The Strangers On Montagu Street Part 4

The door slammed in response.

"Somebody needs to talk with her about that language."

"I know, Mother. I just can't do it yet-she's still too raw from the trauma of the last month. We'll figure it out."

I walked with my mother to the front door, and she paused on the threshold. "I've got a few errands to run, and I know you've probably got something to organize, so why don't we plan on your picking me up at my house at one?"

I frowned. "What for?"

"To take you shopping for a nice pair of jeans. Bring Nola, too. Amelia told me she'd purchased some things for her at Palm Avenue, and it doesn't take any psychic powers to guess that Nola wouldn't wear most of it. We can return what doesn't work and hopefully find something else we can all agree on. Amelia will understand."

Knowing it was futile to argue, I said, "Whatever." I cringed at how much I was starting to sound like Nola after only three days. I wondered whether, after three months of living with her, I'd be cursing and admiring Sophie's fas.h.i.+on sense. I shuddered at the thought.

"Great. I'll see you both at one." She kissed me on both cheeks, then walked down the piazza, her heels clicking across the black-and-white marble tiles.

I was in the process of walking with a pot of real baked beans toward one of the tables set up in the garden when a low wolf whistle came from behind me. I turned to see Jack lounging in a chair with a nonalcoholic beer resting beside him on the wrought-iron table. Turning my back on him, I set the pot down and began to arrange the flowers my father had provided for the occasion. "What? You've never seen baked beans before?"

He shook his head slowly. "Not escorted by such a fine pair of blue jeans, that's for sure."

His expression sobered quickly as the kitchen door opened behind me and Rebecca Edgerton appeared, a vision in pink shorts, a matching pink sweater set, and a pink headband resting on her blond head, a mutinous-looking Nola following close behind.

Jack stood and smiled warily at his daughter and Rebecca, no doubt wondering whether he should gird his loins. I stared at Nola for a moment, trying to reconcile what I was seeing with what I knew of the girl. She wore her Converse sneakers with green neon laces, and matching socks that went to almost midcalf on her long, gangly legs. Her skirt was denim, one I recognized from our shopping trip that afternoon, but with a shredded hem that I was sure hadn't been on it when it was purchased. Her new, crisp white Lilly Pulitzer blouse looked like it had been mistaken for a subway wall by a graffiti artist with a penchant for peace signs, and although her eyeliner had been applied with a lighter touch, the red lipstick had not been. But the most notable part of it all was the pink headband, remarkably like Rebecca's, that pushed back her dark hair, showing off her beautiful bone structure and features, and highlighting the scowl on her face.

Sophie turned from where she'd been working on displaying her eggless, sugarless, and tasteless lemon bars on a tray. "That's just wrong," she said under her breath.

Nola stopped in front of her father, crossed her arms over her chest, and glowered in his direction. Rebecca put an arm around Jack's waist. "Doesn't she look precious? Pink is really her color-don't you agree?"

"Just precious," Jack answered as he avoided Rebecca's kiss by offering his cheek instead. "Is that a gift from you?"

Nola shot him a "you're the most oblivious man on the planet" look, and I was starting to prepare for violence when Sophie walked toward them. "Hey, Nola. You've got to try one of my lemon bars. They're completely vegan, and very tasty, if I may say so myself." She gently put her arm across Nola's shoulders. As she pa.s.sed me I heard her add, "As soon as she's not looking, you can toss that thing into the fountain."

A real smile erupted on Nola's face. I was mouthing the words "thank you" to Sophie when I caught sight of her left hand on Nola's shoulder. The little sparkling diamond on her fourth finger, to be more specific.

"Sophie? What's that ring?" My voice was a lot louder than I'd intended, effectively ending all conversation.

Chad, Sophie's colleague at the College of Charleston and what I thought of as her platonic roommate, looked up from where he'd been tossing a tennis ball with General Lee, his eyes wide and innocent. Not so platonic after all, I guessed.

Sophie clasped her hands behind her back but it was too late. My mother rushed forward and past me, her hands reaching for Sophie's. "Let me see it; let me see it!"

"You're engaged?" I asked, surprised and not a little hurt that she hadn't confided in me. I considered Sophie Wallen to be my best friend, and as such I would have expected her to tell me first.

She shot me an apologetic look as she held up her left hand to show my mother the round diamond in an antique platinum setting. It was a little more traditional than I thought Sophie would have wanted, but it was lovely. And sparkly. And completely and totally unexpected. I was happy for her-I was. It was only that I couldn't yet wrap my mind around the fact that it would be Sophie and Chad from now on, and not just Sophie and me.

Chad joined his fiancee as everyone crowded around the happy couple, and I found myself being forced back as I listened to how he'd proposed while they were sharing a s.h.i.+ft checking the loggerhead turtle nests on Isle of Palms.

"It's like they were made for each other," a voice said beside me.

Startled, I looked up to see the dark and handsome face of Marc Longo. We had dated for a short while the year before, until I'd learned that he'd lied to me to gain access to Confederate diamonds hidden in my inherited house on Tradd Street. Although he'd since apologized and made attempts to amend our relations.h.i.+p-no doubt helped along by a single blow to the jaw offered by Jack-I doubted that I could ever really trust him again, regardless of how sincere he seemed. It didn't help that Jack loathed him and used every opportunity to let Marc know it. The feeling was mutual.

"Marc," I said, offering my cheek for a kiss. "It's so good to see you." I stared up at him, wondering how to ask him why he was there. He'd definitely not been on my small family-only invite list.

As if reading my mind, he offered, "Your mother invited me. Said something about there being too many females and she needed me to even things out."

I shot a look over at my mother, who was pretending not to notice Marc or me and instead was making a good show of listening as Sophie and Chad told everyone about their ideas for the wedding. I caught the words "barefoot" and "hemp," but was too distracted by Marc's hand, which was now squeezing mine in an earnest grip.

"So does that sound like something you'd like to do?"

I glanced back at Marc, realizing he'd been talking to me. "I'm sorry; what did you say?"

"I said that I'm planning on having a party at my beach house to celebrate Carolina Day. I was hoping you'd come and play hostess."

"I'm pretty sure she's busy that night," Jack said, coming up behind me. "Or she will be, seeing as her birthday is the same day." He offered a big smile and a hand toward Marc. "Matthew, right?"

To my surprise, Marc took the offered hand and shook it. "Ah, the famous Jack Trenholm. A pleasure, as always."

I studied Marc's face, confused by the look I saw there. It was similar to the look I imagined a cat wore while standing next to the empty bowl of cream.

"Why, thank you, Matt. Can't say I feel likewise, but the sentiment's appreciated just the same." He glanced down at Marc's impeccably tailored s.h.i.+rt and pants, the dark brown Italian loafers. "Just stopping by on the way to the opera? We don't want to make you late."

"Actually, no. I'm here for the duration. I was invited by Mrs. Middleton, although I'd like to think Melanie and I are good enough friends that I wouldn't need an invitation." He squeezed my hand, doing nothing to make the situation less awkward.

I was thankful when Marc let go of my hand. "So when's the next international bestseller coming out, Jack, or is that a closely guarded secret?"

Again, I couldn't decipher Marc's expression. Usually I felt the need to stand in between Marc and Jack to prevent any blows, but Marc actually seemed genuinely interested in Jack's answer. Surely he couldn't know what a sore subject it was for Jack. Although originally enthusiastic about Jack's book about the hidden Confederate diamonds and the disappearance of a former resident of my house on Tradd Street, his editor and agent had suddenly stopped taking his phone calls.

"Thanks for asking, Matt. But I rarely mix business with pleasure, so I'm going to spare Melanie the boring details and instead escort her over to Nola, who wants to know whether the cake is vegan and when she can have a piece."

Jack tugged on my arm, leaving me no choice but to follow. I waved, and from the corner of my eye I watched Rebecca approach Marc, her gaze directed at Jack and me.

"Remind me to have a word with your mother," Jack said in my ear. "My daughter's here and I don't want her to be exposed to lower lifeforms like that."

We both looked over to where Nola was standing between Sophie and Chad. The pink headband was long since discarded-most likely in the fountain behind her-and Sophie and Chad were wearing matching quilted vests and single braids, a collection of hemp necklaces around their necks. If I hadn't known the three of them and happened to come across them in a dark alley, I'd probably head the other way. "Yeah, I know what you mean," I said, but the sarcasm, for once, seemed lost on Jack.

I looked around the small gathering. "Where are your parents? They said they'd be here."

It took Jack a moment to register that I was speaking to him. He shrugged. "I don't know. I'm sure they're on their way. My mother mentioned something about a gift for Nola. Maybe that's what's holding them up."

A cold breeze swept across my back like icy fingers, making me s.h.i.+ver despite the heat. I looked up at Jack to see whether he'd noticed it, but he was too busy staring at Marc and Rebecca with a concentrated frown. Marc looked up and saw us, then smiled an unnatural smile again. Jack tensed beside me.

"Melanie?" I turned at Sophie's voice.

I faced her, a smile plastered on my face. "Congratulations on your engagement," I said, trying very hard to keep the ice out of my voice. "When were you planning on telling me? After the third baby was born?"

"Look, Melanie, I'm really sorry about that. I wasn't sure how you'd take it, so I was working on a way to tell you when I was sort of found out tonight."

"Then maybe you shouldn't have worn your ring."

"Why not?" piped up Nola, who seemed to have appeared beside Sophie like a new appendage. They even wore matching braids now.

"Because," I explained, "best friends tell each other stuff first."

Nola looked up at the sky as if seeking guidance on how to address incredibly stupid adults. "Yeah, but she probably felt bad about telling you that she was going to get married, seeing as how you're old and not married and don't even have a boyfriend."

It took me a moment to mentally chip the ice from my lips. "Thank you, Nola, for that observation. I'm only thirty-nine, for your information. That's hardly nursing home material."

Nola screeched and threw her hands over her mouth. "OMG! I didn't know you were that old! You're practically dead."

Unable to find a response that wouldn't require my getting physical, I abruptly turned around, only to run into my mother. "Mellie, just the person I was looking for. What do you say we do your fortieth birthday party here? Your garden is just perfect for entertaining, and your father said he can start working on plans right away."

I felt the embarra.s.sing and completely unexpected p.r.i.c.kle of tears behind my eyelids. I wasn't sure whether it was from what Nola had said-which I somehow thought might have a glimmer of truth-or the fact that my mother seemed to be in collaboration with Sophie, Nola, and apparently the rest of the world on making me feel old and permanently single. I wanted to tell her that it was all her fault, that abandoning me was what had sent me down this path of approaching spinsterhood, but I held back, afraid that if I opened my mouth I'd start crying.

A commotion at the garden gate made me turn away, and I stared in surprise as two men wearing Trenholm Antiques hats and matching uniform s.h.i.+rts slowly stepped their way down the brick path through the gate, carrying a pallet with something tall and bulky hidden under a quilted tarp.

Behind them came Amelia and John Trenholm, Jack's parents, both grinning broadly. I approached and gave them each a kiss on the cheek. "Wow-I can't imagine what that could be."

The words dried in my throat as I smelled singed tar and ashes, the edges of the tarp seeming to melt into rubbery, reaching fingers. I watched the men lower the pallet to the ground, then slowly remove the tarp. Don't! someone shouted, but the voice came from inside my head and n.o.body else heard. I opened my mouth to make the men stop, but it was too late. The turret of the dollhouse had already been revealed, the tarp slowly being pulled away inch by inch, like some bizarre burlesque show.

"It's exquisite," Sophie whispered beside me, but I hardly heard her. I was too busy trying not to choke on the stench of burning tar.

"The house looks so familiar," she continued. "I wonder whether it was built as a replica of a real house."

Amelia shook her head. "I have no idea. It's had a lot of owners, so chances are it might not even be originally from Charleston. I'm sure we can find out. Jack's pretty good at that."

Everyone who'd gathered around the dollhouse to admire it now stepped back as Jack approached with Nola. I could tell that she was trying very hard to pretend that she didn't particularly care that at the advanced age of thirteen she'd been given the first dollhouse she'd ever owned, or that it was probably one of the few gifts she'd ever received. Because I could see her eyes, and they were the eyes of a girl who never expected anything good to happen to her and had just realized that it could.

I felt my mother watching me and I turned my head. Her eyes were narrowed in concentration, and I knew she could smell the acrid scent heavy in the early-summer night. She stepped forward, and before I could stop her she reached out her hand to touch the curling eave of the old dollhouse, and the air screamed.

CHAPTER 5.

I stood in the doorway to Nola's room and watched as she carefully unwrapped each doll figure from old newspaper, standing them on the wraparound porch of the dollhouse one by one. There was a father, a mother, an older brother, and a younger sister. They were all blond and blue eyed, except for the daughter, whose chestnut hair hung down her back, and wire-framed gla.s.ses hid dark brown eyes. There was even a dog, a s.h.a.ggy-looking mix between a golden retriever and a sheepdog. Each human figure was carved from wood and dressed in Victorian clothing, their stares vacant. I only hoped that the voices I'd begun to hear right after my mother fainted were a temporary thing.

"Are you sure you want the dollhouse in your bedroom?" I asked, remembering the acrid scent of smoke and my mother's reaction to it when she touched it. She'd actually fainted, right there in my garden, and I had to tell everybody that she had low blood sugar. My father had taken her home immediately, but before she'd left she'd told me that she'd seen only a bright flash of white light.

Nola looked at me long enough for me to see her roll her eyes. "I don't want to hurt Amelia's feelings. She's pretty nice, even if she is old." She carefully moved the dog to be beside the boy, and I had the oddest sensation that that was where it belonged. "I mean, how clueless do you have to be to give a teenager a dollhouse?"

I noticed how she called everybody by their first name, as if she were afraid to acknowledge any familial relations.h.i.+ps such as "father" or "grandmother."

I pressed on, not completely sure that the dollhouse should be in her bedroom, especially at night while Nola slept. "But if you wanted it in the living room, I wouldn't have a problem with it, and I'm sure your grandmother wouldn't mind. Might even give you more room up here. I was thinking about maybe putting in a little music corner here, with a great chair for guitar playing, and a place for your music and your mother's guitar. . . ."

The look she gave me wasn't as hostile as I'd been expecting. It was more bleak, as if she'd rehea.r.s.ed this conversation to keep the emotion out of it. "I don't like to play the guitar. I just keep all that c.r.a.p because it was hers."

A cold breeze rippled a pile of sheet music Nola had stacked next to her bed. "Air-conditioning," I said quickly in response to her questioning look. The vent was directly over my head and wasn't currently blowing anything. I hoped Nola wouldn't notice.

I thought I saw something move on the dollhouse, but when I turned to look I was met with five blank, staring gazes. I rubbed my hands over my arms, feeling chilled. "Well, let me know if you change your mind."

"Whatever," she said as she moved to the open back of the house and began arranging the miniature furniture.

"Don't stay up too late." Without waiting for an answer, I backed out of the room, not sure whom or what I didn't want to turn my back on, then headed down the stairs. Jack sat on a Chinese Chippendale chair in the foyer, but when I opened my mouth to greet him, he put a finger to his lips and motioned for me to follow him onto the front piazza. Curious, I followed, flipping on the outside lights against the gathering gloom, then took a seat in one of the wicker rocking chairs. He leaned against the porch railing and casually crossed his ankles, but his tense jaw and shoulders belied his relaxed pose.

"Where's Rebecca?"

"I needed to speak with you, but Rebecca needed to get home, so Marc drove her."

I studied him in the dim light, wondering whether anything he'd just said hit him as awkwardly as it had me. But from the engrossed look on his face, it looked like his thoughts were elsewhere.

Clearing his throat, he said, "I wanted to talk to you about Nola, but didn't want her to overhear."

"Good move," I said. "Although she seems pretty preoccupied with her new toy."

"Yeah." He shook his head. "What was my mother thinking? I don't know about you, but I think that dollhouse is pretty creepy."

I raised my eyebrows but didn't say anything, wondering whether the signals the dollhouse was sending out were so strong that somebody with a thick skull like Jack could pick up on it.

He placed both palms on the railing and leaned toward me. "Is there something I should know about that dollhouse?"

I shrugged, not sure how to answer. "I don't know. Yet. I'm not crazy about it being in Nola's room, but she was really insistent. I'll keep an eye on things, though." I paused for a moment. "Could you tell me what Bonnie looked like?"

He tilted his head. "She was tall and slender-like Nola. But her hair was long, and she always wore it straight. She liked to wear loose-fitting clothes, like Sophie, but with a little more style." He smiled softly. "Why?"

"I told you that I thought Nola hadn't come alone-and your description of Bonnie matches that of a woman I've seen a few times. Since Bonnie's guitar keeps finding its way into Nola's bed or other strange places, I just wanted to make sure it was her doing it." I shrugged. "Maybe the dollhouse spirits can keep Bonnie company."

Jack narrowed his eyes at me. "Do ghosts really do that? Make friends, I mean?"

"I have no idea. I try not to hang around them too much. Most of the ghosts I've known are sort of the loner types."

His gaze was focused on the black and white tiles of the piazza floor. "Has Bonnie . . . said anything to you?"

I shook my head. "Not yet. She seems kind of shy. But as I said, she keeps moving her guitar-which makes Nola mad at me, since she thinks I'm doing it-and just now she rustled some sheet music. Maybe she simply wants Nola to take guitar lessons."

I studied Jack for a long moment, smelling the fragrant oleander from the garden, which would always make me think of him, probably because like the beautiful and sweet-smelling flower, Jack was an irritant and quite possibly fatal to my well-being. His hair was still dark, his shoulders broad, his waist trim. He was devastating at thirty-five. I couldn't help but wonder what he'd looked like as a college football quarterback. "You need to tell me more about Bonnie so that I can try to reach her. Did she have any success as a songwriter? Did she ever marry? That kind of thing."

He looked stricken, as if I'd just told him that the tooth fairy wasn't real. "I have no idea. I can't believe that I don't know anything about her life after we broke up. Or that I had a daughter. Somehow I think I should have known."

I clasped my hands to keep them from reaching out to him. This was dangerous territory, and I wasn't completely sure that I would survive the journey unscathed. Besides, comforting him was Rebecca's job now. "Don't beat yourself up, Jack. Bonnie didn't want you to know. That's why she lied to Nola about you. She was h.e.l.l-bent on cutting ties with her past, and she was very successful at it."

He rubbed his hands over his face. "Has Nola opened up to you at all? Anything about her mother? About her growing up?"

I shook my head. "Not a thing. I've tried to start conversations to get her talking about it, but let's just say that teenagers aren't the best conversationalists. Especially those who feel like they've been exiled into hostile territory." I considered him for a moment. "As crazy as this sounds, I think your mother did the right thing giving Nola that dollhouse. Seeing her with it was the first time I ever saw her face go soft. Like a kid's should be. It's strange seeing such a grown-up face on a thirteen-year-old. Maybe this is the beginning."

He was regarding me closely with what I secretly called his "Jack look," and I s.h.i.+fted uncomfortably. Usually when Jack Trenholm wanted something, it was only a matter of time before he found even unwilling subjects bending backward to do what he wanted.

"What?" I asked, running my tongue over my teeth to make sure I didn't have food stuck between them.