The Strangers on Montagu Street (14 page)

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Authors: Karen White

Tags: #Romance, #Psychological, #Contemporary, #Fiction

BOOK: The Strangers on Montagu Street
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“Where’s Nola?”
“With her grandparents. They were invited to a Lowcountry boil at the Ravenels’ house out on Sullivan’s Island, and their granddaughter, Alston, invited Nola. They’ll bring her back, but it will be late. I have no idea who any of these people are—I’m just repeating what your mother told me. Said it would save her a phone call to you, since she was already running late for her date.” Sophie’s eyes widened. “I didn’t know a woman in her sixties could get away with a plunging neckline, but your mother sure can carry it off.”
I didn’t want to think about my mother dressing up for a man—my father, no less—so I quickly changed the subject. “Can I sit?”
She moved over to her side of the bench and I settled myself next to her, dropping my briefcase on the ground. “So what did you want to see me about?”
She held up her left hand, the sun making the diamond on her fourth finger shoot sparks of light through all of its prisms. “This.”
“Oh.” I smiled. “It’s beautiful.”
“Amelia helped Chad pick it out. You know how big he is on recycling, and he thought an estate piece made more sense than buying something new.” She stared down at the antique setting in the platinum band, the intricate design around the round diamond unusual and marking the piece as an antique. “I think it’s beautiful just because it’s mine, but I’m not really good at being able to tell if something’s
actually
beautiful, you know?”
I tried to reply with a straight face. “Yeah, I’ve noticed.” I took her hand to move the ring in the light. “But it really is stunning. Chad—and Amelia—did a fabulous job.”
She placed her other hand over mine and squeezed. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before. I really did want you to be the first to know. Things just sort of . . . got out of hand.”
“Yeah, I figured. I’m not upset—not anymore.”
Sophie sat back and looked at me. “Really? Because you still have that pinched look around your mouth.”
“That what?”
“You know, that look you get when you have an unexpected visitor you hadn’t planned on, or some task on your spreadsheet takes longer than it should and messes up everything that follows. Or when you see Jack and Rebecca together. That look.”
I concentrated on making my face neutral. “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about. But I
am
happy for you and Chad. I knew you were made for each other the minute I saw him. I mean, you’re both vegans, and he likes the way you dress. Believe me, he’s one of a kind.”
Sophie elbowed me. “Yeah, I know.” Serious again, she said, “I’m glad you’re okay with it, because I wanted to ask you if you’d be my maid of honor.”
The unmistakable pinpricks of tears threatened my eyes. I blinked hard and forced myself to look stern. “That would depend.”
“On what?” Sophie said, her expression guarded.
“On who’s picking out the bridesmaids’ dresses.”
She tossed back her head and laughed. “Oh, gosh, Melanie. You had me worried there for a moment. Like that would matter.”
“I’m serious. I won’t wear gauze, or tie-dye, or anything with beading. And definitely no hemp.”
Sophie threw her arms around me in a tight hug. “You’re the best, Melanie. I’m sure we can find something we both like. But just so you understand, we want it to be outside so everybody can come barefoot.”
I nodded slowly, holding back from saying what I really thought of the idea. It was Sophie’s wedding, after all, and if she wanted me to walk down an aisle barefoot and swinging incense, it was her call. And if I ever got married, I would simply pay her back by making her wear a hoop-skirted taffeta confection with her hair tucked into a neat chignon.
“Sure. Whatever you want. It’s your wedding. Let me know if you need any help. I’m pretty good at organizing things.”
Her eyes widened, and it took her a moment before she could come up with an answer. “Thanks, Melanie. I’ll keep that in mind. Although I don’t think I’ll need much organizing. It’s going to be a small wedding—just family and friends. But I’ll be sure to let you know if we need any spreadsheets.”
I patted her knee and stood. “You do that.” I looked up at the empty house. Not that long ago, I had relished my solitary existence: coming and going as I wanted, enjoying the quiet and solitude of an empty house. Now it just seemed . . . well . . . lonely. I looked down at Sophie. “Want to come watch
Glee
with me? I’ve seen a few episodes with Nola, because she made me, and it’s kind of addictive.”
Sophie stood, too. “Thanks, but Chad’s cooking a vegan lasagna tonight. You could join us, but I know you’d go home hungry and have to raid Mrs. Houlihan’s pantry.”
“Yeah. That’s all right. Maybe General Lee will watch with me.”
Impulsively, Sophie hugged me again. “Thanks for agreeing to be my maid of honor. You know I’d do the same for you.”
“Don’t hold your breath,” I said as I pulled away and headed for the front steps under the imposing double-tiered portico.
I could hear the smile in Sophie’s voice. “And I promise not to tell anybody you watch
Glee
. I think that would turn off more prospective clients than telling them you see dead people.”
I smirked at her retreating back, watching her for a moment as she approached her car, probably already anticipating her romantic evening with Chad and vegan lasagna. I almost called back to her that I’d changed my mind, but stopped myself. They were engaged and probably wouldn’t welcome a third wheel, regardless of how much they said they wouldn’t mind.
I entered the foyer and breathed in the old-house smell that I’d grown to love, along with the smell of boxwoods and lemon oil. They were comforting scents that must have been familiar to the generations of my family who’d lived in this house before me. The scents no longer brought to mind the alarming sound of money being sucked out the windows and chimneys. Lately I’d discovered that instead they made me think of how lucky I really was. Not that I would ever admit that out loud, of course.
After kicking off my heels and placing them neatly on the steps to carry upstairs when I went, I placed my briefcase next to my grandmother’s desk in the parlor. I was halfway through the foyer on the way to the kitchen when I heard an odd whimpering, followed by a scratching sound. I paused, wondering whether I’d imagined it, then heard it again.
General Lee.
In my bare feet I raced up the stairs, taking them two at a time, automatically heading down the hall in the direction of Nola’s bedroom. I found the dog standing in front of the closed door, his plumed tail—usually curled above his back—now tucked between his hind legs. As I approached, he whimpered again, then raised a front paw and scratched at the door.
I knelt down and he leaped into my outstretched arms. I hugged him to me, surprised at my relief at finding him safe. I did
not
like dogs. I wasn’t prepared to take the first step on the road to becoming one of those old spinster women who lived alone but with a thousand pets.
I buried my face in his soft fur. “Are you okay, sweetness? Mommy’s here.” I looked around, just to make sure nobody was listening. I turned my attention to the door, wondering whether the strip of light beneath the door had become brighter.
The doorknob turned in my hand, and I pushed the door open, staying safely in the hallway. I listened as the door struck the doorstop on the wall behind it, icy cold air hitting my face.
The large windows on the facing wall were all thrown wide-open, allowing inside the warm late-afternoon air. Buttery light from the lowering sun crept like long fingers across the wood floor and four-poster bed, across the putrid rug, and toward the dollhouse that now dominated the far corner of the room.
Once again the dollhouse family, minus the son and the dog, stood crowded at the turret window. I stepped forward and General Lee began to whimper again. I put my hand on the back of his head so he wouldn’t jump out of my arms and hurt himself. And personally, I didn’t really want to be alone at that moment.
I looked around the floor for the two missing figures, even knelt down to see whether either one had rolled under Nola’s bed. I was just about to shut the windows when I spotted them. They were standing on the antique captain’s chest that was used as a bench seat under the windows. I could see the lines of dried glue where I’d reattached both sides of the dog’s skull and fixed the boy’s neck.
A strong breeze blew into the windows, although the trees outside weren’t moving. Then, one by one, each window shut as if a person moved down the line, closing them in succession.
I swallowed. It was always easier when they approached me first. And if they didn’t, I ignored them and then they usually went away. But this was Nola’s room, and I had no idea who this spirit or spirits were. I couldn’t just let them be.
“Hello?” I said, my voice cracking. “Hello?” I said again, more forcefully. I could see my breath as I spoke, my lips and teeth cold.
I heard the flutter of paper and turned around to where Bonnie’s guitar case had fallen open, a stack of sheet music in a heap on the floor in front of it. The pages shook and shimmied as if somebody were thumbing through them.
“Bonnie?”
The rustling stopped just as the radio on the night table turned on, the volume set as loud as it could go. I recognized Jimmy Gordon’s “I’m Just Getting Started.” I quickly walked toward the bed and flipped off the radio, the sound of my thudding heart filling the void.
“Bonnie?” I said again, but the room had already begun to warm up again and I knew that she was gone.
General Lee managed to leap from my arms to the bed, and then off the bed and out the door as fast as he could go.
I stared at the kaleidoscope of colors in the room, the contrast with the nineteenth-century furniture, and felt the press of years enveloped in the room push down on me. A heavy sigh filled the space as I backed myself toward the doorway, and I wasn’t sure whether it was mine. “Never mind,” I said to the empty room, then closed the door on its ghosts.
CHAPTER 8
 
M
y eyes flickered open. A narrow strip of gray eked its way through the tall, dark drapes and I lay still, wondering why I wasn’t in my bedroom in my house on Tradd Street. Then I remembered the crumbling foundation and yet another forced evacuation, and I allowed my eyes to flutter closed again. Until I realized that General Lee wasn’t on the pillow next to me, and that the noise I’d heard that must have awakened me was the sound of footsteps outside my door.
I bolted upright, straining to hear anything out of the ordinary. Not that there was a lot on that list under the “historic Charleston home” heading. If your house didn’t pop, groan, creak, or moan, it just wasn’t old enough. I grabbed my robe from the foot of the bed, then slid my feet into the fluffy slippers and made my way into the darkened hallway.
Nola’s door was open, and when I peeked inside I saw that the room was empty and, fortunately, quiet, with all windows shut. Even the guitar was behaving itself and resting silently in the corner like a guitar should be. I squelched a gnawing worry as I headed for the stairs, noticing my mother’s bedroom door was closed at the same time I caught the scent of my father’s cologne. I focused on not tripping on my robe as I descended the stairs, wondering what was the least awful thought to contemplate—a missing teenager or one’s parents sharing a bed. As I pushed open the kitchen door, I still wasn’t sure.
Like the rest of the house, the kitchen was dark, with lonely shards of light from the outside streetlamps stealing inside the tall windows. Slivered fingers of gray touched the stainless-steel appliances and the newly restored mantel of the fireplace that had hidden a room behind it for two centuries. The room was emptied now of all its secrets and, I had thought, its ghosts.
I heard a slight rustling sound and my eyes scanned the far wall. “Wilhelm?” I whispered the name of my protector, a Hessian soldier whom I thought I’d sent to the light a month before. I sniffed the air, expecting to smell the unmistakable scent of gunpowder that surrounded his apparition. I stopped abruptly, recognizing a completely different smell instead.
Sugar?
Without turning around, I stuck my hand out behind me and flipped on the light switch. The overhead canned lights and pendants over the island shone brightly, illuminating the granite countertops, polished floors, and Nola and General Lee sitting on the floor in front of the pantry door with a package of powdered doughnuts opened between them. Both wore identical guilty expressions and equally matching patches of powdered sugar on their faces.
Relief at finding them both safe overrode my surprise. I knelt on the floor and patted my knees for General Lee to come to me. With a reluctant look back at Nola, he slowly walked over to me and allowed me to pick him up. As I brushed the powdered sugar off of his muzzle, I looked more closely at Nola and saw tearstains on her cheeks, leaking into the sugar encrusted on her lips and chin.
As a child the one thing I’d hated the most was to be caught crying. If I’d wanted people to see my tears and ask me what was bothering me, I would have stood in the middle of the street and screamed out how unfair it was to have a mother who didn’t want me.

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