The Strangers on Montagu Street

by Karen White

  He put his hands on my hips and drew me toward him. “So when can I see you again?”

  “Tonight?” I bit my lip, embarrassed at how eager I sounded.

  Jack grinned. “As much as I appreciate your enthusiasm, I’m afraid I can’t. My mother’s been begging for me to join her on a weeklong buying trip to the Northeast, and since I don’t have the excuse of working on a book, I should go. She doesn’t like going alone, and my dad needs to stay behind to manage the store. Who knows—maybe I’ll find my next book inspiration while I’m gone. My mother already cleared it with yours regarding coverage for Nola if you weren’t available.”

  I tried to hide my disappointment. “So when will you be back?”

  “Next Thursday. It’ll give us something to look forward to.” He kissed my neck again, making me sigh. “And there’s always the phone.”

  I nodded, thinking of everything that remained unsaid between us, and knowing that none of it could be said over the phone. “Jack—” The alarm on my phone chirped, interrupting me.

  As I fumbled with my purse to pull out the phone and turn off the alarm, Jack asked, “What’s that?”

  “My alarm. I always wake up at six o’clock, so I set my phone alarm to go off fifteen minutes before my bedside alarm goes off.”

  He stared at me for a moment before responding. “That must be a ‘Mellie-ism,’ so I’m not going to ask for an explanation.”

  “A ‘Mellie-ism’?”

  “That’s what Nola calls all of your idiosyncrasies. Like how all of the clocks in your room and your watch are set ten minutes fast. Or how you stick labels on the inside of your drawers to show where everything goes. Mellie-isms.” He kissed me on my forehead. “I think they’re cute.” He reached over and grabbed his keys off the kitchen counter. “Come on—I’ll walk you to the car. I’m not in the mood to explain the birds and the bees to Nola this morning.”

  I allowed him to lead me out the door. And as he kissed me good-bye at my car I did my best to convince myself that what I needed to say to him could wait just one little week.

  My feet seemed to float above the ground as I went about my daily routine the following week. I was very careful to hide my emotions from everybody else, feeling it only fair until I’d told Jack, but Charlene wanted to know where I was getting my facials now, and my mother and Nola had each scolded me for putting the coffee grounds in the refrigerator and the milk in the pantry. Twice. Only General Lee seemed to have guessed the truth, and had taken to sleeping at the foot of my bed instead of on the pillow next to me, as if he understood that particular place was being held for somebody else.

  My work schedule was busier than usual, and I closed a record three times in one week, earning me my regular—and coveted—top spot on the seller’s chart in Dave Henderson’s office. Jack and Amelia were apparently just as busy, as associates in the antiques business wined and dined them from Boston to New York. Our phone conversations were brief, as if both of us were aware that a profound yet unacknowledged change had occurred in our relationship. We were explorers in uncharted territory, using blank maps. And I kept waiting for him to tell me that he’d discovered the truth behind his canceled contract, and each day that he didn’t I felt more and more guilt about keeping it to myself. Still, I convinced myself that telling him over the phone wasn’t an option, and that I would tell him face-to-face as soon as I saw him again.

  For the first time in my life, I had both of my parents to consult with about a major decision, but I knew what they would tell me, and I didn’t want to disappoint all three of us by going against common sense and reason. I recognized that I was acting like a coward, but the thing between Jack and me—whatever it was—was still too new and fragile to take such a blow. Like a person staring down a tornado, it seemed I was waiting until the last minute to seek shelter, hoping against all odds that it would veer off course and avoid me completely.

  The only thing that was clear to me was that the dollhouse had to go. The feud between William and his father had escalated since the discovery of the graves on Manigault property, and Nola seemed caught between them as they haunted her dreams, using her as a conduit to continue past arguments, tossing her bedclothes and anything else in the room into disarray. Mrs. Houlihan was threatening to quit, and Nola walked around with dark circles under her eyes. I’d had enough.

  On the morning Jack was scheduled to return to Charleston, I was awakened from a sound sleep by a shuddering rumble of thunder. General Lee dived under the covers as my eyes popped open in time to see a flash of lightning illuminating the room and a human figure standing next to my bed.

  A cold hand touched my arm and I bolted to a sitting position. Thunder growled as continuous bursts of lightning flashed through the room like the end of an old-fashioned film reel, the figure leaning toward me seeming to do so in slow motion. I dug my heels into the mattress, pushing myself away until my head collided with the headboard. I tried to meld into the wood as the figure leaned closer, and in the next burst of lightning I found myself staring into two wide eyes. Two very familiar wide eyes.

  “Nola?” I could barely hear my voice over the thunder.

  Her hand squeezed my arm with surprising strength, and when she spoke, it wasn’t her voice that came from her mouth, but something much deeper, and darker, and not of this earth.

  Lightning illuminated her very pale face, her eyes appearing hollow in the shadows. “We told you to stop her. And now you will pay.” The hand tightened on my wrist, cutting off circulation to my hand.

  “Nola!” I shouted, trying to snap her out of the trance or whatever it was she was having.

  “There is nothing you can do now to save her. You should have listened.”

  I struck out with my other hand, colliding with the nightstand and making the lamp wobble. “Nola—wake up! You’re dreaming; wake up!”

  The temperature dipped, and I sensed a pervasive light in the room that had nothing to do with the storm raging outside, yet the overhead chandelier and lamps remained dark.

  Nola. Wake up. It’s just a dream.

  It was Bonnie, her voice light and melodious. Nola lifted her head and I could see her eyes in the odd light as she blinked several times. Slowly, her gaze drifted to me and then to where her hand gripped my arm. She let out a cry and then covered her face with her hands.

  The light dimmed and then vanished. I struggled out of the bedclothes, hampered by a squirming General Lee, who was trying to do the same thing, and fumbled for the switch on the bedside lamp. I stood and reached for Nola, holding her in my arms as she wept.

  Her words were punctuated by sobs. “It was William and his father, and they were so angry. At you! He wanted me to hurt you and I couldn’t stop—” A choking hiccup cut off her voice.

  “Who, Nola? Who wanted to hurt me?”

  “The father—Harold. William was angry, too, but at something else. I think he was angry with Miss Julia, something about letting things go too far. And how it was all her fault.”

  I patted her back and waited for her crying to subside. “It’s all right, Nola. It’s not your fault—I know you wouldn’t want to hurt me.” I tried for a light note. “Unless I made you sing ABBA in public again.”

  Her cheeks wobbled in an almost-smile and I knew I’d hit my mark. I set her away from me, my hands on her shoulders as my mind tried to organize what I had to do next. “I want you to try to get some more sleep—but you can stay in here with General Lee. It’s almost dawn, so I’m going to go ahead and get dressed, and I’ll send my mother in to stay with you if you’re still asleep when I leave.”

  She swallowed as her shoulders relaxed, and a look of relief settled on her face.

  “I’m calling Chad first thing and having him bring a friend to move the dollhouse to your dad’s condo until we figure out what to do with it—please let him have your key when he gets here. I’ve got an open house this morning on Daniel Island, but then I’m coming right back here. Should be around e
leven thirty, so if you could be dressed and ready to go by then, we’re going to head over to Miss Julia’s.”

  Her brows knitted. “What for?”

  “To tell her I figured out what ‘stop her’ meant and find out why Julia’s asking for forgiveness. It’s time to put a few spirits to rest.” She nodded, our understanding that she’d never allow herself to be left behind not needing to be spoken.

  I didn’t mention that I was afraid to let her out of my sight, afraid that William and Harold might not leave her alone until we found all the answers. Or that her mother was still here, hanging on for reasons that continued to elude me.

  Nola and I stood at the front door of the house on Montagu Street, watching water drip from the old eaves and listening for the sound of approaching footsteps from inside. Nola rubbed her hands over her arms, and I saw gooseflesh despite the warm temperature. “It’s weird,” she said.

  “What is?” I asked, ignoring the obvious answers of “this house” and “its ghosts.”

  “I always have this creepy feeling when I’m outside the house and in the hallway. But never in the music room or in the Christmas room—which are pretty creepy but in a whole other way.”

  “That actually makes sense,” I said. “Julia told me that her father didn’t like Christmas and won’t go into that room. And the music room . . . well, I guess that only William goes in there, since he was the one who enjoyed playing the piano. Then again, William isn’t the most peaceful spirit, either, is he?”

  She shook her head. “No. But I’ve . . . felt him in the music room. Like he enjoys listening. I’ve felt cold spots, but none of the bad feelings that I get in other parts of the house. Like right now, when I feel like we’re being watched.”

  I nodded, not wanting to tell her that I’d seen the man in the turret as we’d approached, the man I was pretty sure was Harold, and how my skin had been prickling ever since we got out of the car.

  Dee Davenport opened the door, leaving only enough of an opening to stick her head out. “Miss Julia isn’t well. I’ve had to set up a hospital bed for her in the back room. I’m afraid she can’t see anyone right now.”

  I wished Jack were there, to charm himself in. Instead, I had to rely on my own devices. “This is very important, and I promise we won’t be long. Please tell her . . .” I thought for a moment. “Please tell her that I know what William and her father were trying to tell her.”

  She narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “Her brother and father have been dead a long time.”

  “I know. Just tell her. She’ll know what I’m talking about.”

  Dee jutted her chin in Nola’s direction. “Why’s she here?”

  Nola took a step forward, causing Dee to narrow the gap between the door and doorframe. “Because I wanted to tell Miss Julia how the party went. She wanted to know.”

  I looked at Nola with surprise. She hadn’t mentioned any of that to me. I watched as she regarded Dee with a sweet, almost angelic smile. Apparently, the ability to charm people into giving her her way was an inherited trait.

  Dee considered us both for a long moment. Finally, she said, “Hang on; I’ll go check.”

  We waited while she closed the door; then she reappeared a few minutes later. As she closed the front door behind us, Dee said, “You’ve got fifteen minutes—tops. Miss Julia doesn’t need a lot of excitement, all right?”

  We nodded and followed Dee to the room that was denied the cheeriness of the Christmas season due to the presence of the shriveled woman in a high-necked nightgown, who now lay reclined in a metal-framed hospital bed. A folded newspaper lay on top of the blankets at her feet, and an oxygen tank sat next to her, its rubbery tubes running up her nose.

  Her eyes brightened when she spotted Nola, then shuttered as her gaze settled on me. She motioned for Dee to leave, and with a sigh Dee placed a small hand bell on the table by the makeshift bed. “Ring if you need anything.” She shot serious glances at Nola and me, as if she expected us to force Miss Julia into a foxtrot or something equally strenuous.

  “Why are you here?” Julia asked, her voice gravelly, like she hadn’t used it in a while. Nola sat on the edge of a chair that had been pushed against the wall to make room for the bed, but I remained standing.

  “William and Harold paid a visit to Nola last night and shook her up pretty badly. They were blaming me for something, saying that it was too late for you, and that I would pay. They were talking about the construction on your property in Georgetown County, weren’t they? That’s what they were trying to stop—what ‘stop her’ meant. Isn’t it?”

  Her expression gave nothing away.

  “I’m assuming you know that the remains of a man and a woman were found buried on the property. Do you have any idea who they are or why William and your father didn’t want them found?”

  A Santa clock on the mantel chimed the hour. “You should try to be more informed, Miss Middleton. I’m assuming you haven’t read yesterday’s paper yet.” She indicated the paper at the foot of her bed, while I made a promise to myself to start reading the paper from now on.

  I picked it up and discovered it had already been turned back and folded to an inside page, where the pictures of a burned-out shell of a large house were shown together with yellowed photographs of Julia’s family. Squinting so I could see, I scanned the article, reading information that I already knew and had been printed in the previous article. Then my eyes stopped, stumbling over the words and making me read it twice before I understood what it was saying. For Nola’s benefit, I read out loud:

  The remains discovered during the land clearing last week have now been identified as those of two males, despite women’s shoes, corset bones, and jewelry being found with the remains of one of the bodies. Authorities are using DNA samples of a Manigault relative to determine whether there is any relationship to the deceased. Judging from the style of shoes and jewelry, preliminary reports indicate that the remains may date back to the nineteen thirties.

  I lowered the paper, then raised my eyes to meet Julia’s. “Could one of them be William?”

  She shook her head, her forehead creased. “I don’t know. I don’t! But I can’t believe it’s William. He told me he was leaving in his note. Why would he have gone to Georgetown, where people knew him?”

  “I don’t know. None of this is making any sense to me. We need to know who’s buried in those graves before we can even guess.”

  Julia’s eyes closed, and I watched the shallow rise and fall of her chest. “I suppose we’ll know something for sure rather soon. It was my DNA they took last week.”

  I considered her for a long moment. “If one of the bodies isn’t William’s, then why would they not want you to clear the land?”

  Her mouth compressed in a firm line. “My father would never want scandal to touch our family—regardless of whose bodies those are. He always placed the family’s reputation above all else.” She grimaced, an awful, ugly expression on her wizened face. “That’s how I always knew exactly how to hurt him.”

  I knelt by the side of her bed so I could look in her face. Quietly, I asked, “Is that why you needed William’s forgiveness?”

  She shrank from me. “Why are you asking me all these questions? I don’t know anything!”

  Angry now, I forced my voice to remain calm. “Because your brother and father are using Nola to express their anger, and we need it to stop. Now. I can also assume that you’d like some semblance of peace. And the only way I can figure out how to make any of that happen is if we deal with whatever it is that’s keeping their spirits earthbound.” I leaned closer to her and felt some satisfaction when she shrank back. “So why did you need William’s forgiveness?”

  She closed her eyes, and I watched as her fisted hands slowly opened like she was letting go of a long-carried burden. “Because I told my father things I shouldn’t have.” She opened her eyes but stared at a spot behind me, seeing something I couldn’t.

  I waited without
speaking, afraid she’d stop.

  Julia’s gaze traveled to Nola, then back to me. “I can’t . . . I can’t tell you.”

  I leaned forward and very quietly said, “If this was just about you and your family, I would leave now. But it’s not. Nola is an innocent victim of their maliciousness, which means that both she and I are now involved. So I guess we’re going to have to sit here and wait until you tell us the truth, regardless of how painful it might be for you.” I touched her hand. More gently, I said, “You need peace, too. Let me help you find it.”

  She closed her eyes again and took a shuddering breath. She didn’t speak for a long moment, and I began to worry that Dee would come back before I’d had the chance to learn whatever secret Julia Manigault had been holding on to. Finally, in a voice so quiet that I had to lean toward her to hear, she said, “I told my father that William liked to dress in our mother’s clothing and then go out wearing it.” She turned her head away, but I wasn’t sure whether it was from the shame of exposing William’s secret or because of what William did. “He always made sure he went to places where he wouldn’t be recognized. But I knew—had known for years. I always saw everything.”

  Her gaze reverted to my face as she searched for my reaction.

  I kept my expression neutral. “Why did you wait so long to tell him William’s secret?”

  Her chest rose and fell again in another shallow breath. “Because my father was writing his will, and had left everything—the businesses, the property, everything—to William. William, who could recite pages of poetry from memory but couldn’t add simple sums. I was the smart one, the one with business sense. I could have built an empire if he’d just seen beyond the fact that I was female. I thought that with Jonathan at my side it would make sense for us to run everything, and let William do as he wanted. We’d all be happy that way. I needed to make my father see.”

  Tears brimmed in the old lady’s eyes, and I felt the weight of guilt carried for over seventy years. “That’s why they argued that night,” I prodded. “That’s why your father killed him.” I waited for Julia’s reaction, to see whether I’d come close to the truth.