Chapter Twenty-One

 

Though I really did think Veronica’s idea for a preview tour of the mansion was a good plan, rushing the opening made a lot more work for me. Between coordinating furniture delivery, helping the decorator, and arranging a caterer for the reception, I didn’t have a spare minute to myself. I’d known that being the manager for Veronica’s new business would involve a lot of extra responsibility and the handling of millions of extra chores. I just hadn’t known how frazzled I’d be from trying to pull every last detail together on short notice.

But here we were after a frenzied week, ready for our Friday debut. I’d practiced my tour guide speech, tried on my dress, and assured Veronica that all was well. I glanced at my watch. Almost time for the caterers to arrive and start setting up in the main parlor. I’d had the furniture moved to the attic and buffet tables set up in place of the couches.

I peeped in the door for a final check of the room. Perfect, except that someone had left a lamp on the floor in a corner. I picked it up, extra careful to cradle it in both arms. I’d seen the inventory list Veronica had made for the insurance company and the lamps in the house were pricey.

When I got to the attic, I made sure to prop the door. Jack had promised that one of his men would repair the sticky lock before leaving, but he’d apparently forgotten. One more detail for me to worry about. I made a mental note to have Veronica call him Monday.

Though I still didn’t believe in ghosts, the attic gave me an eerie feeling I couldn’t seem to shake. It was supposed to be haunted. I peered from side to side in the dim light of the single bulb hanging from the ceiling. Nothing here, except a few old boxes and the stored furniture draped with cloth that made the couch look like a resting camel and the chairs and end tables look like—well, something that shouldn’t be there. Hidden monsters, perhaps.

I shivered. Get a grip, I told myself. Nothing but opening night jitters.

I scurried back downstairs like a mouse escaping from a burning building. I’d be fine once I had the first tour out of the way. And I wouldn’t have to worry about being alone in the house for long. Even if Trinity didn’t take the job I’d offer, someone would.

A knock sounded at the front door. I pulled it open and was relieved to see the caterer, Diane.

She waited on the steps with her mini entourage close behind her holding boxes. “All set?”

“Just finished the final detail.” I motioned her and the junior caterers inside.

We were putting the last of the fruit on the table when Veronica arrived, quickly followed by DeLorean, Patty and Kyle--and Jack. I should have figured Veronica would invite him. Mama had stayed home with Cole. He was still teething and his wails of distress had probably kept the whole neighborhood awake for the past few nights.

“Hello, all,” I said, waggling my fingers at them and making sure my gaze didn’t linger on Jack for too long so he wouldn’t think he meant something to me. “You’ll have to excuse me while I change into my dress.”

After much serious discussion, Veronica and I had decided I’d wear a period costume, and though she’d kidded me about a hoop skirt, I’d persuaded her the hoop would pose serious difficulties during bathroom breaks. We’d settled on a simple design of an ankle length cotton dress. I had five in various colors—plenty to start. I’d passed on wearing a bonnet. Bonnets make me look like I’m auditioning to play an eighty-year-old grandmother on Little House on the Prairie.

I returned from the bathroom to find Jack and Veronica standing together in a corner while Patty and Kyle chatted with DeLorean. Judging by the expression on DeLorean’s face, I figured Kyle had just told her his latest taxidermy story. The other guests arrived soon after and I kept busy greeting everyone.

Veronica finally clapped her hands for attention. “Welcome to the preview tour of the Blackthorn House. I know you’re all eager to begin, so I’ll turn the proceedings over to Susan Caraway, house manager and tour guide.”

My heart pounding extra hard, I stepped forward and delivered a brief history of the house. We’d sent out brochures to everyone when they were invited, and I didn’t want to bore them by repeating information, so I kept it short.

After taking a few questions, I led the way out the back door and we proceeded a few blocks to one of Charleston’s oldest church graveyards. I halted the group near the entrance gate. “You’ll note the skull and crossbones on some of the stones,” I said, pointing downward. “Those indicate plague victims.”

The local reporters who had come for the tour were, no doubt, familiar with that particular aspect of local history. Even so, most jotted busily in notebooks and some took photographs. Veronica caught my eye and shot me a thumbs up. Jack smiled politely and I responded in kind. I’d mastered a cool smile that almost reached my eyes—a smile that matched his.

“Some visitors have reported a shadowy figure wearing a white dress standing near this grave in the corner,” I said, touching the stone. I suspected the white dress was nothing but mist, common enough in Charleston’s high humidity. “There’s a story about a young woman who died of yellow fever while waiting for her fiancé to return from a trip to marry her, though it’s not been confirmed that this is her grave.”

Flashbulbs went off. Mama would likely call for smelling salts when she spotted a photo in the local tourist guide of me in my costume standing next to a grave and grinning foolishly. I wondered if it would be legal to have the photographer Photoshop in a blob of dress-shaped mist to really give her a turn.

I motioned for the group to follow and we snaked our way out of the cemetery and down the street to another churchyard. On the way I told more ghost stories and pointed out supposedly haunted landmarks—bad guy hanged here, soldier died there, strange noises heard all around.

Patty caught up to me and linked her arm through mine. “Fabulous,” she whispered. “I knew you’d be a huge hit.”

“The tarot never lies,” I whispered back.

Back at the Blackthorn House we toured the downstairs amid much picture taking as I told stories about supposed ghost sightings in the mansion. I pointed out the painting of Eli Blackthorn over the fireplace mantle in the dining room. Eli, with his rheumy blue eyes and thin, sallow face, looked more like an underfed preacher than someone who’d instilled fear in the hearts of half the Charleston population during the 18^th century. But the guests seemed suitably impressed when I told them about his evil career as a plunderer and pillager and how he’d supposedly never moved out of the house he’d built.

Veronica dimmed the lights and I finished by saying, “Dark apparitions on the stairs. Bloodcurdling screams and strange lights in the attic. Mysterious thumps and bumps from the main bedroom. Blackthorn House is a busy place, especially at night.” Someone—I suspected DeLorean--let out a shriek and Veronica quickly turned the lights back up and nodded in my direction.

“This concludes our tour,” I said, taking my cue. “I hope you’ve enjoyed our preview and I know you’ll enjoy the reception.”

I waited until the guests had filled their plates before I got myself a glass of fruit punch and some shrimp puffs and went to mingle. I would rather have had the white wine Veronica had provided, but I’d be leaving for Virginia as soon as everyone left and I knew the wine would only make me sleepy.

The next hour whipped by and then the room started emptying. I escorted Patty and Kyle to the door.

“Susan, you are so lucky to have found this fabulous dream job.” Patty squeezed my arm. “Isn’t she Kyle?”

“Yes, I’d say so. Not sure I believe in ghosts, though.” Kyle winked at me.

Patty nudged him. “What? Haven’t I told you it’s not nice to question my beliefs.”

I laughed and watched them have a mock argument about the afterlife while they headed to Kyle’s truck. DeLorean gave me a quick hug and then went to fetch Mama’s Cadillac.

“Nice job,” Jack said, appearing beside me out of nowhere.

“Thanks” I stepped to one side to let a couple of caterers carrying a buffet table get past.

“Looks like the caterers are about done.” He glanced at his watch. “About time I got going, too. I promised myself a quiet evening at home as a reward for finishing this project.”

I glanced into the kitchen and saw Diane push open the back door and say something about one of her people needing to help her get the other table out of the parlor. I was reminded of the couch in the attic and the broken door lock. “Not quite finished, Jack. There’s one more detail--that lock on the attic door.” I glanced away from him. I’d almost sounded bitchy and I hadn’t meant to. Now that I wasn’t his buddy anymore, I somehow seemed to have lost all sense of how to speak to him and not come across sounding like a shrewish ex-wife.

“Not fixed? I asked one of my men to either repair it or put on a new lock. If you’ve got any tools around, I’ll take care of it right now.”

“It’s no bother. You can do it Monday.”

“No, I promised to have the Blackthorn House finished by preview night. Surely you don’t expect Jack Maxwell to go back on his word,” he said, plastering his hand over his heart and assuming a fake look of horror.

“It’s not a big deal, but since you insist on playing the gallant contractor who leaves no detail undone, go right ahead. If there are tools here, they’re bound to be in the storage boxes I saw up there when the men moved the furniture. In fact, I distinctly remember seeing an old hammer.” I’d rather have stored things in the carriage house, but it was in bad shape and Veronica had put off restoring it for now.

“Let’s go, then.” He peeled himself off the wall and motioned for me to follow.

“What’s this we?” He could find his own tools because I did not like that attic.

“You’re the Blackthorn House manager. I have no idea where the storage boxes are.”

“They’re not that hard to find. Honestly. You act as though the attic is the size of Carnegie Hall.”

Grumbling that being the manager did not mean I had to do every single thing, I led the way through the kitchen, up to the second floor, and then up the attic stairs. Being careful to leave the door propped, I flipped the light switch. After giving myself a few seconds for my eyes to adjust to the dim light, I walked in ahead of Jack, and slipped past the shrouded furniture. I tried not to shudder as I stepped over the dark blotch that was supposed to be a blood stain from where Devilhearted Eli had supposedly killed his wife’s lover.

“This place creeps me out, so let’s not take too long. Around the corner near the far wall I’m sure I saw some old cans of paint along with a couple of boxes of tools and odds and ends. There was even an old doorknob or two in one box, so there might be a lock you can use in place of the broken one.”

The light, partially blocked by stacked furniture, was dimmer in the corner so Jack knelt on the floor to see the tools. Behind me, something banged and I gulped, promising myself to stay out of the attic from now on unless I was with a tour group. Safety in numbers.

Jack stood. He held up a piece of rusted metal that might have been a screwdriver. “You don’t go in much for home repairs, do you, Nic?”

“What’s that suppose to mean?”

“Stop being so huffy. It means there’s not a single thing of use in these boxes. Everything’s about a hundred years old and rusted to pieces.”

“I said there were tools. It’s not my fault they’re ancient.”

“This has turned out to be a big waste of time. I guess I’ll have to come back tomorrow.”

“I told you not to bother. Monday’s soon enough.” I put my hands on my hips.

“Of course. I should have remembered you’re always right.”

“Me? You’re the one who—“

“Never mind. Let’s not spoil the rest of the evening by fighting. Like I said, I’ll fix it tomorrow.”

I shook my head. “I’m not fighting. But tomorrow I’m driving to Virginia for an open house at Christian’s college. And Veronica won’t be by the house until at least Tuesday. She’s tied up with that Ashley project and probably about a dozen others I don’t know about.”

“I still have a key.” He fished in his pocket and held up a key ring. I recognized the oversized brass key to the house dangling next to his car keys.

“Come back anytime you like, then. You can even come back tonight if you want.”

“Tomorrow’s fine. I have to admit, you’re right about this place being a little creepy. At night, anyway.” He rubbed at the back of his neck. “I keep thinking I feel something touching me.”

I raised an eyebrow. At this point I could have made snide remarks about him being afraid of ghosts, but I certainly didn’t have room to talk. Besides, I did not need to waste time picking on Jack when I had to get on the road. I could have waited until morning to leave, but I was wired about seeing Christian and about the drive and knew I wouldn’t sleep anyway if I went home because of Cole’s keeping us awake with his teething pains.

I motioned for Jack to lead the way. If there were any ghosts between the exit and us, he’d encounter them first.

Except it wasn’t a ghost that brought Jack to a stop at the door. I plowed into him before I could help myself, and he reached back to steady me and managed to keep me from pitching backward and falling over a blanket shrouded end table.

“What’s going on?” I didn’t have to ask. I’d heard the doorknob rattle uselessly when he shook it.

“Who in the world closed the door?” He thumped the door with the side of his fist. “Hey, anybody here? Open the door.”

“Open the door,” I parroted uselessly.

God, where were Diane and her crew? Gone, of course. While Jack and I had been busy sniping at each other like a couple of kids over a box of broken tools, they’d left, not realizing we were up here. That bang I’d heard earlier—it must have been the sound of the door shutting. Trapping us. In an attic that might be haunted, if there were such a thing. Right now, I believed in heart and soul in hauntings. Someone or something had to have closed that door. It could have been a draft—though I hadn’t felt a hint of a breeze when we came upstairs--or it could have been something otherworldly.

I let out a thin whimper. Jack tried to pull the door toward himself. It didn’t move even a fraction of an inch.

“Damn,” he said. “That door is at least two-hundred-years-old and solid as iron. Let’s sit down and think about how we’re going to get out of here.”

“Yeah, we’re smart people. We can solve this problem.” I felt so brave. Of course, if Jack hadn’t been here I’d have been hysterical.

Forgetting that only a few moments ago we’d been arguing, together we explored every inch of the space, banging and prodding and looking for I didn’t know what. A secret door, maybe? The walls were solid and nothing was even remotely promising as an exit. The windows were tiny and stuck shut and besides we were on the third floor with nothing between us and the ground except thirty feet of empty air. There was no door other than the stuck one leading back to the stairs.

“Looks like we’ll be here for a while.” Jack pulled the cover off the sofa and settled himself on the nearest cushion. “Might as well get comfortable.”

“Might as well.” I wanted to scream. What kind of fate had led to me getting locked in a haunted attic with a man who’d made it clear he liked me about as much as he liked poison? Could have been worse. What if T. Chandler had driven up from Atlanta for my ghost touring debut and he’d been the one who’d come up to the attic with me? I shuddered.

“You okay?” Jack raised an eyebrow.

“I’m fine.” I set my lips in a thin line and plunked myself down on one side of the couch. “Please tell me you have your cell phone with you.”

“Don’t you think I already thought of that?” He shook his head. “I left it in the car. Besides, I forgot to charge it, so it wouldn’t have done us any good. But what are you worried about? I’m sure your mother and your sister will need you any minute for one disaster or another and they’ll send out a search party when you don’t show up to sort things out.”

I jerked my chin up. Now he was the one being bitchy, only he was a man, so it was no doubt called something else, like leadership or strength of character.

“No, they won’t. First of all, you’re being unfair. I already apologized for the other night and I told you I’m not letting Mama and DeLorean rule my life anymore. So why are you even bringing that up?”

He shrugged. “True, you did. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have been sarcastic.”

“Thanks. And second of all, I was planning to go to Virginia tonight, so they won’t be expecting me home until Sunday evening, by which time…” I stifled a sob. “by which time I’ll be a basket case, especially if there really are ghosts in this stupid attic.” I narrowed my eyes to peer at a pale patch in a corner and concluded it wasn’t a ghostly mist, but just lighter paint on the wall.

He turned in my direction. “Aw, Nic. There aren’t any ghosts. I’m more worried about hunger and thirst, though I’m sure we’ll survive until Sunday evening when someone lets us out after you don’t return on time. Meanwhile, let’s make the best of things.”

“Oh, sure, when life hands you lemons, just make lemonade.” My voice shook. “Do you have anything else useful to say, Mr. Happy Face, or can I just wrap myself in the furniture cover and try to stay safe?”

“You didn't happen to pack your pockets full of crackers or store any provisions up here for emergencies, did you?”

“Of course not. It wasn’t as if I planned to spend more than a few minutes in this stupid attic. Ever.” A tear rolled down my cheek before I could stop it. “I don’t know why I’m being so emotional about this. I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault we’re trapped.”

“I know. I guess I meant I’m sorry about blowing up at you the night I had the flat tires at that motel.” Funny how I couldn’t get that night out of my mind. No, not funny. Wanting Jack to still be my friend even after we’d clashed over a stupid family crisis meant I had some kind of feelings for him. Even someone who was as romantically dense as DeLorean said I was could figure that out. And I had.

“You’ve already apologized, remember? You’re sorry, I’m sorry, we rub each other the wrong way and all that.” Deep man sigh--most likely indicating frustration followed by sad acceptance.

“I know, but it’s only that we’re in danger and who knows what will happen and I wanted you to know how I felt. I didn’t mean to get so angry with you that night, but you didn’t get it. Only it wasn’t you who didn’t get it, it turned out it was me.” Normally I would not have blabbed all this, but who knew if we’d ever get out of here? By Sunday evening we could have been taken captive by ghosts. Could they do that? Why hadn’t I paid more attention to Patty’s ramblings? But I had to stop torturing myself with horrible what ifs or I couldn’t possibly stay sane.

“What are you saying, Nic?” Jack didn’t sound nearly as upset as I was.

“I was mad because I liked you and I wanted us to stay friends, but I thought you didn’t understand about families and how they should help each other.”

“Why would you think something like that? I have a family, too.”

“I don’t know. I guess because I wasn’t making any distinctions between real emergencies and going overboard. That’s all I have to say. I apologize for—well, for everything.” I grabbed part of my dress and twisted it into a tight knot.

“Hey, Nic, you’re just a bundle of sorries tonight, aren’t you? Want me to break out the apology violins?” He pantomimed a violinist playing with elaborate bow strokes.

I glanced down at the floor and when I looked up again he was grinning and he’d somehow crossed the space between us on the couch without seeming to move. And somehow I’d ended up in his arms and then I was sobbing on his shoulder.

I fumbled a tissue out of my pocket and wiped my nose. I hated it when I cried, but it seemed all I did was gush like a stupid tear fountain.

“Are you saying you’ve changed your ways after all these years?”

He stroked my hair. A shiver went through me. More than a shiver. He’d awakened feelings I hadn’t had since--forever. I pulled away from him while I still could and then I wished I hadn’t.

“Pretty much. And, Jack, if you still want me to—I’d like to be your friend and go back to your new house with you and, I don’t know, help you decorate your den?” I sniffled.

That was as close as I could get right now to admitting my true feelings about him. If he turned me down, at least he wouldn’t know I felt rejected and embarrassed.

“Now there’s an offer I can’t refuse. Every man should have a stylish den designed by his best friend.” He lowered his head and kissed me. After a while—a long while, we pulled apart. We were still way over in each other’s personal space. Jack was breathing hard and his face was flushed.

“Wow,” I said. “So much for our famous lack of mutual attraction.”

“Not attracted? Woman, don’t you know the story about lack of chemistry was nothing more than a face saving rumor I started years ago to explain the fact that the cool and popular Jack Maxwell couldn’t get Nic Marsh to go out with him?”

“Idiot. I was dying to go out with you. And as I recall, I accepted every time you asked.”

“Then why didn’t we have one single date?”

“You know why. It wasn’t my fault that there was always a family…” I trailed off.

“Mama needed help in the kitchen and DeLorean needed help with her homework and the world was going to fall apart unless good old Susan took over and fixed things.” He shook his head. “Do you realize that every time we were supposed to go out, you had to cancel because of your family? What was I supposed to think? From my point of view you spent all your time thinking of ways to not go out with me.”

“That’s not true.” I swallowed hard.

Not exactly. But it wasn’t only my devotion to my mother and sister that had kept me from keeping my dates with Jack, I knew that now. There was my own fear, the fear of rejection and the fear of loss I’d never admitted to myself until last week. With T. Chandler the commitment hadn’t mattered because some part of me knew he wasn’t the one. But with Jack—well, it would have hurt too much to lose him, so I never let myself have him to begin with.

“It sure seemed that way. Imagine how I felt.” He tenderly wiped away a tear that was spilling down my cheek.

“I promise I’ll never let that happen again.” My voice sounded low and husky. I drew a shaky breath.

“Don’t get the wrong idea. I’m not saying I want you to abandon your family.” He locked his gaze on my mine.

“I know.”

”So while we’re busy apologizing, I’m sorry, too. I should have been more understanding, instead of making you feel like you had to choose between me and your family. Truce?”

“Buddies forever.” I slid my arms around Jack’s broad shoulders and kissed him.

It was another long kiss. Finally he drew back and said, “Uhmm, I had something else in mind. Something stronger than buddyhood and you’re in agreement if I read the signals right.”

“You did.” I kissed him again.

Hours later, after we’d explored the chemistry between us, we snuggled together under the cloth that the workmen had used to cover the couch. Jack dozed off and on for the rest of the night, but I couldn’t sleep. Someone had to keep watch for ghosts.

When the sun finally rose, I could tell it was morning by the dim light slanting in through the dingy windows at the front of the attic. I thought about tapping on the glass in the hope of alerting a passerby, but given the house’s reputation, people would likely think I was a ghost and run away screaming. We got up and searched the attic again, hoping we’d missed something last night, a secret exit or maybe a battering ram we could use to break open the door.

Hopeless. The place couldn’t have been any more secure if it had been Alcatraz in its heyday.

Jack and I would have to resign ourselves to waiting until Sunday when Mama and DeLorean got worried after I didn’t return. I hoped they started their worrying early.

But I hadn’t counted on Patty and her tarot cards. Thanks to Patty, the rescue party—Veronica, Patty, and Kyle—arrived Saturday morning.

“Don’t dare let that door swing shut again,” I said to Kyle after he forced his way in. Veronica called out and then came up the stairs into the attic to see if Jack and I had survived the night.

“You don’t have a thing to worry about. Kyle’s going to fix it right now, so this will never happen again.” She shot me an inquiring look. A grin slowly formed on her face and then she winked at me. I felt a blush warm my cheeks.

“Let’s go,” I said, waving her back toward the stairs and then getting to my feet. “I do not want to spend one more minute in here.”

“You sure about that?” she teased.

“I’ll bet you didn’t see or hear any spirits, did you?” Patty said in accusing tones when we got back to the kitchen.

“I’ve told you a thousand times I am not the least bit psychic. Zero. Zilch. Anyway, thanks for saving Jack and me. How did you find us, anyway? I mean, no one even knew we were missing, so they weren’t going to look and prospects for a quick rescue looked pretty grim.”

Kyle had followed us down after fixing the lock and now he picked up the cup of coffee he’d left on the counter. “Patty’s tarot cards.”

“Really?” I turned to Patty. “I’ve never actually believed in your tarot readings, but what can I say? Other than thanks.”

“You’re welcome. I mean, it’s miraculous almost. If I hadn’t driven into town to buy new tarot cards and seen your van parked here next to Jack’s car when you were supposed to be in Virginia, I never would have figured out something was wrong and called Veronica. The tarot doesn’t lie, Susan.”

“Evidently not.”

After all, even if the rescue by tarot was questionable, Patty’s cards had told her weeks ago that Jack was my destiny. I put my hand in his and squeezed. He squeezed back. I knew it was going to be a long time before I wanted to let go.