The Strangers on Montagu Street (24 page)

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Authors: Karen White

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

BOOK: The Strangers on Montagu Street
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“I’m not sure,” I said carefully. Knowing the dollhouse was out of her room encouraged me to tell her more. “I don’t think your mother is responsible. There’s something else here, something that’s not a gentle spirit like Bonnie.”
“What do you mean?” Her face paled.
“The way the figures were thrown, and the two broken, for instance. And I saw a man at Miss Manigault’s house who definitely didn’t want us around. I’m thinking they could be connected.”
Nola squeezed my arm tighter. “And you let me put it in my room?”
“We tried to talk you out of it, remember? But you insisted. And if I really thought you were in danger, I would have done something sooner. I also knew that your mother was there protecting you.”
Her face softened and her eyes began to fill. She looked away quickly, then jutted her chin toward the door. “You open it.”
I turned the handle and pushed. The door gave way a little, then slammed hard in my face.
“Is it stuck?” Nola asked, taking a step away from the door.
I shook my head. “No.” Taking a deep breath, I began to repeat out loud the mantra my mother had taught me. “I am stronger than you; I am stronger than you,” I said quietly. I turned the handle again, but before pushing, I faced Nola. “You don’t have to come in. In fact, it might be better if you stayed in the hallway.”
“As if. You think I want to miss this?”
“You are
so
Jack’s daughter,” I said, shaking my head. “Come on and help me push, then.”
She joined me and pressed her shoulder against the door. “Ready.” I wasn’t surprised to see no fear in her eyes at all.
I began repeating my mantra again, and Nola joined me as I turned the handle and both of us pressed hard on the door. It gave way easily, making us stumble into the room. The sheet music that Nola had picked up that morning and stored in the guitar case was scattered around the room again, flopping like unsettled moths in the breeze from the open windows. Heat from outside mixed with the icy cold of the room, creating an odd fog that hovered near the ceiling.
I felt, rather than saw, Bonnie in the corner, and knew that if I turned to look at her, she’d disappear.
“Why do they have to do that to the music?” Nola groaned, stooping down to begin picking it up.
“It’s your mother. To let you know she’s near.”
Slowly, Nola stood, the music slipping from her hands. “Mom?”
The corner where the guitar case rested against the wall shimmered with light. I turned toward it. “Bonnie?”
As if a light switch had been hit, the shimmering stopped. “Is she gone?” Nola whispered.
I nodded. “I won’t give up, okay? I’ll figure out a way to find out why she’s still here.”
“But why would she open the windows, too? It just makes more of a mess.”
“Maybe she didn’t,” I said, my attention drawn to the wall behind the headboard. Scratched into the paint and plaster in bold lettering were the words “Stop her.” My gaze slid down to the nightstand by the bed where the figure of the boy lay on its side, the head covered with plaster dust.
“What the . . . ?” Nola started.
I sent her a hard stare.
“Heck,” she finished.
I glanced around the room. “Where are the rest of the figures?”
Nola began walking around, opening drawers, pulling aside the drapes. Finally, she knelt on the floor next to the bed and peered underneath. “I found them.”
Something in her voice made me kneel down next to her. The remaining family members lay side by side, the father separated from the other two. A shiver coursed through me; all three figures were lying facedown, their eyes hidden. I reached under the bed and grabbed them before standing again. “Do you see the dog?”
Nola shook her head. “He’s missing.”
“Not really,” I said under my breath, remembering General Lee’s playmate downstairs. “We’ll look for him later. Right now, let’s get these out of your room and bring them down to Miss Manigault. But close your windows first. Unless you want palmetto bugs inside.”
I’d never seen her move so fast as she hurried to latch the windows shut, being very conscious of where she put her hands and checking the wall for what might be crawling beside her. I would have laughed but then I would be a hypocrite.
General Lee was running circles around the foyer as we descended the steps, only the disembodied tail of the other dog visible to me. I remembered the broken dog figurine and wondered where it might be. And wondered how the real dog might have died.
I walked over to where Julia sat in her wheelchair in front of the dollhouse and handed her the dolls. The skin on her hands was as transparent as tissue paper, the blue veins like road maps. But they showed no sign of arthritis as she clutched the figures tightly before laying them out in her lap. She pointed to the chalky blond head of the boy with a shaking finger. “This is my brother, William. Always making a mess, isn’t he? Always trying to tell you something.” She looked up at me, her dark eyes fathomless.
She knows,
I thought.
She’s seen the writing before.
“Who are the others?” I asked.
She pointed to the man and woman. “This is Mama and Papa—Anne and Harold Manigault. And this,” she said, pointing to the young girl with the dark hair, “is me.” Her brows formed a “V” over her nose. “Where is Buddy?”
“The dog?” Nola leaned forward. “He was in the house earlier, but now I can’t find him. I’m sure he’s around somewhere.”
I caught my mother’s gaze and knew she’d figured out what General Lee was chasing, too.
“Buddy was a gift from my papa, too. But he ran away the same night William did. I never knew what happened to him.”
I had a strong feeling it hadn’t been a natural death, but I didn’t think now was the time to tell her. Instead, I said, “The dollhouse was a gift to you from your father. I would think you’d want to save it to give it to your daughter or granddaughter.”
Her face grew hard. “I never married.”
This time, I shared a glance with Jack, who’d moved to stand behind his daughter, remembering what he’d told me of what he knew about the dollhouse, and how the sales records discovered for the dollhouse dated back to the late nineteen thirties, when Julia would have been young enough to still be contemplating marriage and children.
I tried to lighten the tension that seemed to have thrown a thick cloud over the room. “Nola has really been enjoying the dollhouse. All the tiniest details are really astounding. It’s impossible to find that kind of craftsmanship today.”
Julia looked past me as if I hadn’t spoken. “Nola. That’s such an unusual name.”
I shot a warning look at Nola as she opened her mouth to respond. She frowned at me, but paused, finally saying, “It’s a nickname.” Very quietly she added, “My real name is Emmaline.”
“Much more suitable,” Julia said. “Emmaline, what sort of musical training have you had?”
I watched as Jack placed his hand on Nola’s shoulder and she didn’t flinch. Her eyes darted around to each of the room’s occupants, as if waiting for somebody else to answer. Finally, she said, “I haven’t.”
Upstairs, a radio burst into life, the song “I’m Just Getting Started” blaring at high volume. Nola blanched as I looked at Jack and smiled thinly. “I think there’s a short in Nola’s radio—it keeps going on all by itself. Could you please unplug it from the wall?”
He sent me an odd look as he left the room. I turned back to Julia, who continued to scrutinize Nola. “No formal training at all? I heard you on the piano yesterday, and that was no amateur playing. You play by ear then? But surely you’ve been exposed to music before.”
Nola’s chipped and black-painted nails dug into the thighs of her torn jeans. She angled her face down, but I could see the bright red of her skin. Very quietly, she said, “My mother taught me how to play the guitar. I taught myself how to play the small keyboard we had until she sold it for drugs.” She looked up defiantly, not averting her gaze from the old woman.
Jack had returned to the room in time to hear the last part, and I watched his face transform from the jovial Jack I knew into Papa Bear. He marched into the room and stood behind Nola again, both hands on her shoulders. He fixed a smile on his face as he addressed the woman in the wheelchair. “Is there a reason for this interrogation? You came to see the dollhouse and verify that it was yours. I hope you’re not wanting it back, because I doubt my daughter would sell it to you at any price. So, if that’s all, Nola and I have dinner plans.”
Nola nodded vigorously. “Yes, we do.”
Dee stood, smiling apologetically. “We’re so sorry to have taken up so much of your time. Miss Manigault did so want to see Mrs. Middleton again as well as the dollhouse, and since we’ve already seen both . . .”
Julia glared at Dee, halting her progress. Turning back to Nola, she said, “Would you be interested in a formal musical education? Whether you like it or not, you have a lot of musical talent. It would be a shame for it to go to waste.”
Nola had begun shaking her head before the old woman finished speaking. “No. I don’t like music.”
Having listened to the stuff she normally played on her radio, I’d have to agree with that one. But I’d also heard her singing and playing the piano, and as much as I hated to, I had to agree with Julia Manigault’s assessment of Nola’s potential.
“She writes music, too,” I said, avoiding Nola’s glance. Whatever was holding her back from acknowledging her gift had nothing to do with music; of that I was sure. I’d trodden that same path before and recognized it. It had everything to do with Bonnie and their mother-daughter relationship, and that was something I knew I could work with. The music part, not so much.
“And she definitely knows how to sing,” my mother added. She turned to Nola. “You always sing in the shower and it’s hard not to notice. You have an extraordinary voice.”
I sent my mother a grateful look, glad I wasn’t standing alone and feeling like a bully.
Nola’s flush deepened. “I don’t like music,” she repeated, but she sounded less adamant.
“Why are you asking?” Jack leaned forward, his shoulders creating a barrier behind Nola.
Julia tilted her chin as high as her hunched back would allow. “Because I would like to teach her. She shows great promise despite her reluctance to pursue her talents. That’s the problem with youngsters nowadays. Too lazy. They don’t want to work at anything. They want to play with their phones and chat on Bookface all day long.”
“Facebook,” Nola and I said in unison.
Nola stood. “I am
not
lazy. I’ve always made straight As, and I helped my mom clean apartments when I wasn’t in school. I know how to work hard.” She was breathing heavily, her face flushed.
A look of triumph passed over Julia’s face. “Then prove it. Mrs. Middleton was telling me that you’re applying to Ashley Hall. It couldn’t hurt your résumé to list my name as a private music tutor.”
“Who cares if I get in? There are lots of schools I could go to.” Her jaw jutted out in an excellent impersonation of her father, who was doing the same thing.
“Ah,” said Julia, tapping her thin fingers on the arms of her wheelchair. “It’s that hard-work thing again, isn’t it? Ashley Hall girls aren’t known for being slackers. I’m sure there are plenty of other schools in Charleston. I just never saw the need to know about them.”
“Now, wait just a minute,” Jack said, coming around the sofa to stand in front of Julia. Dee stood as if the old lady might need a bodyguard. “You don’t know my daughter well enough to be making any sort of judgment about her. You have no idea what she’s gone through, especially this last year. Stuff that would send most kids—and a lot of adults—into a wall. She could run rings around those Ashley Hall girls. And of course she’s musically gifted. Her mother was a damned fine musician, bordering on genius. You’d be lucky to have her as your student.”
“So it’s settled then.” Julia glanced up at Dee, who settled a shawl on her shoulders and unlocked the brake on the back wheels. “I’ll have Dee call with details.”
“What are you . . . ?” Jack began.
I stopped him with a hand on his arm. “We’ll discuss it and let you know.”
“Wait!” Nola shouted.
We all stopped and stared at her.
“You still have the dolls from the dollhouse.”
“So I do,” said Julia, as she scooped them from her lap and held them out to Nola. “Be careful with them. And never put William and Papa in the same room together. They don’t like that very much.”
Nola’s eyes widened as she accepted the dolls, then watched as Dee wheeled the old woman out of the room to the front door. I let them out, carrying the folded wheelchair while Dee helped Julia down the steps.
As Dee settled Julia in the chair again to wheel her down the walk to the car, the old lady grasped my arm. “You be sure to be the one to bring Emmaline. Do you understand?”

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