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  “Don’t be so sure,” he said with a grin as he headed down the hall toward the bathroom.

  I quickly closed my door, pressing my hand against my chest, where I felt my heart thudding in a schoolgirl sort of way. I looked over at my bed, where General Lee was already waiting for me, his expression one of perplexity.

  “He’s not sleeping in here,” I said, as I discarded my robe before pulling down the sheets and sliding between the covers. With a sigh, the little dog climbed to the top of my pillow to settle in his regular spot while I arranged and then rearranged the fifteen or so smaller pillows around my body until I found a comfortable sleeping position.

  I listened to the sound of running water in the old pipes and then the click of the bathroom door latch opening before the padding of Jack’s bare feet on the carpet runner in the hallway approached my door. I stared at the fuzzy face on my bedside clock as Jack spent the better part of an hour rustling into his bedding in the hallway, and I was still staring and listening long past the time when General Lee started snoring.

  I lay awake so long that my previously comfortable position that I’d spent so much time constructing no longer seemed as comfortable. I tried to shift, only to find that one of the pillows was now a lump wedged into the middle of my back instead of supporting my hip.

  Biting back a groan of frustration, I stared up at the ceiling as if expecting an answer, but the only response I heard was another restless turn from the outside hallway and an increase in volume from my dog, who was now sleeping with all four paws in the air. Mrs. Houlihan had told me that dogs who slept like that were secure in their environment and knew they were loved. I didn’t ask her what a person who slept in a tightly curled fetal position meant.

  I began rolling from side to side, creating enough momentum so that I could launch myself out of the high bed. I landed with a thud, but before I’d completely turned the switch on the lamp, Jack was standing in the doorway, ready to pounce.

  “Jack! What are you doing, besides trying to give me a heart attack?”

  “I heard a noise and had to come investigate. That’s what I’m here for, remember?”

  I expelled a deep breath. “Sorry. I guess I landed too heavily on the floor. I couldn’t get comfortable.”

  “Me neither,” he said, looking behind me toward the bed, where the pillows now lay thick like marshmallows on hot chocolate. “Were you and General Lee having a pillow fight?”

  “I wish. At least that would have been more productive than trying to sleep while listening to you toss and turn. Are you sure you wouldn’t prefer the guest room?”

  “Positive.” He looked behind me again at my large four-poster bed with the thick mattress. “So what are all those pillows for?”

  “To help support all the suddenly bumpy, heavy parts of my body so I can sleep comfortably. It takes a bit of setting up, but usually it does the trick.”

  “But not tonight?”

  I shook my head, my gaze darting back to his face at the change of tone in his voice. My nerve endings suddenly began to stretch and open their bleary eyes.

  “You know . . .” he began.

  “I know what you’re going to say, Jack, and I don’t think it’s a good idea. I mean, what would Nola think?”

  “That you can’t get pregnant again? Or that two consenting adults could sleep together without sleeping together?”

  “Jack—be serious. She’s almost fifteen, but she’s still a kid. Shouldn’t we try to keep her that way as long as possible?”

  “She’s almost fifteen going on thirty-five. I don’t think there’s a lot that she hasn’t already seen in her life.” He held up his hand. “But I see what you’re saying. I could always set my alarm to get up before her. Because if I sleep on that floor I’ll need to walk with a cane tomorrow.” To emphasize his point, he twisted to the side, making his back crack in several different places, and then gave me a pitiful expression he must have learned from General Lee when he begged for food at the table.

  With a small groan showing an exasperation I didn’t really feel, I said, “Oh, whatever. But only for one night. I’ll call your mother tomorrow morning to see about a new bed for the guest room. . . .”

  The words were barely past my lips before Jack was at the bed, tossing all of the extra pillows onto the floor.

  “What are you doing?” I asked, horrified at the thought of sleeping without the padding.

  “I’ve got a better solution.” He pulled down the sheets on the other side of the bed and crawled in. General Lee looked up, then slid into the space between Jack’s pillow and mine, as if Jack’s presence were the most natural thing in the world. Patting my side of the bed, Jack said, “Come get in and I’ll show you what I mean.”

  My previously dormant nerve endings were now jumping up and down and shouting, Pick me! Pick me!

  Moving slowly, I closed the door, then flipped off the bedside lamp before pausing at the side of the bed. “I’m still not sure this is a good idea.”

  “Mellie, I promise to be a gentleman. The prospect of not being crippled for a few days is strong enough for me to keep my hands to myself.”

  I snorted. “Like you’d be tempted with the way I look right now.”

  He didn’t say anything right away, and I thought I could see his head shaking in the dim light coming through the curtains. “There’s not a lot you could do to yourself that would make me not want you. And the fact that you’re pregnant with my babies makes you even more beautiful to me.” I heard him patting the bed again. “Now hurry up and climb on in so we can both get some sleep.”

  I was glad I was standing so near the bed, as I wasn’t sure my knees would have supported me much longer. Thankful for the darkness that hid my awkward movements, I used momentum to drop and roll onto the bed, ending up pressed against Jack.

  “Have you gotten to the chapter in the book yet about comfortable sleeping positions?”

  His voice was close to my face, his breath warm on my cheek. I sighed, then refocused so I could answer his question. “No. I’ve been sidetracked with all of Sophie’s pregnancy and early childhood books. It’s not like I’m ever going to use any of the advice in them, but it’s fascinating reading.”

  “Well, here,” he said, reaching over and rolling me to my side. “Side sleeping is best. Then all we need to do is put this here.” I felt a pillow being nudged between my knees. “And then this here,” he said as he stuck one of the smaller pillows under my hip. “Lastly, this.” He moved up behind me, spoon position, and placed his arm around me, his hand resting on my belly. “How is that?”

  Like I never want to move out of this bed. “I’m comfortable,” I said. “Thank you.” General Lee let out the contented sigh I wanted to.

  “Good night, Mellie,” Jack whispered in my ear.

  “Good night, Jack.”

  I closed my eyes, feeling myself drifting into a comfortable and contented sleep despite my body being aware of every inch that was in contact with him.

  “Mellie?”

  “Um-hm?”

  “Thanks for calling me instead of your police guy.”

  “He’s not mine,” I muttered, already half-asleep.

  There was a slight pause, then, “Good.”

  And as I fell asleep in the warm cocoon of Jack’s arms, I imagined I felt the gentle pressure of his lips against the back of my head.

  Amelia and I stood at the open front gate, supervising the unloading from a Trenholm’s Antiques delivery truck of a queen-size bed to go into the guest room. She hadn’t questioned me as to why I needed it so quickly, but when she’d seen the boarded-up windows and noted Jack’s presence, I’m sure she figured it out. But hopefully not the part about him sleeping in my bed the previous night.

  “This is from that estate sale where I got the first crib I was going to give you. Of course, that’s not going to work now, because we’re going to need two, but I have a little surprise in store for you and Jack.”

  “Please don’t tell me you found two antique cradles. I’ve got enough of those. Or cribs. You know how I feel about antiques.”

  “I understand. Believe me, after that dollhouse I gave Nola, I think I’ve started to look at antiques a lot differently than I used to. And that’s saying something, seeing as how my livelihood is based on selling them.”

  “Luckily for both of us, not every antique piece of furniture comes with accessories.”

  She smiled, but her attention was distracted by Sophie, who was marching up and down the piazza in front of the boarded-up windows, talking loudly on the phone, occasionally wiping at her eyes with a handkerchief. She said it was allergies, but I knew that she was really upset about the windows. They were original to the house, after all.

  “Is she going to be all right?” Amelia asked, concern etched on her face.

  “I’m not sure. Thank goodness it wasn’t the Tiffany window in the front door. We might have had to have her committed.”

  Amelia nodded solemnly before turning her attention back to me. “I’m so glad your mother and father were out of town for this. Your mother would be quite distraught.”

  “I know. Which is why I haven’t mentioned it to her yet. I’ll wait until they get back. They went to Flat Rock, North Carolina, of all places. It’s up in the mountains with absolutely nothing to do. I hope they listened to me and brought a deck of cards and some good DVDs.”

  Amelia was looking at me strangely, as if somebody had just made a joke and I was the only one who didn’t get the punch line. “Yes, well, you’re probably right not to tell them. There’s nothing they can do, and it would just worry and upset them.”

  Sophie pocketed her phone, then stormed down the piazza steps toward us. “Can you believe I had to find somebody in Savannah to replace these windows? Pu-lease! Charleston has the best record for historical preservation in the whole country, has been a leader in preservation since even before it was popular, yet I had to go to Savannah to find somebody who could hand-make the replacement glass so that it looks like the windows in the rest of the house.”

  “Hand-make?” Of Sophie’s entire diatribe, those were the words that shouted out at me. “Um, isn’t that more expensive than, say, going to Home Depot?”

  She looked at me as if I’d just suggested putting General Lee on a spit and roasting him over an open fire. “I’ll send the bill to your father first for approval, but I went ahead and sent the dimensions so they can get started. At least it’s secure for now, and watertight—Jack did a great job.”

  “Yes, he did,” I said, not really thinking about the windows.

  “It should only take a month or so to get the replacements, so it’s a good thing.”

  “A month or so?” Amelia and I said in unison.

  Sophie shrugged. “They use all the old methods—no machines—so it takes a little bit of time. But it will be worth it.” She moved toward the open front door and stood looking up at the vestibule ceiling and the hanging chain. “I’m still looking for a replacement for this. Maybe the people in Savannah can custom-make—”

  “No,” I said. “Amelia has been kind enough to be on the lookout for a similar one that won’t send me to bankruptcy court. But thank you anyway.”

  Amelia passed us in the vestibule to follow the moving men, who’d been joined by Jack, moving the parts of the bed upstairs. I felt Sophie’s eyes on me and turned to meet her gaze.

  “So, what really happened?”

  I’d given her and Amelia a G-rated version—leaving out the three notes on the keyboard and the apparent displeasure of a disgruntled spirit after I said the two women’s names out loud—not wanting to worry them. I’d simply said that there must have been some sort of hairline cracks in the windows and that a strong wind had been all it took. They were very old, after all.

  “Remember the three notes that were sticking on the piano and how Nola thought that was some kind of a clue? Well, when she was playing the piano last night, those same three notes stuck again.”

  “Which three?” Sophie asked.

  I looked over my shoulder, as if I could still see any lurking spirits. Very quietly, I whispered, “C, E, and A. So I called Yvonne to see if there were any names on the Vanderhorst family tree around 1860—which is the year the foundation work was done—and there were. Two, to be exact.”

  She leaned forward. “Which ones?”

  “I’m not saying them out loud again—at least, not until my mother is here. We work better as a team.” I smiled, but the edges of it wobbled. I was more scared than I cared to admit. “They were John’s wives.”

  She rested her hands over her small baby bump, hardly any bigger than it had been during the previous two months. “I think I know one of the names—she wrote the postcard to her mother about the dining room table.” She frowned, thinking. Slowly, she said, “And I think I know the second one—but not from the family tree. It was in the postcard.”

  I looked at her, beginning to feel uneasy. “I’m trying to think of all the reasons why John’s first wife would be writing about his second wife in a postcard home to her mother during her honeymoon. Or maybe the second wife and the first wife’s friend could be two separate women with the same name.”

  Before I could speculate further, my phone buzzed. I looked at the screen, my previous uneasiness now pushed to full panic mode. “I’ve got to take this. It’s my lawyer.”

  The conversation was brief. I quietly listened as Sterling Zerbe informed me of what was happening with the Gilberts and their court order and his plans for what to do next. I said good-bye and hung up, then found myself staring at the dangling chandelier chain, wondering whether I should even bother to replace it.

  Sophie approached me with a look of concern. “What’s wrong?”

  “They’ve approved the exhumation. It’ll probably happen in the next couple of weeks. He suggested I be there to show a sympathetic face to the press.”

  My phone buzzed again and I looked down at the screen before hitting the “ignore” button. “It says the Post and Courier, but I’m sure it’s Suzy Dorf, the journalist. She’s zeroing in for the kill. I’ll bet she’ll be at the exhumation, too. At least then I can ask where she got my cell number from, although I’m pretty sure it was Rebecca.”

  Sophie rubbed my arm. “It might not be such a bad thing, Melanie. Don’t you want to know the truth?”

  I looked back at her, not having the first clue as to how I was supposed to answer her. “I’ll get back to you on that,” I said as I walked quickly out the door, then through to the garden, where the oak tree still stood sentry over the old house. I pressed my forehead into its rough bark, remembering the first time I’d seen it, and how even then, I’d felt as if the garden already knew me. I forced myself to remember, too, how much I’d insisted I hated this house, and the fountain and the garden, and wondered whom I’d offended.

  I gazed up toward the sky, past the space where the limb had been that had crashed into the fountain to reveal two graves, seeing the undersides of the tree’s branches that seemed to offer a shady embrace under its matronly arms. I closed my eyes and whispered an apology, hoping that I wasn’t too late.

  CHAPTER 19

  The following week, as I was packing up my briefcase for yet more house showings with Jack, my intercom buzzed on my desk. “Melanie? Are you speaking to Jack this week?” I heard the sound of clacking knitting needles behind Joyce’s voice.

  “For now. I’m meeting with him this morning for more showings, so tomorrow might be a different story.”

  “That doesn’t sound very encouraging, Mellie.”

  I looked up to see Jack standing at my open office doorway with his most charming smile. My blood did its usual swishy thing, while all my nerve endings stood at attention. Keeping my voice steady, I said, “Really, Jack. You should let Joyce and Nancy do their jobs and screen the visitors. You shouldn’t take advantage of the fact that they’re apparently holding board positions on the Jack Trenholm fan club.”

  “I have a fan club?” He raised an eyebrow as if he really wanted an answer.

  “Yes. All female, amazingly enough.”

  “Go figure.” He dimpled his cheek.

  I hoisted my briefcase off of my desk, but Jack held up his hand. “Hang on, Mellie. Why don’t you show me the listings here so I can nix them without wasting our time. Yvonne called me, asking if we had time to come over this morning. She’s found something she thinks might be of interest.”

  My shoulders slumped. “That’s not really the best way to look for a house. Looking at a home on paper tells you only a small part of the story. Seeing it in person, and getting a feel for it, and imagining you and your family in it, is really what home buying is all about.”

  He took the briefcase from me and set it back on the desk. “I know this is what you do for a living, and you’re very good at it. However, I’m guessing that I’m the one percent of the population who won’t compromise on the perfect house and will wait until he finds it.”

  I clutched my belly with both hands to emphasize my point. “Yes, well, it’s going to be very crowded in your two-bedroom condo if all of your kids are visiting at once. Perhaps you should learn how to lower your expectations so that the babies don’t have to sleep in dresser drawers when they’re at your place.”

  His smile never dimmed. “Oh, ye of little faith. I would have thought that you’ve known me long enough by now to know that I always get what I want, and that I will wait as long as it takes.” The expression in his eyes hardened just enough to make me nervous.

  “Always?” I asked, trying to sound flippant, but my voice rose a notch so that I practically squeaked the word.

  He took a step forward and my nerve endings began twitching in earnest. But instead of reaching for me, Jack plucked the listings folder out of the top of my briefcase. “Let me just thumb through these and eliminate the ones that I know won’t work.”

  Leaning on my desk, he opened the folder of one-page information sheets I’d compiled that synopsized each of the house’s features, square footage, price, date built, neighborhood, and photographs. One by one he flipped through them, taking them out of the folder and placing them facedown on my desk as he eliminated them.