Page 53 of The Guests on South Battery
Jayne shook her head rigorously. “No, I’m fine. You two go on. I’ll be down in just a minute.”
“Are you sure?” I asked, feeling the temperature drop again, and the familiar sensation of skin prickling on my scalp and neck.
“Yes,” she said shortly. “Just go.”
With a quick glance back at Jayne, Amelia and I climbed down both sets of stairs and stopped in the downstairs foyer. “You go on,” I told Amelia. “I’ll wait here and make sure she’s all right.”
She nodded, a delicate fold in the skin over her nose. “There’s something about her....” She paused.
“She reminds you of somebody?”
Amelia shook her head. “It’s more than that. It’s not even that I think I might have met her before. There’s just something so... familiar.” She smiled. “Never mind.” She kissed me on both cheeks and then headed for the door. “Let me know that she’s all right.”
“I will.” We said good-bye and I stood in the dining room watching the workers painstakingly chiseling away a small patch of rotten woodwork, something that would have tempted me to whip out an ax and make firewood.
A door slammed, and I looked up the stairs to find Jayne walking quickly down them, clutching tightly to the banister as if remembering the last time she’d descended them. When she reached the bottom, a loud meow brought our attention to the landing behind her, where the cat sat, licking its chops as if it had just eaten. I looked at Jayne, eager to talk with her, but she avoided my eyes.
“Stupid cat—I think it scratched me,” she said, and walked past me, pulling up the neck of her T-shirt, but not before I saw the unmistakable red welts that could only have been caused by fingernails raking across the pale skin of her neck.
CHAPTER 18
Ilooked out the front window to see if anybody had arrived yet for the predance party, then held up a tray of canapés to Jack. He shook his head, taking a sip from his glass of Coke instead, making the ice cubes clink. I turned my back and quickly shoved a Brie and prosciutto wrap in my mouth, taking my time replacing the tray and rearranging the other appetizers on the sideboard. I glanced up, noticing that the grandfather clock had once again stopped at ten minutes past four, and the food stuck in my throat.
I took a sip of wine to make sure the food was all washed down before speaking. “Jack—didn’t you have this clock fixed?”
He turned to it with a frown. “It wasn’t broken. I just wound it and set the time and it seemed fine. Has it stopped again?”
“Yes. At the same time as the clock at the Pinckney house and in the kitchen. I’m thinking that can’t be a coincidence.”
He sent me a knowing look, then took another sip of his Coke, and I knew he was wishing it were Scotch.
“Really, Jack, it’s just a dance. And we know Cooper is a very nice young man. Besides, they’re just going as friends. His sister will be there, as well as their friend Lindsey, with a couple of Cooper’s friends.Yes, there’s the age difference, but nobody’s on a date here—it’s just a group thing.”
“He’s nineteen years old, Mellie. I remember what being a nineteen-year-old boy is like. Very little brain matter and a lot of hormones.” He drained his glass and walked over to the bar to pour another one.
“Cooper is not you, Jack. I’m not saying he doesn’t have a roaring libido, but he’s a Citadel cadet. Surely they teach them how to restrain certain urges. Besides, you know how Nola feels about alcohol. She’s already told Cooper that if she sees anything that might resemble underage drinking, she’s calling you. Same goes for any of what you refer to as ‘hanky-panky.’ That should put the fear of God in them. They’re even renting a limo so they will all be together the entire time, and leave together, so no backseat shenanigans—to use your word, not mine.”
“Should I wait on the front porch cleaning my rifle just to send the right message?”
I started to laugh but then realized he might actually be serious. “No, please don’t. I don’t know what the other parents might think.”
“Daddy?” Nola appeared in the doorway looking beautiful and stunning and completely like her father’s daughter. I’d helped her select her dress, a pretty purple satin swing dress that was very retro but not too mini, so it wouldn’t make Jack’s blood pressure hit alarmingly high levels. I’d helped her with her hair—a small bouffant ponytail worn over the full length of her thick, dark hair that was flipped out at the ends.
Jack smiled, his worry erased from his face as he looked at his older daughter. Of all the things I loved about Jack, I thought it was his love for his children that I treasured the most, and that made my heart squeeze. Even when he was acting like a caveman.
He embraced her carefully, not wanting to mess up her hair or makeup, and kissed her gently on the forehead. “You look lovely,” he said. His smile slowly morphed into a thoughtful frown. “Did you put that Mace I gave you in your pocketbook?”
She rolled her eyes. “No, Dad. And nobody calls it a pocketbook anymore, either. Unless you’re old.”
The doorbell rang. Jack put down his drink and smoothed his tie. “I’ll get it. And if I don’t like the looks of any of those boys, I’m sending them home with a warning.”
“Daddy!” Nola called out with alarm.
“He’s only kidding,” I said to reassure her, although I wasn’t quite certain that was true.
The three young men with their uniforms and short-cropped hair looked exceptionally handsome. They were tall, and fit, and had perfect manners. The more I liked them, the more I saw Jack’s brow lower.
We already knew Alston and her parents, Cecily and Cal Ravenel, and Cooper, and introductions were made for Lindsey’s father, Michael Farrell. I knew Veronica, of course, and had met her again at my mother’s house but hadn’t spoken to her since Thomas gave me her sister’s necklace. I introduced them to Jack, who was friendly and polite, but it was clear his attention was on his daughter and Cooper.
