Page 80 of The Attic on Queen Street
Nola,she said again, the one word dripping icicles down my back.
I closed my eyes, waiting for her to speak again, feeling myself spinning with the stars, unable to stop.
She’s in danger.
I gripped the phone tighter. “From what?”
Only the occasional crackle of static came through the phone. I waited for a long moment, my knuckles hurting from my tight grasp on the receiver. I was about to hang up when I heard her again.
The tall man.
There was a click, and then a dial tone, letting me know that the phone call was over.
I quickly slipped on my robe and padded in my thick sleeping socks down to Nola’s bedroom, General Lee in my wake as if he needed to check on his big sister, too.
I partially opened the door and peeked inside. Nola lay on her side, facing the door, Porgy and Bess curled up against her in spoon position. They both looked up at me as General Lee got up on his hind legs to make sure everything was all right. Nola didn’t stir as I lifted the older dog onto the mattress and he snuggled in with the two pups.
Nola sighed in her sleep, a sweet smile settling on her face as she draped an arm around the three dogs. I watched her, wondering if I should head down the hallway and wake Jack to tell him about the phone call. The thought had barely crossed my mind before I dismissed it, knowing I’d be treading into dangerous territory.
Instead, I curled up in the oversized club chair Greco had insisted Nola needed, and waited until dawn broke and I knew that Nola was safe. For now.
•••
I had a hard time staying awake as Jack drove us to the Charleston Museum on Meeting Street for our meeting with Mandy after lunch. Even the discussion of the previous night’s phone call from my grandmother wasn’t stimulating enough to keep me awake.
“We’re here,” Jack said, gently shaking my shoulder.
I glanced up to see that he’d parked in the small lot behind the brown brick museum in apparently the last remaining spot. “You are the luckiest parker in the world,” I said, unclicking my seat belt.
“I usually am, but I can’t take credit for this one. Mandy said she’dreserve a spot for me and left a cone in the middle of the space. You weren’t aware of me leaving the car and removing because you were snoring like a chain saw.”
“I don’t snore.”
He raised his eyebrows. “How would you know if you snored or not?”
“How would you?” I shot back, regretting the words as soon as they’d left my mouth.
“Touché,” he said quietly, his smile slipping.
We exited the minivan and were met at the front door of the museum by a pretty redhead in her early thirties whom Jack introduced as Mandy Reeves. She wore a cinched-in minidress that advertised the fact that she’d never given birth to children, much less twins. Although Jayne’s prescribed torture of running most days had helped me shed most of my baby weight, my waist would never be the same.
She gave us a friendly greeting, and I remembered how Jack had admitted that they had once dated. It was only when I spotted the large emerald-cut engagement ring on her left hand that I relaxed. Which was foolish, really. I’d learned in my short marriage that there was nothing and nobody that could separate us. Except me.
We followed Mandy into the lobby of the museum, then up the stairs beneath the giant whale skeleton dangling from the two-story ceiling. I heard the murmur of voices that had started almost as a faint whisper grow louder as we followed Mandy through several exhibits of old silver, Native American artifacts, and ancient weaponry. I began humming “Mamma Mia” as we neared the textiles-and-fashion exhibit, where a flurry of otherworldly activity surrounding a midnight blue beaded evening gown in a glass case vied for my attention. Instead I grasped Jack’s arm and hummed even louder until Mandy unlocked a door and led us through it.
“Are you all right, Melanie?” Her green eyes looked at me with concern.
Jack patted my hand. “She gets this way sometimes when she’s trying to remember an ABBA lyric. She has to hum her way through it.”
Mandy laughed. “That’s adorable! My mother loves ABBA, too. I’m not much of a fan. Definitely for older tastes.”
She kept walking as if she was unaware that she’d just implied that I was old enough to be her mother. I tried to think of a way to let her know that I was probably only a decade older than she, but couldn’t find the words. Jack pressed his hand against mine on his arm, trapping it as if he was afraid I might strike out.
“Here we go,” Mandy said, opening up another door and stepping into an empty office. A group of paintings—all with cardboard protective corners on the frames—had been leaned against a wall. Four smaller portraits sat on top of the desk, facedown on Bubble Wrap.
“This should be all of the art from the Vanderhorst family found in the museum’s collections. I chose an empty office so you’d have room to look through everything. Just please don’t touch anything without putting on a pair of these.” She indicated a box with rubber gloves. “And do not remove anything from this room or we will all be in trouble.” She looked surreptitiously outside the door, then closed it softly behind her. “I’m not supposed to be doing this, so if anyone asks, tell them that you’re considering a huge donation.”
“Got it,” Jack said with a wink.
