Page 12 of The Attic on Queen Street
“Of course she does,” Nola muttered just as a car horn sounded from outside. “That’s Mrs.Ravenel,” she said as she scooped up her backpack again.
“See you Saturday at the store,” Beau said. “The front display windows need to be cleaned. We’re expecting that shipment of Italian crystal serve ware that Amelia wants to put there.”
I saw Nola’s jaw working as she ground her teeth, just like Jack’s did when he was trying to pretend that he wasn’t annoyed. Without anotherword, she left. We waited a moment before hearing the front door slam behind her.
Beau turned his smile on me. “Nice girl. A little sensitive at times, but a nice girl. Speaking of sensitive—”
Sophie interrupted him. “Not yet, Beau. I haven’t had a chance to say anything to Melanie yet.”
The hairs on the back of my neck began to dance, alerting me to two things at once: I wasn’t going to like what Sophie was supposed to have told me, and it was no longer just the three of us in the kitchen.
“Say what?” I asked.
Beau held up his hands. “Sorry. I don’t want to jump the gun or anything. But when I first came to Charleston, I read Marc Longo’s book,Lust, Greed, and Murder in the Holy City. I’m sure you’re aware that you’re mentioned in the book along with his allegations about how you can talk to ghosts.”
I flicked a glance at Sophie, understanding now what she’d meant when she’d introduced me to Beau as the friend she’d been telling him about. If only laser eye daggers were a thing, Sophie would have been putting out small fires now peppering her hideous scarf. Or for real punishment I’d make her wear a solid navy one without even a hint of fringe.
Returning my attention to Beau, I said, “I wouldn’t know, because I haven’t read it.”
A brief smile graced his face as if in acknowledgment that I’d avoided answering the unasked question.
Beau continued. “I met Dr.Wallen-Arasi at a Charleston Library Society lecture about Philip Simmons and I mentioned my podcast to her. She told me that you were friends.”
I sent Sophie a look meant to emphasize the word “were.” “Your ‘podcast’?”
“Yes, ma’am. I host a paranormal podcast about real ghost stories. It’s just a hobby, something I started a couple of years ago because it’s something I’m interested in.”
“I have no idea what a ‘podcast’ is, but if it has ‘paranormal’ in the description, I probably don’t need to hear any more.”
“Sure—I get it. Dr.Wallen-Arasi warned me. I was just hoping...” He shook his head. “Never mind.” He straightened, smiled. “So, I’ll find out if my grandmother knows anything about the buttons, and I’ll work on an estimate for the fencing. You’ll probably see me out here taking pictures and measuring, but I promise not to disturb you.”
“Sounds great. Thank you, Beau. And do keep an open mind when you’re thinking about the fence. There are many more materials, many a lot less costly than iron, that would work and still look nice.”
He and Sophie wore matching expressions, something I imagined people facing an approaching tsunami might wear.
“Yes, ma’am.”
I walked toward the back door and held it open. “It was a pleasure meeting you. I’ll talk to you later, Sophie.” I smiled at her but I was sure I saw the fear in her eyes. “And, Beau?”
“Yes, ma’am?”
“If you call me ma’am one more time, you might find yourself a subject of your own podcast.”
He grinned, and I couldn’t be angry with him. Jack’s grin seemed to have the same effect on me. “Yes, ma—Melanie.”
From the corner of my eye, I saw something move. We all turned to see the Frozen Charlotte in her coffin standing up on the counter by the refrigerator instead of on the table where we’d left her.
“I didn’t see anything,” Beau said.
I faced Beau, who was staring directly at the startlingly mobile tiny coffin. “Me, neither,” I agreed. He looked at me for a moment before turning quickly away and leaving me wondering how much Sophie had told him. And why.
I shut the door behind them, then leaned against it and closed my eyes and wondered, for about the millionth time, what had happened to my once-uneventful and orderly life.
CHAPTER 4
I parked my car behind Henderson House Realty, feeling dispirited at the sight of two other cars. In my pre-Jack days, before parents, sister, and children were a part of my world, my job had been my life. I was always on the top of the sales leader board, and I’d prided myself on being the first person to arrive in the office. Until now.
I recognized fellow Realtor Catherine Jimenez’s silver minivan and our receptionist Jolly Thompson’s pale blue Camry. I touched the hood of Catherine’s minivan as I passed. The engine had already cooled. I apparently needed to wake up even earlier if I was to claim my spot on the leader board again.
