Page 97 of The Shop on Royal Street
“Don’t forget the break-in at the boutique where I’d sold most of the clothes from the attic. We’d already searched the pockets, so we know they couldn’t have found anything there, and right after that, we had the break-in at the apartment.”
“Definitely...” he began.
“Not a coincidence,” we said in unison.
A car drove by with its windows down, an old song by Tom Petty blaring out into the night.
“ ‘American Girl,’ ” Beau said.
“Two for two,” I said, then took a deep breath. “So, how do you want to handle this? I’m fine coming right out and asking Mimi how much she knows and showing her the negative.”
“Not knowing how much Mimi is already aware of, and because she’s my grandmother, please let me take the lead. Although I will admit that you’re very good at leaping with your eyes closed.”
I felt my defensive hackles rise. “I don’t—”
He held up his hand. “I meant that as a compliment. I think it’s one of the things I like most about you. Too many of us think too long and then end up missing opportunities.”
I looked at him and blinked, not sure how to respond.
“Yes. I just said something nice. Of course, sometimes—like your relationship with Michael—you land in the wrong place, but I don’t mind coming in to rescue you. But I think that’s how you and I work.”
I glared at him. “There is no you and me, remember? I thought I made that clear in Charleston. And I don’t need saving.”
He surprised me with a small smile. “We all need saving, Nola. In one way or another.”
To hide the sudden prick of heat in my eyes, I unsnapped my seat belt and opened my door.
•••
As we approached the house, a thin shaft of light shone from an opening between the front doors. Beau stopped and put a hand on my arm. “Wait here,” he said, and began moving forward.
I whipped out my phone, ready to dial 9-1-1, and began following him. He turned around and looked at me. After sighing heavily, he proceeded to walk up onto the front porch with me close behind.
He stopped in front of the doors. “Can you stay here while I make sure everything’s okay? If you hear me shout, call the police. Otherwise, wait until I call you or come get you.”
“What about a weapon?” I whispered.
We both looked through the opening between the doors, our gazes landing on the same bronze candelabra on the vestibule table. Beau nodded once, then walked inside, picking up the candelabra as he passed it before he disappeared into the house.
I nervously shifted my feet and checked my phone for exactly three minutes before deciding I couldn’t wait outside for another second. I stepped inside the vestibule, leaving the door cracked just in case we needed to make a quick exit. Feeling inordinately glad that I hadn’t worn shoes over my fuzzy socks, I moved soundlessly forward into the foyer, listening for Beau or Mimi. Or someone else. Theticking andtocking of antique clocks throughout the house was the only sound of habitation, the Hitchcockian sound unnerving enough to coat my arms with goose bumps.
I crossed the foyer to peer into the front parlor and the dining room—both deserted—before retreating to the foyer and the single burning lamp on the hall table, unsure what else to do. I was afraid to begin wandering, afraid to get lost again.
I peered up the staircase, recalling the creepy room upstairs with the weird assortment of items from other people’s lives. I held my breath, listening for voices or footsteps, but hearing only the infernal ticking of clocks.
I put a foot on the bottom step, telling myself I was going to go only to the top and determine if I could hear or see anything, and then come right back down to wait for Beau, but I hesitated. The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end, a sure indication that someone was looking at me. Someone, or something.
Turning slowly, I found myself facing the dark gaze of the man in the portrait. Dr.Charles Ryan. Fighting my instincts to either run up the stairs or bolt out the front door, I took a step closer to the painting, studying his face. Trying to uncover its secrets. Except it looked the same as it had when I’d first visited the house.
Same navy blue suit and wide tie that I remembered, along with the thick light brown hair with streaks of gray atop the handsome, strong-boned face. But it was his eyes, then as now, that drew my attention. Blue and piercing, they followed me as I walked closer, drawn to stand in front of the portrait, allowing that blue gaze to bore into me. It was almost as if he were trying to say something to me, something I felt I needed to hear.
As if being prodded, I allowed my gaze to drift down to the man’s chest, to the striped tie. To the silver tie pin. The tie pin with the caduceus emblazoned on it. My gaze dropped to the jacket pocket with just the top edge of a white handkerchief protruding from the top. And the tip of the slender stem of a pipe sticking out of the corner.
I’d been too mesmerized by the eyes to notice those two small details before. But now I could see only them as I stared at the portrait. I backed away, my gaze drawn to the eyes again. The light in them seemed to have changed. They no longer appeared to be challenging. It now looked as if the subject might have been asking for forgiveness.
“Nola?”
I dropped my phone at the sound of Beau’s voice. He stood on the stairs, his face unreadable in the dim light. I quickly retrieved my phone, relieved to see it still worked, with only a new crack across the screen cover.
