forced to take a position on such a hot topic, all right?” I took the flag and refolded it, then placed it back in Sophie’s car.
Sophie frowned at me, then refocused her attention on the house, sighing as if she’d just witnessed a miracle. “So, this is your inheritance.”
“Technically,” Jayne said. “I just happen to own it now—but only temporarily.”
“I’m sure you’ll change your mind when you see what an architectural masterpiece this really is. It’s been owned by only two families since it was built, and I’ve never had the pleasure of going inside before, so this is a real treat.” Sophie stepped back to see the facade better. “To the untrained eye, it’s just a typical double house of cypress and heart pine above a stout brick basement. But when you study it a little more closely, you’ll see that its Georgian simplicity is lightened by dentils under the corona of the eave cornices, the pattern repeated in the bull’s-eyed pediment and pillared portico. It’s really quite lovely.”
I wondered if Jayne’s glazed-eye expression matched my own.
“How old is it?” Jayne asked.
“I’m not exactly sure, but definitely pre–Revolutionary War.” Sophie headed toward the split staircase under the portico that led from the sidewalk to the front door. “One of my students several years ago included this house in her dissertation. It has a very interesting bell system based on differently toned chimes for each room. Part of the interview process for servants was to make sure they weren’t tone-deaf so they’d know where they were needed. I think the bells are still in the house, although I doubt they’re still working. But what a piece of history!”
Jayne and I shared a glance behind Sophie’s back.
A very fat ebony cat emerged from between the iron slats of the gate, struggling just a little to get its rear end all the way through. It plopped down on the sidewalk and stared up at us with one dark green eye, the other socket covered with a slit of pink, furless skin. It yawned with disinterest and then waddled its way toward the other side of the stairs until it disappeared.
“I hope the house doesn’t come with a cat. I’m allergic,” Jayne explained.
“Why would you say that?” Sophie asked from the top of the stairs.
“Didn’t you see that enormous black cat come from the garden?” I asked. “It was so large I have to assume it’s loved by somebody.”
Sophie shrugged. “Either that or there are plenty of rodents to keep it busy.”
I sent her a warning glance, but she was already studying the moldings at the top of the two portico columns.
I began climbing, only realizing that Jayne wasn’t behind me after I’d unlocked the lockbox and then the front door, pushing it open to the familiar smell of dust, mothballs, and old polish. And something else, too. Something I couldn’t identify that smelled vaguely medicinal and reminded me of my grandmother.
I looked inside at the high-ceilinged foyer, peering past the dull pine floors into the front parlor. Heavy cornices with wedding-cake ornamentation capped the tall ceilings, the missing chunks resembling the teeth on a jack-o’-lantern. Like silent ghosts, sheet-covered furniture sat around the room suspended in time.
Stepping back onto the portico, I said, “Coast is clear, Jayne. No cats that I can see.”
She didn’t look convinced and her arms had returned to their crossed position over her chest.
“Oh, my goodness. It’s a period mantel—with original Sadler and Green tin-glazed earthenware tiles!” Sophie called from inside the house.
I smiled down at my client. “This is as good a time as any to see the interior, Jayne. Sophie’s enthusiasm can be contagious when it’s not being annoying.”