“Even if we did believe in coincidences,” I said slowly, my mind still trying to wrap itself around what he’d just discovered. I thought back to when my alarm clocks had stopped at ten minutes after four, and the phone call came in from a disconnected number. I remembered it had been the first day back at the office. The day I’d met Jayne and learned she’d inherited the Pinckney house, the same house Hasell had lived and died in. That was when Hasell had first reached out to me; I could guess that much. But I was no closer to understanding why.
“Which we don’t.” Jack was thoughtful for a moment and then began righting the papers, stacking them against the flat top of my desk before returning them to his satchel. “There’s something else, too.”
I looked at him over my reading glasses before realizing that I probably looked like my first grade teacher, Mrs. Montemurno, who’d worn muumuus over her ample body and lots of gold clanky bracelets over the crease in her arm where her wrists were supposed to be. She’d looked ancient even back then and I remembered how the bags under her eyes were always accentuated when she looked at me from over her glasses. I hastily took them off. “Go ahead,” I said.
“You mentioned the Pinckneys had once owned a house on Lake Jasper near Birmingham. I’d never heard of it before, but I wouldn’t be a writer if I didn’t jump at every loose piece of information, so I did some research. The reason why I’d never heard of it before is probably because it doesn’t exist anymore. The lake was enlarged in 1985 by the Army Corps of Engineers and the name changed to another, larger lake that was combined with Lake Jasper.”
“So what happened to the Pinckney house?” I asked.
“Oh, it’s still there, I’m sure. Just underwater. It happens sometimes—to whole towns, even. It’s almost like they’re encased in snow globes with the roads, houses, shops, and churches still there, only unreachable unless you like to scuba.”
“That’s horrible. And not a little creepy. Remind me to never go boating or swimming there. I can’t imagine what sort of angry spirits are probably hanging around.”
“Yes, well, some people say on Sunday mornings, you can still hear the church bells ringing.”
I winced. “That’s scary, even to me.” I thought for a moment, remembering something he’d said. “And it was flooded in 1985?”
After he nodded, I said, “Your mother found a salt-and-pepper-shaker set as part of a collection in the Pinckney House. It’s from Lake Jasper and somebody had painted the date May thirtieth, 1984.”
He pulled out his notepad and jotted it down. “Just in case it’s important. Regardless, the set might be valuable, seeing as how Lake Jasper doesn’t exist anymore. Make sure Jayne is aware so she doesn’t dump the whole collection at Goodwill before she knows the value.” He replaced the notepad, then glanced at his watch before looking back at me with a wicked grin. “Looks like we have five minutes.”
The intercom on my desk buzzed and Jolly’s voice was piped in: “The nanny’s here.”
“Hold that thought,” I said as I stood.
The children were squealing with happiness upon seeing Jayne and were too preoccupied to notice Jack or me. At least that was what I told myself. I let Jayne know that I’d added a few things to the children’s Google calendar, including their first-year checkup at the pediatrician’s. I made sure to let her know that I’d added a note to that event about which matching outfits they should wear. She and Jack, and even Jolly, stared back at me with the same blank expressions, making me wonder, just for a moment, if it was me that wasn’t understanding something.
We said good-bye to the children and waved to them and Jayne as they made their way outside to the sidewalk.
“Do you want to know what I think?” Jolly asked, her eyes bright behind her glasses.
“About what?” I asked.
“Your nanny—Jayne, right? I thought I saw it the first time she was here, and now I’m definitely sure.”
Uneasily, I asked, “Saw what?”
“An aura. She definitely has an aura. It’s how you can tell someone has ‘the gift.’ That’s what my grandmother used to say about me, so that’s how I know I can communicate with spirits. They’re just taking a little longer to recognize that.”
“Really?” I said. “Do I have an aura?”
She shook her head emphatically. “No. Not even a shadow, or I would have told you. Sorry.”
“That’s all right,” I said. “I’m sure it’s more of a burden than a blessing most times.”
“That’s for sure.” She began fiddling with the dragonfly-shaped pin on her blouse, staring at Jack.
With a straight face, he said, “Any more dark-haired gentlemen holding up a piece of jewelry?”
She shook her head solemnly. “Sadly, no.” Her face became grim. “Actually, I’m not sure, so I don’t want to say anything. . . .” Although it was very clear that she was itching to tell us something.
“Go ahead,” Jack said. “We can handle it.”
“It’s a cat. And it’s talking to you. I just can’t hear what it’s saying.”
I stared at her for a moment, jolted by her mention of a cat. “What color is it?”
She frowned as if concentrating. “One of those striped tabby cats. With a long tail.”
I wondered if I’d sighed audibly. “Okay. We’ll be on the lookout for talking striped cats.”