Jayne shook her head. “No. I should be more seriously hurt than just a twisted ankle. But it was as if I had a little cushion each time I hit a step or the wall.”
“That is weird,” I said, shrugging as if that sort of thing happened every day. Which it did in my world, but I didn’t want to tell her that. But I’d felt it, too, the softer presence that wasn’t afraid of whatever other spirits still lingered between the old walls. There were battling forces in this house, and something was keeping me from seeing the whole picture. But there was one thing I was sure of: I couldn’t let Jayne Smith back in the house until I knew what—or who—did not want any guests.
Thomas leaned down and picked Jayne up, her arm sliding around his shoulders, her cheeks a dark scarlet. “Can you grab her purse and shoe? You can toss them into the back of my car.”
“I’ll go with you . . .” I said as I ran after him.
“I’m off duty and you’ve got a husband and two babies to get home to. We’ll be fine—I’ll call you and let you know what’s going on.”
“Your shampoo smells nice,” Jayne said to the side of Thomas’s head. “Or is that your deodorant? I’m glad you wear deodorant.”
I rolled my eyes as I threw her stuff into the back of Thomas’s sedan, then watched as Thomas carefully buckled Jayne’s seat belt. She sent me a thumbs-up and I reciprocated, still holding up my thumb as I watched his car pull away.
I realized I hadn’t locked up the house and was almost to the front door when it slammed in my face, the rusted key scraping against the decrepit lock from the inside of the house, and leaving me with the distinct impression that I wasn’t welcome.
CHAPTER 10
Ichecked the mailbox on the front gate as I came home for lunch the following day. I always made a point of dumping anything we didn’t need into the outside recycling bin before it even made it into the house. Jack was forbidden from getting the mail because it always ended up in a pile on the kitchen counter that would stay there until the next millennium if I didn’t take charge. He’d thanked me for taking over this chore with a grin that had showed all his teeth. It was nice to be appreciated.
I stood at the back door, going through the mail piece by piece, dropping all except a bill from Rich Kobylt’s business, Hard Rock Foundations—for the restoration of the kitchen window as well as two dining room window frames that had rotted through—and a heavy linen envelope addressed to Mr. and Mrs. Jack Trenholm. It was thick, like a wedding invitation, and before I turned it over to see the return address, I ran through my head anybody I knew who’d be getting married. With the exception of octogenarian librarian Yvonne Craig, I didn’t think I knew anybody still single.
The return address was engraved onto the back of the ivory-colored envelope. There was no name, but the address was in New York City. I opened the back door and smelled something wonderful cooking on the stove, Mrs. Houlihan gently stirring a pot’s contents with a wooden spoon. The three dogs were in their individual monogrammed beds. Nola swore they could read and that was why they always ended up in the right bed. I had my doubts—nothing that cute could also be that smart. It worked against the laws of nature.
I gave them each a scratch behind the ears, then turned to Mrs. Houlihan expectantly. “That smells divine. What is it?” I reached to lift the lid from the pot, but the older woman slapped gently at my hand.
“It’s a vegan meat sauce for the whole wheat spaghetti you’re having for dinner tonight. It’s from the cookbook Dr. Wallen-Arasi gave you for Christmas.”
“I thought I told you to donate that to Goodwill.”
“Did you? I must have forgot. I must say, I’ve been making some of the recipes at home and my clothes are fitting much more loosely.”
I narrowed my eyes at her, wondering if she was trying to say something else, but she busied herself with sorting spices on the rack on the counter.
My interest and appetite having fled, I carefully hung up my coat in the small closet we’d had added to the butler’s pantry, checking each pocket carefully and making sure the lapels of all the coats were facing the same way. Nola had learned quickly, but there were two of Jack’s coats that I had to fix.
I slid open the kitchen drawer where I kept the letter opener. That was another thing I’d told Jack I’d take care of—the opening of mail. I’d shown him several times the correct use of a letter opener, even shown him where ours was kept, but it was as if he refused my instruction, and if an unopened envelope accidentally fell into his possession, he’d open it like a hungry bear at an overstuffed garbage can.