The Ultimate Seven Sisters Collection

by M. L. Bullock

  “You say she was having a séance? Who were these other people?” Detective Simmons pursed her dark red lips as she waited for my answer.

  “I don’t know exactly what they were doing. There was a lot of chanting, and it was just plain strange. Her friend was Henri Devecheaux, a local guy. He gave me his card.” I felt my pockets, but the card wasn’t in these jeans. “It’s at my apartment. I can call you with the information later. The other guy was William, William Bettencourt. He was a mutual friend of ours from Charleston.” I hadn’t yet told Ashland that William had been my sort-of boyfriend, and this was certainly not the right time to share.

  The officials were carrying out Matthews’ covered body. As they passed us, I shivered and looked away, at the ground, at the sky, anywhere else. I had never seen a dead body before, at least not in my real life.

  “Let’s go inside and get out of the sun,” Ashland offered. I followed him, and the detective walked behind me, but I was nervous about going in. I didn’t know how he had died and where. I didn’t want to be disrespectful.

  From the way that police were moving up and down the hall, I could tell that whatever had taken place here had happened in the Blue Room. Many tragic events had played out there, against a timeless backdrop of beauty and perceived elegance. In the current restoration project, the Blue Room was ground zero for our operations. It was our computer center, where my team and I worked to produce layouts for each of the rooms and gather the antiques and supplies needed to set them up as a living museum in honor of Old Mobile. It was my temporary workplace; when we completed the project, our work area would be moved off-site, but this was how Matthews had wanted it. He wanted us to work here, in the house. I didn’t know why, but I was happy to oblige—this was a once-in-a-lifetime gig. Now the gray-haired lawyer with the cold gray eyes was as dead as those buried in the mausoleum just a few hundred yards away.

  “Can you tell me if anything is missing from the house?” the detective asked. “I mean, I know it’s a big one and you’ve got a lot of boxes here, but could you and Mr. Stuart look around and tell me if anything is gone?”

  I nodded, and Ashland and I walked around, careful not to touch anything. I was happy to note that whatever fear had struck me the night before, whatever creepy apparition I had believed I had heard, was gone now. The warmth of the day and the cheery sunshine had pushed the shadows away, taming them back to the darkness where they belonged. We walked through the downstairs, except the Blue Room, and didn’t notice anything out of place. The detective followed us around as we did our inventory. The mantelpieces were there. The paintings from the LeMans family, very expensive paintings of antebellum pets, were still leaning against the wall, wrapped in paper. They had been Mia’s find.

  Finally, we climbed up the wooden spiral staircase, and I followed Ashland as we toured each room. The first room had once been the guest room, and all was in order. We surveyed each room with nothing to report. The door to Calpurnia’s room was standing open, and the chalk markings were still on the floor, evidence of Mia’s amateur séance. I shivered again, remembering the anguished cries of Mon dieu! Ashland put his hand on my shoulder.

  “Nope, nothing missing here either,” he said. “The only room left is the Blue Room. Is it possible for us to go in there, or should we wait?” I could hear the strain in his voice. For the first time, I noticed that he hadn’t changed since the night before. He looked crumpled and tired.

  Detective Simmons nodded. “Sure, let’s go see if they’re finished.” She walked down the staircase ahead of us.

  I grabbed Ashland’s hand. “Do you want me to go in? I mean, you don’t have to right now.”

  He gave me his best college football star smile. “No, I’ll be okay. I know he wasn’t a friendly guy, but he helped me through some rough times. I need to see what happened. Let’s go.” We headed to the Blue Room, now empty of emergency workers, except for a few stragglers talking quietly in a corner near the printer.

  Immediately, my eyes were drawn to my desk. The music box was gone! The one that one of the interns had handed me the day before. I had set it on my desk when I came downstairs. Now it was gone.

  “The music box is gone.” I walked to my desk and looked underneath it. “Can I pull out the drawers?”

  Detective Simmons looked at one of the other officers. “Yeah, we’re done in here,” he said. The pair left us with the detective. I opened the drawers on the off chance that I had stuffed the box inside one, but they were all empty.

  “What did it look like?” Ashland asked.

  “It was about eight inches long, maybe five inches wide, rectangular. It had an ornate domed lid, probably made from ivory with enamel and wood inlays. There was a dancing lady on the top—Rachel Kowalski brought it to me yesterday. I set it here.” Puzzled, I stood up and tapped my desk. I looked again and again, and it was certainly gone.

  “Was this item valuable?” Detective Simmons stood across the desk from me. “Maybe valuable enough to kill someone over?”

  “It’s valuable in the sense that it has historical value; it is an antebellum music box that actually works, which makes it rare. But as far as killing someone for it… I don’t see that happening. I mean, look around. If you were here to rob the place, wouldn’t you take a computer or some of the other equipment? You know, equipment that you could pawn or sell to someone? What are they going to do with a music box?”

  The detective gave me a crooked smile. “That’s the question, isn’t it? Listen, do you have a picture of this box you could send me?”

  “No, I hadn’t photographed it yet. It wasn’t really a part of any of the exhibits. I guess I could find a photo of something similar to show you. Might take a while, though.”

  “That’s fine. We’ve got plenty to work on here. I guess that’s it for now, then. You plan on staying in Mobile, or are you going back to Charleston?”

  “I don’t have any plans to leave, Detective.”

  She flipped her notebook closed. “Good. That makes my job so much easier. Mr. Stuart, I will be in touch.” With a curt nod, she left Ashland and me alone.

  Except for a few spots of blood on the carpet, there was no sign of a struggle or even a crime. Ashland sat in Mia’s old chair, leaning his elbows on his knees and holding his head. “I can’t believe this. Who would want to kill him? And why would they do it here?”

  I pulled up a chair close to him and put my hand on his arm. “Does he have any family? Someone we should call?”

  “I’ve got my office taking care of that. He had a sister, I think, but he never talked about her. I don’t even know her name. He said she was sick, and that was it. I guess I’m the only family he had besides her. I know he was distant, but he believed in this restoration as much as I do. As a matter of fact, it was Matthews that pushed me toward completing my family’s legacy. If it weren’t for him, I don’t think I would have even started this. But now that it has begun, I have to see it through. I couldn’t help my mother, but I can restore this place for her, and for my family, for the people who lived here—and died here.” He added the last with raw sadness.

  “Listen, do you want to take some time off the project, at least until after the funeral?” I wanted to help him, but I wasn’t sure how yet. This was a way to start.

  He gave me a weak smile. “No. We’re going to stay on schedule. That’s what he would have wanted.” He put his arm around me and hugged me. I hugged him back. He stood up, and we began walking to the door. “Going forward, I’m going to need more of your help with things around here. I am counting on you to bring Seven Sisters back to life.”

  “I’m here, Ashland. I’m not going anywhere.” I could see the tears in his eyes. I pulled him close and kissed him. We stood together at the foot of the stairs, our arms around each other. From upstairs, I could hear movement, and then it stopped. Ashland didn’t seem to notice, but as we stepped apart and turned to leave, I heard a soft sigh.

  It was probably jus
t the house, the wood expanding from the heat of the day, the metal shifting along the porch railing. Maybe it was a draft blowing through some silk curtains.

  Whatever it was, I wasn’t afraid. I had Ashland by my side.

  Chapter 2

  I heard some of the locals refer to summer days in Mobile as “slow as molasses,” but at Seven Sisters they were anything but. A few weeks after the murder, our contractor, Terrence Dale, was finishing up painting the last of the downstairs rooms as large pieces of heavy wooden furniture began to arrive. For now, we carefully wrapped and stored the pieces like the paneled armoire and the round entry table with intricate magnolia details in the music room. I felt like we were making significant progress, but there was a problem.

  “You know I am on your side, TD, but this is not the right color. This is a red-based burgundy—we need a blue-based burgundy.”

  He stared at me as if I had two heads. He was smart and talented, but he was wrong on this. Obviously, I could not tell him how I knew he was wrong, that I had been in this room almost 200 years ago. Yeah, that would sound crazy. I slung my hands in my worn jeans pocket, determined to have my way. I didn’t know why TD was giving me such a hard time. I had practically given him free rein over the Moonlight Garden. I did not argue when he wanted to place mirrors in the reflecting pool or decided to suspend white cast-iron chandeliers in the trees or brought in truckloads of white gravel. Why was he being so obstinate now?

  “Carrie Jo, this shade has Historical Society approval and is as authentic as you can get. I know you want historical accuracy here, and you’re getting it, but don’t you think you’re splitting hairs?” TD took off his hat and wiped his forehead.

  “I’m sorry, TD, but we have to change it. I know it seems like a small thing, but I must insist. I realize it will take time to get the room redone. Do whatever you have to do to make it happen.” Sometimes being the boss sucked, especially when I had to tell my team something they didn’t want to hear. This was one of those times.

  TD looked at Ashland for backup. He didn’t vocalize his request, but I could tell he wanted it. Ashland gave a nervous laugh and put his hands up as if to say, “I’m out of this.”

  “Come on, guys. You’re killing me here. I can’t bring just anyone in here for this job; the Motre Brothers are the best in Mobile County, and they have a really tight schedule. You know it takes specialized painters who know how to cut in around all this molding, and the paint has to be applied with specific materials…I don’t even know if I can book them again right now.” TD had a solid argument, but I wasn’t going to give way. Calpurnia and Christine Cottonwood deserved to have their home restored correctly. It was my turn to look at Ashland for support.

  He gave us both an uneasy smile. “You two work this out. I’m just the guy who writes the checks.”

  TD slid his hat back on his sweaty head and pulled it down snugly. He crossed his arms and stared at me. I had to do something to sweeten the pot. “I’ll help, TD. I know how to paint, and I have some experience with places like this. I don’t want you to get behind schedule…and…Ashland will help too.”

  “Hey…”Ashland said with a laugh, pretending to be irritated that I had drafted him for this time-consuming task. We had barely spent any time together recently. Maybe this would be a way we could rekindle that spark we shared that starry night on Mobile Bay. “Sure, I’ll help. But it has to be soon, like tonight or tomorrow night. I have to go out of town this weekend.”

  I smiled at TD and stood next to Ashland. The contractor gave in to my request with a regretful grin. “Fine. If you two are willing to help, maybe we can get it done in a reasonable amount of time. I’ll still call the Motre Brothers and see if they can take care of it.”

  Ashland eyed me suspiciously, “You know, you sure are being a stickler about some paint. Is there something I should know?” I had promised him before Matthews was murdered that I would come clean about my “gift,” but there never seemed to be a good time. Now Ashland had all the responsibilities that Matthews had managed, plus his own, and I had a living museum to reconstruct. Besides a busy schedule, Ashland seemed to be taking Matthews’ death pretty hard.

  I shook my head. “No, it’s just the wrong color. You want it to be right, and so do I.” I smiled innocently, hoping to satisfy his curiosity. He looked at me intently but thankfully didn’t push me further. I was afraid that if he latched those vibrant blue eyes on me for too long, I would tell him everything. I wasn’t ready for that. Inwardly, I cringed at the idea of revealing my secret to him. I knew Ashland didn’t care for psychics. Although I wasn’t one, he might think there wasn’t much difference between me and the charlatans that took his mother’s money.

  Fortunately, he didn’t press me. Instead we talked about Maximillian’s Chandelier—or the copy we had managed to procure. The replica of the massive legendary fixture was created using the original from the Hopkins County Museum. We would have loved to have had the original, but the Hopkins board said no way. Getting this replica was an achievement begun by Matthews, but Ashland’s charm had made it happen. It would be on display in the ballroom and wired for electrical lighting. The lighting company that created the piece had done a magnificent job of hiding the fact that the lights weren’t candles but tiny light bulbs that flickered just like the real thing. A special switch would allow us to select the amount of light and flickering that we wanted for the occasion. Proud of himself, Ashland opened the crate like a kid unwrapping a new toy. How was it possible that this guy could love history as much as I did? For Ashland, this wasn’t just about Old Mobile history; this was about his mother and her legacy. I respected that. I felt a twinge of sadness thinking about my own mother before quickly pushing it down as I had learned to do over the years.

  “Help me get this open.”

  I laughed. “You don’t want to wait for TD to come back?”

  “No way, I want to see it now. Besides, I’m not talking about hanging it by myself, just opening the box.”

  Uh-oh. I must have taken a whack at Ashland’s ego. I grabbed a nearby flathead screwdriver and a hammer; we pried the lid off and stood staring at the reproduction. It was ridiculously decorated with crystals and gold-toned chains—it was perfect. The floor was not complete in the ballroom, so it would be some time before it was hung. From the beginning of the project, the hanging of the chandelier was to be the last thing on the very lengthy to-do list, the crowning moment of the new museum. I sighed just looking at it. Of course this was only “Phase One,” getting the house and grounds ready. The more detailed work, like finessing the displays, would take time too. But I felt a kind of sadness just thinking about leaving Seven Sisters.

  We pulled the paperwork and inspected the chandelier, then Ashland signed off on the receiving invoice and sent it back digitally with his phone. “Let’s get something to eat. Are you hungry? I skipped breakfast this morning, and my stomach is growling.”

  “Sounds good. Let’s check with the two Rachels and Chip and James to see if they want to tag along.” Ashland looked disappointed; once again, I had misunderstood him. I quickly added, “Or I could just see if they want me to bring them something back.”

  “Okay, why don’t you do that, and I’ll go find TD and see if he got in touch with the Motre Brothers. I don’t mind painting, but that might mean moving my schedule around a little.”

  I gave him a guilty grin. “Yeah, I guess I should have asked first. Sorry about that.”

  “It’s no problem; I said I wanted to be hands-on around here, didn’t I?” He strode out the front door, and my pulse quickened just watching those big shoulders under his cotton polo shirt. Ashland Stuart was the handsomest man I had ever known. I couldn’t understand why some talented southern debutante had not scooped him up yet.

  I went to the Blue Room first, expecting to find Chip there manning the phones or hunkered over his computer, but the room was empty. I tried not to look at the floor, at the spot where Hollis Matth
ews’ body had lain, but I couldn’t help myself. Perversely, I wondered if he was still there, not him but an echo of him, something I could see in a dream. Had Mia killed him? I had heard them argue, but not clearly—not clearly enough to tell the cops about it. I missed Mia, but everything about her confused me. I lost my best friend, and I didn’t even know why.

  I peeked in a few more rooms, but I could hear voices upstairs. I stood at the bottom of the staircase and called up. “Rachel K! Chip?” No one answered. I climbed the stairs, my hand sliding along the polished oak banister; it felt as smooth as glass under my fingertips. I wondered how many hands had done the same thing since it had been built. Hundreds?

  The second floor, now empty of most of the boxes and completely painted, looked as if some loving family was about to move in. The white molding along the ceiling and floors looked crisp and clean. The reproductions of the original runners and rugs had not yet arrived, but the floors looked as smooth and even as one could expect. Sunlight streamed through the windows at the end of the hall, casting the area in a warm, golden glow. Despite the cheeriness of the sunlight and the warmth of the summer day, I felt a chill as I stood on the upstairs landing.

  All the doors had been left open, except the one that led to Calpurnia’s room. Further down the hall, in the master bedroom, I could hear James’ high-pitched voice. He was an entertaining young man who talked nonstop, and the team liked him despite his tendency to be pessimistic. Since he could work while he talked, I didn’t mind too much. I heard Rachel laughing along with him. “You guys…” I called out to them, a little irritated that they hadn’t responded. “I’ve been calling you!” I started to walk down the hall and invade their party, but I heard furniture scraping in Calpurnia’s room. I stood outside the door, my hand on the knob. Even though I was the boss, I tapped on the door, giving whoever was unnecessarily scraping the floors a chance to stop before I gave them a piece of my mind. The sound continued, like heavy wood being dragged across the floor. But no furniture was in the room yet, except the mantelpiece. I stepped back, my heart fluttering in my chest. I could see shadows moving under the door. I knocked again, this time the sounds of scraping and the moving shadows stopped. I turned the round knob; it was cold and the lock felt sticky, but I pushed the door open.