Page 65 of The Attic on Queen Street
“Sorry.” He clicked a button. “Wow—the college spreadsheet is pretty impressive. Have you shown it to Nola yet?”
I shook my head, then swallowed another bite of glazed doughnut. “No, because I’m not done. I need to add columns with all the deadlines for scores, applications, essays, and those kinds of things. Then she’ll be able to sort by date so that she doesn’t miss any deadline. And I’d also like to dress it up with fonts and shading.”
A shadow of a smile crossed Jack’s face. “How did we ever manage to get into college without modern technology?”
“Oh, I had a worksheet. I did it by hand in pencil. When I met a deadline, I’d make a huge check with a red marker. And I used highlighters in four different colors so that—”
“Thanks, Mellie. But that was a rhetorical question.” He closed the spreadsheet, then whistled. “You’ve got nine tabs open in your browser and all of them are treasure-hunting blogs.” His eyes met mine over the top of the computer. “You’ve been busy.”
“I’ve been bored just lying here and being forced to do nothing,” I said truthfully. “And since it involves us and our house, I want to know what people are saying. Which is nothing new, actually. Except that Blackbeard person keeps stirring the pot whenever the ongoing conversations begin to die down. He doesn’t mention me by name, but he—or she—claims that ‘someone close to the family’ is using their psychic abilities to speak with the ghost of Captain Vanderhorst regarding the location of the sultan’s diamond.”
“Do you think Blackbeard might be Marc’s online name? That would make sense—posting everywhere to get other people to do the hard part of researching the rumors for him.”
Jack raised his eyebrows. “Good thinking. That’s pretty much Marc’s MO. Wouldn’t surprise me at all.”
The sudden eruption of barking from three small dogs brought us both out of the bed and to the window, from where only a portion of the backyard was visible, so the dogs and whatever they were barking atwere out of view. The dogs were being kept in the kitchen during the filming, and they were very obedient to Mrs.Houlihan, who fed them and took them outside to do their business. She would never allow them to bark uncontrollably.
“Something’s wrong.” I threw on my heavy bathrobe and fluffy slippers and headed toward the door.
“Stay here, Mellie. You’re supposed to rest in bed, remember?”
I pretended not to hear and hurried out of the room and down the stairs, Jack close behind me, nearly colliding with Mrs.Houlihan, who had just come in the front door. She wore her hat, coat, and gloves and carried her large pocketbook, which undoubtedly contained a stack of the romance novels she enjoyed reading in her off time.
“I guess the paperboy skipped our house this morning, because the newspaper wasn’t at the curb.”
I remembered what Beau had said about the door being opened for him and the nice lady telling him to go upstairs. And how the newspaper had been on the hall table. It had definitely not been Mrs.Houlihan who’d let him in, which left me with warm feelings about Beau’s knowing that Louisa Vanderhorst had welcomed his presence in our home.
The housekeeper looked at her watch. “I’m so sorry I’m late. Traffic was horrible on the Crosstown and I had to take my husband to work because his car is in the shop.”
“No worries,” I said. “Take your time getting settled. We’ll go see to the dogs.” I met Jack’s eyes as we turned in tandem and walked quickly to the kitchen, where the back door stood wide open. I followed Jack out the door toward the sound of the yapping dogs, to where they stood by the cistern, growling like three avenging cotton bolls at the spot where the old kitchen house once stood. Their ears lay back, their usually plumed tails trailing between their legs. Beau stood next to them by the wrought iron fence, staring in the same direction as the dogs, his toolbox at his feet.
Jack and I reached Beau in time for me to see the long skirt and almost transparent form of a teenage girl slowly evaporate like steam overa pot, the wagging tail of an almost invisible dog soon following. I stooped to pick up General Lee, who had begun to whimper, and held him close to my chest.
“Did you see that?” I asked Beau.
He faced me, his light brown eyes cool and clear. “See what?”
I stared at him, waiting for him to tell me he was joking, because I recognized his expression. The look of denial I’d seen in my own reflection many times. “Never mind.” I picked up Porgy while Jack hoisted Bess, who, despite being the same age as her brother, was a good five pounds heavier. “We’ll let you get to work.”
Jack and I returned to the kitchen and put the dogs down at their bowls, which Mrs.Houlihan had already filled, then headed toward the foyer to speak in private. “What was that all about?” Jack asked.
“I’m not sure. He definitely saw the same thing I did—the girl and dog Nola and I saw near the grandfather clock the other night. But he denied it.”
“Should I be worried?”
I shook my head. “Louisa likes him. She opened the door for him and told him to go upstairs. I don’t believe he knew he was talking to a ghost.”
Jack met my eyes. “So why did he deny seeing the girl and her dog?”
“I have no idea. But I’d like to find out. I’d also like to know more about his parents. The woman with the wet footprints might be his mother, and I’d like to know why she’s still here.”
Jack’s phone beeped and he looked at it. “It’s from Desmarae. I need to take this. She probably has some more brilliant marketing strategies for me, like adding aliens or action heroes.”
“And I guess I need to go back to my prison.” With exaggerated slowness, I headed up the stairs.
“Mellie?”
I stopped. Turned. “Yes?”
