Read The Strangers on Montagu Street Online
Authors: Karen White
Tags: #Romance, #Psychological, #Contemporary, #Fiction
The Strangers on Montagu Street (13 page)
She brightened. “I was in a movie once with Demi Moore. I was an extra, actually, but I had a speaking part. They cut all of those scenes out, but I was in a crowd scene at the end. Maybe that’s where you saw me.”
“Maybe,” I said, pausing long enough for her to explain why she was there. And why there was a yoga mat on the floor.
Her gaze traveled to my latte with the towering dollop of cream and the bakery bag with the grease spots on the bottom. “You must be Melanie Middleton.”
“Good guess,” I said, realizing that if Nancy had felt well enough to prep Charlene, then she must really be okay.
Charlene frowned. “That stuff isn’t good for you, you know.”
Catching myself before I rolled my eyes, I said, “Why are you here? And why are you doing yoga in the reception area?”
Charlene’s bright smile didn’t dim a single watt. “I like getting up early to exercise, and Nancy promised me that nobody gets here before nine except for you, and that you didn’t mind her chipping practice.” She patted the phone that I noticed had been moved to the edge of the desk. “I made sure I could reach it.”
I restrained myself from stamping my foot. “But why are you
here?
”
here?
”
“Oh, I guess I should have explained myself. I’m here as a substitute for Nancy while she’s out. She knew I’d be perfect for the job, because she talks about all y’all a lot, so I feel as if we’ve practically known each other for years. And don’t worry about training me. Nancy’s already told me everything and I’m a quick study. Plus, I’ve got Nancy’s number on speed dial in case I run into any trouble.”
“Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” I said slowly as I began to make my way back to my office. “I don’t like . . .”
“. . . to be disturbed before nine o’clock, because you need this time to organize your day and your calendars, although I can’t see why a person would need more than one. And I’ll be happy to pick up your breakfast on the way in each morning. Maybe something healthier. You’ve got a cute figure now and all, but with what you’re eating and your age, you can’t expect that to go on forever.”
I gritted my teeth and walked a little faster so I wouldn’t be forced to dump a hot latte on her.
I was just washing down my last doughnut when my BlackBerry buzzed on my desk. I glanced at the screen and saw Jack’s name and cell phone number. I flipped it over so I wouldn’t be tempted to answer. I needed to separate myself from him, and speaking with him first thing in the morning was a guaranteed way to make me think about him all day. I’d call him back at one minute past noon, so then I’d have the morning free from thoughts of Jack.
I’d just started my spreadsheet of the day with all of my appointments and bathroom breaks when the office phone on the corner of my desk rang. I hit the speaker button. “Yes, Charlene?”
“It’s Jack Trenholm on line one.”
My jaw clenched. “I thought you knew that I don’t take phone calls before nine.”
“But this is Jack. Nancy said that you always take his calls.”
I took a calming breath. “No, she’s mistaken. I’d really rather not talk to him at all, but especially not first . . .”
I looked up to see Jack standing in the doorway of my office. Speaking into his cell phone, he said, “Thank you, Charlene. You don’t need to patch me through. And did I mention how pretty you look in blue?”
I hit the disconnect button at the same time Jack shoved his phone in a back pocket. He looked better than the last time I’d seen him, and I wondered whether it was because he didn’t have the daily stress of dealing with a teenager to age him. Still, there was something in his eyes that didn’t quite match his usual self-assured Jack-ness.
Sitting back in my chair, I slid my reading glasses off my desk and into the top drawer. I didn’t think I could take one more reference to my age. “Hello, Jack. Lovely to see you, as always.”
Without being asked, he came inside and sat down on one of the two comfortable armchairs I had placed in front of my desk for clients. “Likewise. Although I will admit to feeling a little hurt that you’ve been screening my phone calls.”
“Sorry. But some of us have actual jobs that require us to work.” I scrutinized him, taking in his chin stubble, his wet hair, his slightly rumpled appearance that I found oddly attractive. “And it’s rare to see you awake and mobile at this hour of the morning.”
“Maybe I never went to sleep.” His eyebrows lifted slightly. I felt a little stir somewhere in the pit of my stomach that I attributed to too much sugar.
I forced myself not to blink. “You must want something if you’re here instead of in bed.”
He paused just long enough to make sure that my use of the words “bed” and “you” in the same sentence had not gone unnoticed. “I’m on the way to the airport, but I wanted to stop by and show you something first.”
“Shouldn’t you save all your personal viewings for the TSA guys?”
His only response was another quick raise of his eyebrows before he leaned over to the backpack he’d set on the floor beside him. He unzipped the top, then reached inside to retrieve a small object before placing it in the middle of my desk. I stared at the miniature piece of furniture, so exquisite in its detailing that it looked like the full-size version had been miraculously shrunk.
“What is that?” I asked, resting my chin on the desk so I could examine it more closely.
“When Chad and I moved the dollhouse to your mother’s, I noticed this miniature sideboard in the dining room. It looked really familiar, so I borrowed it to show my mother, and I was right.”
“About what?”
He pointed at the diamond-shaped inlays on the double-tier top of what appeared to be mahogany wood. “This inlay design is characteristic of Robert Walker. He was a cabinetmaker from Scotland who had a shop here in Charleston. His furniture is very rare and valuable now, and my mother had a very similar piece in her store a few years ago.”
I sat back in my chair. “Meaning . . . ?”
“Meaning that if what we’re assuming is correct—that the house and its contents were modeled after a real home—then the house was mostly likely in Charleston, and might even still be. That should help us find the original owners and find out whether any of them are still hanging on in the miniature version.”
“So no luck tracing previous owners?”
“Not much. Following the sales records, all I’ve been able to determine so far is that it’s been all over the South and spent a year at a house in Boston. The dollhouse doesn’t seem to be a favorite with any owner. The longest it’s lasted at the same location is a year and a half.”
I thought for a moment, remembering the figure of the boy and the broken dog, and could pretty much figure out why nobody wanted to keep the dollhouse for very long. “But if the house it’s modeled on is still here, why wouldn’t Sophie or I recognize it? Between the two of us, we know every single historic house in Charleston, at least by sight. But not this one.”
“Well, assuming it wasn’t torn down before the Preservation Society got its teeth into the area, it could be disguised. Over the years owners made changes to make a house seem more modern. We’ve seen Greek Revivals remade into Victorians and vice versa, depending on the current day’s style. Our house could be hiding behind a Georgian pediment, for all we know.” He slid the sideboard toward me. “I’ll let you have this now so you can put it back before Nola sees that it’s missing.”
“Good idea,” I said. “And speaking of Nola, I learned something interesting this week. We were in the car and that new hit by Jimmy Gordon, ‘I’m Just Getting Started,’ came on the radio, and Nola got pretty upset. Had us change the station even. Said that she’d met him and she didn’t like him.”
Jack leaned back in his chair. “Did she say anything more? Like how she’d met him?”
“No, actually. She made it very clear that it was a subject she didn’t want to pursue.”
He tapped his fingers against the desktop. “She and I need to spend more time together. Maybe while I’m gone you can think of something that a father and daughter could do together that would be fun.”
I didn’t think it would be helpful to point out to him that I had no frame of reference for that sort of thing. My childhood with my father consisted of me trying to keep him sober, or making sure he at least appeared that way.
Jack continued to look at me, but I could tell that he wasn’t really seeing me, and I wondered whether he was thinking about Bonnie. Finally, he said, “In the meantime, I’ll do a little checking on Jimmy Gordon. Could be he and Nola met through Bonnie, since she was a songwriter. Would make sense, I guess. It’s worth checking out, anyway. Anything to get through to Nola would be a help at this point, since nothing else is working.”
His voice sounded full of defeat. I didn’t want to, but I found myself feeling sorry for him. “How long will you be gone?” I asked gently.
His eyes brightened, and I could tell that the old Jack was back. “Why? Are you planning on missing me?”
I sighed, all sympathy vanished. “No. I just wanted to know whether I should be the one to check back with your mother about the piece of furniture. If you’re off somewhere having fun, I wasn’t sure you’d remember to call.”
He rested his elbows on the chair arms, steepling his hands in front of him. “I’m going to New York, but not for fun. Unless you’d like to come with me.”
Again, something stirred in the general region of my abdomen, and I made a mental note to skip the double cream in my latte next time. “I believe I mentioned that some of us are required to work. And have a teenager at home.” I sent him a pointed look as I sat up. I spread my hands on my calendar as an indication that I was ready to get back to work instead of ready to drop everything and join him. Which all of a sudden didn’t seem like such a bad idea. “Besides, I don’t think Rebecca would like it if you and I took a trip together.”
His eyes didn’t leave my face. “I said nothing about a romantic getaway with you, Mellie. I was merely implying that you could use some fun, and New York with me would be a great way to experience it. I didn’t for one moment believe that you would assume we’d be sharing a room and all that comes with it.”
I knew there were flaws in his logic, but I was too busy feeling flustered, because that was
exactly
what I’d been thinking and he knew it. Without dropping my gaze, I reached out to the phone and pressed a button for the receptionist’s desk. “Can you get me somebody on the phone? Anybody. It doesn’t matter.”
exactly
what I’d been thinking and he knew it. Without dropping my gaze, I reached out to the phone and pressed a button for the receptionist’s desk. “Can you get me somebody on the phone? Anybody. It doesn’t matter.”
Jack smirked as he stood. “Don’t worry; I’m leaving. I’ve already spoken to Nola, so she knows where I am and how to reach me. And you know that I appreciate you taking her in and keeping an eye on her.” He lifted his backpack onto his shoulder. “Just let me know if my mother turns up anything.”
My boss’s voice interrupted my mental struggle to come up with a parting shot at Jack’s back. “Melanie? Is that you? I don’t really think it’s my job to be placing phone calls for you.”
I froze, staring at the phone as I realized I’d hit the wrong button. “Sorry, Dave, my mistake,” I said in a voice I hoped sounded as groveling as possible. I looked up and saw that Jack had already left, but the sound of his laughter carried down the hall and through my open door.
I recognized Sophie’s new white Prius parked in front of my mother’s house on Legare Street. She sat on a curved iron bench in my grandmother’s rose garden with her left hand held out in front of her as if catching the sparkle of sunlight through her new ring. An unexpected pang of . . . something hit me hard as I watched her. It wasn’t jealousy, I knew. I was truly happy for her and Chad and really only wondered what had taken them so long to figure out how perfect they were for each other. I walked quicker, not wanting to have the time to examine my feelings more closely, afraid that the source might be more about lost opportunities and the passing of time.
“Hi, Sophie. Were we supposed to be meeting? I don’t remember seeing it on my calendars.”
She quickly placed her hand in her lap, then shook her head, her wild, unruly curls held off of her face at random intervals with several multihued scrunchies. “Nope. Was driving by and decided to stop in and see if you were home. Your mom and dad said I could wait. They were on their way to SNOB for dinner and then a movie, and told me to tell you that you don’t have to wait up.”
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