by Karen White
Have you heard about the new movie they’re filming in Charleston? I have the scoop you might want to hear. And besides, you owe me an interview.
I began to respond with Why would I owe you anything? But after three failed attempts to make a capital W for the first word, I gave up. I didn’t owe her anything, especially not a response to her ridiculous text. The previous year she’d printed the contents of an anonymous letter she’d received at the paper about buried bodies in my garden. The only thing I owed her was a wish that she’d become one of them.
“Sure. Let’s go inside,” Jayne said. “I left my stuff on the front porch and can bring it in as soon as I know where to put it.”
I picked Sarah out of her swing and watched as Jayne lifted JJ. “Jack can bring your bags in when he gets home. Is it a lot?”
She shook her head. “No—just a regular suitcase. I travel light. Old habit to break, I guess.”
There wasn’t any note of self-pity in her voice, but it brought back again the image of her as a baby being left on a church doorstep. It made me want to offer to redecorate her room in her favorite colors and furnish it with all the things she loved. Which was silly, really, since I didn’t know her, much less her favorite colors. I might have moved around a lot with my military father, but I’d always had my own room that I’d been allowed to decorate, hanging up as many ABBA posters as I wanted. It made me feel sorry for her, for her less-than-perfect childhood that she’d managed to overcome. Maybe because I was now a mother, I saw a need to be a mother for those in need of one.
As we walked toward the back door, each holding a child, I made a mental note to start a spreadsheet to keep track of all the things we could do to make Jayne feel welcome and at home, then made another note to go online to see if I could find any ABBA posters she might want to hang on her walls.
We walked slowly through the house so she’d be familiar with it, pausing for a moment in front of the fireplace in the downstairs drawing room. “Have you had any thoughts on baby-proofing this room yet?” she asked.
“I’ve purchased all the corner protectors and cabinet locks but haven’t had to use them yet. Sarah is very obedient and doesn’t do anything once you ask her not to. And JJ prefers to sit and wait for someone to carry him to where he wants to go—preferably his dad, but if Jack’s not available, then a female person. I have all the safety paraphernalia in a section of their closet upstairs with everything labeled so you can see what we have.”
“Labeled?”
“Yes. And I bought you your own labeling gun just in case I’ve missed anything. Actually, I haven’t labeled the inside of their dresser drawers yet—so that can be your first assignment. You can do it while they’re napping—JJ could sleep through a hurricane and Sarah has so much fun babbling to herself in her crib that she won’t even notice you’re there.”
She blinked a couple of times before smiling. “Of course.” We turned to leave, but she paused in front of the grandfather clock. “Is it broken?”
The pendulum was swaying back and forth, the familiar ticktock echoing in the room, but the hands of the clock were stopped at ten minutes after four o’clock. I looked at my watch just to make sure that I hadn’t somehow lost track of time, something I’d been unfamiliar with until I met Jack. I stared at the time for a moment, something about it jarring my memory. I frowned. “That’s weird. It’s been working perfectly. I guess I’ll have to call somebody.”
I showed Jayne the kitchen, where JJ started to clap his hands in anticipation of being fed. “He likes his food,” I said. “He’ll eat anything and at any time, but prefers somebody else to feed him. Sarah is a good eater, but more selective and much prefers to feed herself.”
Jayne nodded. “It’s good for them to retain their individual personalities. It’s important that they see themselves as separate persons.”
I led her out of the kitchen toward the stairs. “They look so much alike that it’s amazing to me how different their personalities are.”
“Well, they do come from two different parents. Are you and your husband very much alike?”
“Not at all,” I said at the same time as I heard Jack behind us say, “Practically identical.”
We turned to see him emerging from the music room that had also become his writing office. His mother had helped me find a lovely mahogany writing desk from the early part of the last century, and had moved it in front of the window that overlooked the side garden.
I sent him a reproachful look, quickly forgotten as he bent to kiss me in greeting. He nodded at Jayne, then scooped up Sarah, who was reaching for him. I was used to women turning their heads when Jack walked by, but I’d thought the one I’d given birth to would at least make me her favorite.
I looked over at JJ, who seemed happy with his face buried in Jayne’s neck. With a sigh, I said, “Are you done for the day? I was just showing Jayne the house and wanted to introduce her to Nola.”
His smile faltered a bit. “Wasn’t the most productive day, but maybe that’s just my muse telling me to take a break.”
He’d been distracted and distant since his phone call with his agent. Although his current project was generating a lot of buzz in-house, the news that Marc Longo’s book, Lust, Greed, and Murder in the Holy City, was getting a lot of press had Jack irritated and disheartened. The fact that the story idea was centered on our house and had been the impetus to our meeting and the subject of his own book, which had been canceled because of Marc Longo’s subterfuge (pretending to be interested in me so he could glean insider information), didn’t improve Jack’s mood. There was something else, though. Something that had emerged in that phone call that he hadn’t yet shared with me.
I was trying to get over my habit of avoiding bad news and confrontation, preferring to think that both were like ghosts and if you ignored them long enough, they’d go away. But, like with pregnancy, I’d learned this wasn’t the case. Still, I told myself that if I needed to know, he would tell me.
He faced Jayne, wearing what I referred to as his author back-cover-photo smile, and her cheeks flushed. I made a mental note to ask Jack to turn down the charm a notch the same way he’d had to do with any of Nola’s friends who visited. I’d yet to suggest he grow a paunch or lose his hair, but I wouldn’t push it beyond the realm of possibility.
“I’ve been doing a little research on your new house on South Battery. It’s considered one of Charleston’s treasures—both for its architecture and its history. I’ve been doing a little digging, too, into Button Pinckney’s life. She was an incredible woman—a huge philanthropist and a devoted advocate for animals and children. She was often quoted as saying that the house was like the child she’d never had. Lots of speculation as to what would happen to it when she died.”
“And she left it to me.” Jayne swayed with JJ in her arms, his eyes slowly drifting closed.
“Yes. To a complete stranger. Being a writer, I’m intrigued. There’s definitely a story here. Maybe even enough of a story for a complete book. Button Pinckney was an educated, intelligent, and cultured woman. There was a reason why she chose you. I’d hate to see the house sold before we can find out why.”
“Jack,” I said, “now’s not a good time to discuss this. I’m showing Jayne around right now. I scheduled the talk about the Pinckney house for tomorrow morning at eight fifty-five. I’m sure I put it on your calendar.”
Both Jack and Jayne stared at me unblinkingly before Jack turned back to Jayne. “Yes, well, we can certainly wait until eight fifty-five tomorrow. I just wanted to make sure Jayne had all the information before she made her decision. And to let her know that she can be our live-in nanny for as long as she needs, or at least until her house is fully renovated and she can see it in all its glory. Maybe she’ll decide she loves it when it doesn’t appear to be so old.”
Jayne’s lips turned up in a half smile. “This is
an old house, too, but the feeling here—with the exception of the backyard—gives off a really friendly vibe. Like it’s a true family home with a lot of warmth.”
“That’s because we’ve already exorcised all its ghosts.”
Jack said this with a hearty laugh, but Jayne shot him a sharp look. “Ghosts?”
“Don’t worry,” I said, guiding her toward the stairs. “All the worst ones are gone. The ones left behind are friendly.” I’d said this as an inside joke for Jack, but Jayne continued to frown.
We were halfway up the stairs when we heard a shriek from Nola’s room. Despite holding a small child in his arms, Jack sprinted up the stairs and threw open Nola’s bedroom door. “Is everything all right?”
Jayne and I moved up behind him, peering into the room. The three girls sat on top of Nola’s tall four-poster bed, a Ouija board between them. They turned toward us, each face paler than the next. “It moved by itself,” Veronica said.
A new presence hovered around the periphery of the room, something dark and disturbing, like the soft ripples on the water’s surface signaling the approach of something big. And invisible. Just as before, I couldn’t see it, couldn’t speak to it or touch it. It was as if that same curtain had fallen between me and the spirit world, blocking my entrance. For someone who’d spent a lifetime resenting the fact that I could interact with spirits, I now found myself resentful that I couldn’t. Something was jamming my brain waves, and I think that scared me more than anything else.
Jayne bent down to pick up the triangle-shaped board piece, then dropped it immediately as if it had burned her. “You shouldn’t be playing with that,” she said, her voice low and in a tone I’d not heard yet. “It’s not a toy.”
We all turned to look at her in surprise. Feeling all gazes on her, she attempted to smile but failed. “A mother of a family I worked for told me that. She said it wasn’t a children’s game.” Her gaze traveled to a corner of the room. “She said that sometimes it can attract unwanted . . . visitors, and you have no control over whether they’re good or bad.”
“They’re not real,” Alston said. “All that ghost stuff isn’t real. I think Nola pushed it off the board to scare us.” She looked at Nola hopefully.
“Guilty,” Nola said with a sidelong glance at me to let me know she was lying. A frisson of fear shot down my neck. Our house was filled with spirits. Most old houses were. They were there in every creak of the floor and tick of the antique clocks. But we’d learned to live in harmony with them, knowing that when they were ready to move on they’d let me know. But even without seeing this new presence, I knew it didn’t want to go anywhere.
“Close it up, please, Nola. Jayne’s right—it’s not a game.” I caught a whiff then, of moist earth and dead leaves, and I immediately knew where it had come from. Turning to Jack, I said, “Please make the introductions. I need to step outside for a moment.”
He gave me a quizzical look, but I didn’t pause as I quickly walked out the door, then ran down the stairs and through the house to the back door. I threw it open and stifled a scream as I nearly ran into Meghan as she clawed desperately to open the back door.
She brushed past me, then closed the door, leaning her back against it. Her skin was unusually pale and her eyes were so wide that I could have sworn I saw the whites all around her irises.
“Are you all right?” I asked as I led her to the kitchen table and pulled out a chair.
She began to nod, then shook her head. When she eventually found her voice, she said, “It was the weirdest thing. . . .”
“What was?” I asked, although I was sure I knew what she was going to say.
“I was digging and I thought I’d found something, so I was really focusing on a small area, and then all of a sudden . . .” She wrinkled her nose and gave an involuntary shudder. “This smell. Like rotting . . . dead stuff. We once had a squirrel die in our chimney and that’s how we found it—from the smell. It was like that. And I swear the temperature dropped about thirty degrees, because I could actually see my breath.”
“Can I make you some tea? You seem a little shaken up.”
She shook her head. “I really just want to get home. Do you mind if I leave my stuff out? I don’t really want to go back right now. And I’ll leave by the front door if that’s all right with you.”
“Of course,” I said, nodding sympathetically. “Maybe you’re coming down with something. It is flu season, after all.”
She nodded gratefully as she shakily stood, holding on to the edge of the table. “I guess I should have listened to my mother and gotten that flu shot.”
“Probably,” I said, gently leading her toward the front door. “I’ll pack up your things and put them in the gardening shed in case it rains. They’ll be there whenever you’re ready to return.”
Meghan thanked me and then left. When I walked into the foyer, I saw Jayne and Jack walking down the stairs, a child asleep on each of them. I frowned. “Why do they never do that for me? They’re always wide-awake when I’m with them.”
“I think children are good at sensing a soothing presence,” Jack said with a grin.
Before I could retort, Jayne said, “Or they were just tired. Meeting new people can be exhausting to young children—there’s so much new information they have to process.”
I smiled at her, her approach to refereeing confirming my decision to hire her. I reached for Sarah and JJ, balancing each child in my arms, feeling them come awake and begin to squirm. So much for a soothing presence. “I’ll go feed the children while Jack brings your things up to your room so you can unpack and get settled.”
“Thank you,” Jayne said.
I began walking toward the kitchen.
“I think I’d like to restore the house on South Battery before I sell it.”
I turned around. “Really? I mean, I’m glad to hear it, but it’s not what I expected. What made you decide?”
“Oh, a number of things.” Her gaze settled on JJ and it seemed as if she was avoiding looking in my eyes. As if she didn’t want me to see something.
“Like what?” I asked.
Jayne shrugged. “It has a little to do with what you told me about Button Pinckney and her motives, and how she chose me. That’s no small thing. But mostly . . .” She paused. “Mostly it’s this house.”
I stared at her, not understanding. “My house?”
She nodded. “It’s beautiful and historic, but it’s home. It has a soul, a good vibe, you know? I’m aware this sounds silly, but it’s almost as if it knows there’s so much love here and reflects that.”
She looked at me as if for affirmation, but all I could do was nod.
She continued. “And somehow, I know the Pinckney house is the same way under all that mold and falling plaster and sadness. There must have been a lot of happiness there before that little girl died. It was once a beloved family home, and it’s been left in my care.” Her eyes finally met mine. “I’ve been looking for a home to call my own my whole life. Even if this is the last thing I ever expected or wanted, I can’t just turn it down out of hand. It would be . . . not right. Like throwing away an opportunity without really giving it a chance.”
“There’s always a way to look past the bad to see the good,” I said, repeating the philosophy she’d gleaned from being in foster care for so many years.
Jayne smiled. “Yeah, pretty much. I guess what I’m saying is that I’m going to give it a chance. Maybe hang on to it at least long enough that we can figure out Button’s motives. And see what the house becomes. Maybe once we can get rid of that awful doll and the dark window coverings and old wallpaper, it might make a huge difference. Maybe all the cosmetic reparations will help . . . What did Jack call it?”
“‘Excorcise its ghosts,’” I said with a forced smile.
Her own smile wavered. “Yes, exactly. Then I can
decide whether or not I want to sell. And hopefully it will be restored by then.”
I tried to hide my sigh of relief. “Great. I know Sophie will be thrilled.”
She continued to smile, but there was definitely something in her eyes, something that told me I didn’t have the whole story and that she had no intention of sharing it with me.
We heard Nola’s door open and the sound of girls’ voices. Jayne faced me again. “Make sure she gets rid of that game, okay? It’s not like I believe in that stuff or anything, but why tempt fate, right?”
“Right,” I said uneasily, then headed back toward the kitchen to feed the babies. I was in the middle of cleaning up pureed organic sweet potatoes and tiny cubes of chicken—courtesy of Mrs. Houlihan and Sophie’s food processor baby gift—when I began to smell the stench of something rotting mixed with the scent of freshly turned earth.
Pretending I hadn’t smelled anything, I finished wiping down JJ—Sarah was a pristine eater and hardly needed a bib—then picked them both up from their high chairs. It was only as I exited the kitchen that I noticed the large clock over the door, the audible sound of ticking confirming that the battery in the clock still worked, despite the hands that were firmly stuck at ten minutes past four o’clock.
CHAPTER 8
“Hello, beautiful.”
Just the sound of Jack’s voice over the intercom turned my insides to honey, my brain to cheese grits, my thought processes to those of a goldfish. I stared at the intercom on my desk, wanting him to speak again while at the same time wishing he wouldn’t. I was supposed to be working, something that was incompatible with Jack’s proximity.
Jolly’s voice came over the intercom, and I could tell by her wavering tone that she wasn’t immune to Jack’s charms, either. “I’m sorry, Melanie. Your husband is here. Should I send him back to you?”
“No need,” I heard Jack call from outside my office before he opened my door. Even in the days when I’d found him to be as annoying as he was attractive—and that ratio hadn’t changed all that much since our marriage—he always seemed to fill a space. There was something in the wattage of his smile and the sheer force of his personality. Not that I would admit it, but I was happy that all three of his children seemed to have inherited this particular character trait. I made a quick mental note to create a list of things the twins had inherited from me, although I was afraid it would be a rather short one.