Page 73 of The Attic on Queen Street
“I’ll have to check my schedule. Two o’clock?”
“I’ll even drive.”
“I’ll let you know.” I looked down at the red heart-shaped pillow on the grass by the bench, needing to change the subject. “I caught Marc snooping in the front parlor. He’s convinced that missing half of the Hope Diamond is here somewhere.”
“Wouldn’t that be great? If it were true. Marc must really be desperate for money if he’s believing everything he reads online. We can only hope that he does something stupid so that he’s the party in breach of contract.”
“Or that the film crew gets spooked enough to abandon the film set.”
“Either way,” Jack said, “we win. I’m beginning to forget what that feels like.”
I put my head on his shoulder. “Me, too,” I said softly. “In the meantime, I really need to figure out who’s haunting Nola and why she’s sending us warnings.”
Jack put his arm around my shoulders and pulled me close. “We will. We always figure it out together, don’t we?”
I closed my eyes, breathing in his scent.Almost,I thought.Almost.
“I just wish Rebecca’s pregnancy wasn’t interfering with her ability to see things in her dreams. Her premonitions are almost worth having to claim her as a relative and be nice.”
“Be careful what you wish for,” Jack said under his breath right before I heard the latch on the garden gate open.
“Yoo-hoo! Anybody home?”
Jack removed his arm from around me at the same moment I spotted Rebecca, turned out in her new signature mauve maternity coat and matching ankle boots and carrying two shopping bags with pink and white tulle spilling over the tops.
“Oh, no,” I groaned. “I forgot she was coming over to discuss her baby shower.”
“That’s my signal to leave.” Jack stood and picked up both twins with record speed. “By the way”—he leaned down so he wouldn’t be overheard—“I enjoyed our kiss. I miss that, too.” Then he straightened and called out a brief greeting to Rebecca before heading back to the house in the opposite direction.
I picked up the red heart-shaped pillow when I stood, playing with the ruffle as I watched Rebecca approach, suddenly aware that the pillow was soaking wet. As if it had been immersed in water.
I looked back at Beau and our eyes met before he returned to his work, leaving me with no doubt as to who had placed the pillow in his truck. Or that Beau knew, too.
CHAPTER 21
I left the house early to meet Sophie in her new office at the Cigar Factory on East Bay, leaving enough time to find a parking spot and sit in my car listening to ABBA as loudly as my ears could take it. I needed at least twenty minutes of the latter before I was able to block out the black-and-white faces of the deceased factory workers who apparently still felt the need to show up for work each day, and pressed their faces against my car windows as if I were taking attendance.
Despite the extensive renovations that had transformed the old factory building into luxury lofts, restaurants, classrooms, and office space, I had to walk quickly and pass the brick walls, wood ceilings, and newly buffed floors with my head down if I hoped to get in and out before any more restless spirits noticed me.
Sophie’s door—covered with posters of rainbow-colored peace signs; “shop local” reminders; no fewer than three house-hugger bumper stickers (including one that readHistoric Preservationists Make It Last Longer); and a ubiquitous anti-cruise-ship graphic—stood partially open. I gave a brief tap before entering.
Sophie stood from behind a cluttered desk to greet me. As usual when I first saw my friend, it took a moment to absorb her ensemble. IfI’d had to guess, I’d have said her toddler, Skye, had done her hair—if judging only by the sheer number of multihued plastic barrettes that covered Sophie’s curly hair like confetti—and had also selected her outfit. She wore nineteen eighties–style overalls with rainbow suspenders à laMork & Mindyand matching leg warmers pulled over the cuffs and up to her knees. I wasn’t surprised that her toes were swathed in rainbow knit that peeked out of her lime green Birkenstocks.
“Tenure,” Sophie reminded me as she answered my unasked question of how she was allowed to dress the way she did.
“Good morning, Mrs.Trenholm.”
In a corner of the room, Meghan Black straightened from a file cabinet she’d evidently been searching through, her pearls and cashmere cardigan standing out in marked contrast to Sophie’s outfit. Seeing the two of them together was a bit like watching the “before” and “after” of one of those “what not to wear” reality shows.
“Hello, Meghan. It’s good to see you again. Haven’t seen much of you since the filming at the house began.”
“I know. Dr.Wallen-Arasi has been keeping me busy researching brick mortars in the city and coming up with short- and long-term goals for brick walls that were previously ‘repaired,’ ” she said, using air quotes around the last word. “People who didn’t know better used mortar with heavy concentrations of cement. That kind of mortar is too heavy for old bricks and will crack them. It’s really devastating to see.”
“I bet it is,” I said, attempting to sound enthusiastic.
“Mortar needs to be the sacrificial element, not the brick.” She smiled at Sophie. “We should put that on a bumper sticker.”
“Great idea.” Sophie appeared serious and actually made a note on a pad of paper. Returning to her seat behind the desk, Sophie said, “So, what did you want to give me for safekeeping?”
