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  I crossed my arms. “And have you thought of a name for her?”

  “I was thinking we could name her after your grandmother, since she was so special to you. Sarah’s a good, strong name. Like for the CEO of a company, or president of the country.” He grinned, and my knees softened just a bit.

  “Is Jack Junior a presidential enough name?”

  Jack shrugged. “It could be. But he won’t have to be president or control a company. He’ll be able to have enough power and influence just from his charm. Runs in the family, you know.” He winked.

  I shook my head, trying to clear it, then surreptitiously slid a glance down the street, looking for television cameras or Ashton Kutcher to tell me that I was being punked. I turned back to Jack. “You traded in your Porsche for a minivan. And you’ve already named the baby.” I felt a little tug of what I could only call jealousy. My thought processes had barely made it to the point where I was thinking it might be time to buy maternity clothes. Jack had probably already started booking college tours.

  He took my hand, and the spark that shot up my arm brought me back to reality. “Come on and get in. It’s a really sweet ride.”

  He opened the passenger door for me and helped me inside before walking around to the driver’s seat, a decided swagger in his stride. He closed his door and began extolling all the wonderful features of the van. I could listen with only half an ear, as I was too mesmerized watching him. I hadn’t seen his face as animated since . . . well, since the night the baby was conceived. I would never admit it, but I was finding this whole new side of Jack rather hot. I closed my eyes and shook my head, wondering whether the pregnancy hormones would affect my thinking for the entire nine months.

  I started, realizing he’d asked me a question. “I’m sorry, what?”

  “You should also look into getting a new car. If it’s more than three years old, it doesn’t have all the latest safety features. I actually did a little car hunting for you—if you’ll look inside the glove box, you’ll see a few brochures.”

  More amused than annoyed, I opened the glove box and pulled out a brochure. I stared at the photo on the cover. “You want me to drive a station wagon.”

  “Not just a station wagon—a Volvo station wagon. So it’s stylish, yet safe. And it has plenty of room for a car seat as well as for your clients.” He grinned, making my heart do that swishy thing again.

  “So, you don’t think I should have a minivan, too?” I was only half joking.

  “I figured one was enough for this family, don’t you?”

  Family. The word caught me off guard, thickening my throat so that I couldn’t speak. I distracted myself by glancing down at my BlackBerry, scrolling for any missed messages or calls.

  “Where are we going?” he asked.

  I looked up, disoriented for a moment as I tried to remember why we were both sitting in a red minivan in front of my house. “I’On. In Mount Pleasant. It’s a mixed-use New Urbanist TND community.”

  “‘TND’?” Jack asked.

  “Traditional Neighborhood Development,” I explained. “Lots of sidewalks and front porches and shops and restaurants all within walking distance. I know it’s not South of Broad, but the houses are beautiful and replicas of many of the historical houses here, except they’re new. There are a few available with beautiful lake and creek views, and they all have nice-size yards. You did mention having a swing set and a pool—not something one finds in Charleston.” I neglected to add that I’On was close enough to me, but not too close.

  He was frowning. “I really wanted something old, and even something that needed a little work, so I could put my own personal stamp on it. I wouldn’t even mind a ghost or two.”

  Our eyes met for a moment before he returned his gaze to the road. “Be careful what you wish for,” I muttered.

  “Isn’t there anything around Tradd Street that we could look at first?”

  I struggled to keep my voice from sounding too strangled. “Do you really think that’s a good idea, Jack? Every time we get too close, it ends up in a disaster.”

  He glanced down at my belly for a moment before meeting my eyes. “Not always.”

  I blushed, and looked away. “Let’s just go see the two houses in I’On. All I ask is that you keep an open mind.”

  My iPhone buzzed and I looked at the screen before answering. “Hello. This is Melanie Middleton.”

  “Hello, Miss Middleton. This is Detective Riley. I hope I’m not catching you at a bad time.” His voice was low, deep, and Southern, and not at all hard on the ears.

  I glanced over at Jack. “No, not at all. What can I help you with?”

  “Actually, I was calling you with some news. Seems like the lab has some preliminary results back on the remains we found at your place.”

  “Wow—that was quick. The last time we found remains it took a lot longer to get results.”

  “The last time?”

  “Well, I didn’t personally find the remains. They were on a boat that had belonged to my family that sank in the harbor during the Charleston earthquake. Old story. Same with the two bodies found buried beneath my fountain.”

  “I see,” he said. “So you’re just a magnet for old remains.”

  If you only knew the half of it. “You should probably keep me on a retainer for all of your cold cases.”

  “I just might.” He paused. “Look, why don’t I tell you the news in person? I’m in your neck of the woods right now. Maybe over coffee?”

  I glanced over at Jack, whose fingers were gripping the steering wheel of the minivan so tightly that his knuckles were white. I wasn’t sure he could hear every word of my conversation in the enclosed space, but he could at least tell that the caller was male.

  “Actually,” I said, facing the side window so my back was to Jack. “I’m with a client right now and I’m expecting to be occupied with showings for most of the day.” I hesitated. I liked Thomas Riley, could even admit that I found him attractive. And he, by some aberration of nature, apparently found something attractive in me, too. But he wasn’t Jack. But he also wasn’t the man who’d said, “I’m sorry,” in response to my declaration of love, or who’d asked me to marry him only because I was pregnant.

  I cleared my throat. I had to move on from that pathetic person I had become, even if it meant leaving Jack behind. “How about dinner?”

  I could hear the surprise in the detective’s voice. “I’d love that. Do you like Italian?”

  “Love it, actually.”

  “Great—I know a terrific restaurant on King Street, if that’s all right with you. Can I pick you up at six?”

  “Perfect. But, Detective Riley . . .”

  “Please, call me Thomas.”

  “All right. Thomas, you’ve got to give me some clue as to what they found. I don’t think I can wait until tonight to hear everything.”

  He laughed softly, and I liked the sound. “The remains appear to be male, although with so little to go on, it’s really inconclusive. The bones have been holed up there for over a century—maybe even closer to two. I’ve put a call in to your friend Dr. Wallen-Arasi to help pinpoint a time when construction might have been happening on the house. And from what can be determined, the baby was most likely a newborn. Unfortunately, it will be nearly impossible to determine a cause of death.”

  I swallowed. “So it could have been a stillborn, or died naturally shortly after birth.”

  “Of course. Or not.” He paused, allowing me to fill in the missing parts. “Usually natural deaths aren’t hidden in the foundations of houses.”

  “Good point. Anything more on the gown and bonnet?”

  “Yes. They’re made of a very delicate linen, so most of it has disintegrated. The clothing seems to be much older than the remains. But the collar of the dress, which was made of a different material, is pretty much intact. Lucky for us, because somebody using silk embroidery thread conveniently left a name. Susan Bivens.”

&nbs
p; “Any idea who that is?”

  “No, but I was hoping you or Dr. Wallen-Arasi might.”

  I glanced over at Jack, who was still squeezing the steering wheel in a death grip as he navigated the entrance ramp onto the Arthur Ravenel Bridge that connected Charleston with Mount Pleasant. “We, uh, I have a friend who works in the historical archives. I can ask her to look.”

  “Great.” He drew a deep breath. “It seems I’ve told you pretty much everything. Are you still on for dinner with me anyway?”

  I could almost feel Jack’s eyes boring holes into the back of my head. “Of course. I’m looking forward to it.”

  “See you at six, then. I know the address.”

  We said good-bye and I tucked my phone back into my purse.

  “So what do we need to go see Yvonne about?”

  We. I’d noticed the word the same way I’d noticed the tightness in his voice. “The christening gown they found with the infant’s remains appears to be older than the actual remains, and has a name embroidered in the collar—Susan Bivens. Ring a bell?”

  He shook his head. “No, but I bet Yvonne could tell us. I can call her right now and ask for an appointment. When are you available?”

  I thought of my recent conviction that separating myself from Jack was best for all concerned. But then I thought of him selling his Porsche and buying a minivan, and how we’d made such a great team in solving mysteries together, and I hesitated. And then he looked at me with those blue eyes and I was lost, already forgetting that he didn’t love me, and that he’d probably break my heart again if I wasn’t careful. But like a lemming throwing itself off a cliff, I couldn’t seem to stop myself.

  “Thursday’s pretty open,” I said, trying not to squirm at the recollection of my nearly empty calendar. “Anytime—just not first thing. I need time for my stomach to settle first.”

  He smiled the smile that told me he knew he’d won, then pressed a button on his steering wheel to dial the call.

  I stared out over the Cooper River as we passed over the middle of the giant cable-stayed bridge. A tall-masted ship with full, billowing sails meandered toward us, an American flag with not nearly enough stars on it flapping at the top like a nervous bird. I sat up and stared, aware that the top mast was too tall to slip under the bridge unscathed. Just as I was about to shout something, the ship, with all of its people, sails, and flags, disintegrated, disappearing back into the mist of time from where it had come.

  “Is everything all right?” Jack asked.

  I nodded, not able to put a voice to the lie, to smile and say that seeing dead people on a regular basis and believing that Jack and I could just be friends was a reasonable existence.

  I turned my head toward my side window, then closed my eyes so I wouldn’t have to lie anymore.

  CHAPTER 7

  I stood in my quiet Charleston garden with my back to the Louisa roses and the fountain that sat beneath the protection of the long limbs of the old oak. A rope swing still hung from the ancient branches like something lingering in one’s peripheral vision. Despite my sure knowledge that Mr. Vanderhorst was gone, I couldn’t help myself from straining to hear the sound of the rope against bark as a lonely little boy waited there for his lost mother.

  I studied the bruised foundation of my house, crisscrossed with neon yellow caution tape, and the piles of debris where the box of remains had been found. The house was littered with spirits who were content to remain and leave me alone, and we gave one another a wide berth. But the spirit who’d been awakened with the discovery of the remains was not one of those. I shivered, thinking of the word blown icy cold into my ear. Mine.

  What had she meant? Although I’d not seen her, I’d felt, along with that frigid chill, that it had been the spirit of a female. For some reason that had made it worse, making it too easy for me to connect the angry woman and the infant’s remains.

  I closed my eyes, my thoughts in a whirlwind. In my resurrected diligence, I’d started purchasing and reading every pregnancy and early childhood book that I could find—including the ones Jack had given me. Among all the “breast-feeding is best” and “natural childbirth” admonitions, there was more than enough literature on the physical changes after birth, sex after a baby (I easily skipped over those chapters), leaking breasts, and postpartum depression.

  My mother assured me that she hadn’t had any issues with the latter, and that comforted me. But when I thought of the dead infant, and the angry spirit of the woman, I couldn’t help but wonder.

  I turned away, my early-morning nausea threatening a reappearance. My gaze wandered toward the groomed bushes and paths of my father’s parterre garden. Although it had originally been designed by the famous landscape architect Loutrel Briggs, my father had resurrected the garden as his housewarming gift to me while also giving him a purpose and focus while attending AA meetings.

  Narrowing my eyes, I examined the large corner lot and gardens with my Realtor’s eyes, realizing that there was room for a small lap pool and swing set—just like what Jack was looking for. We’d seen several such lots the previous day in I’On, but the houses had been too “new” for Jack. I made a mental note to look for more corner lots in Charleston’s many historic neighborhoods—all except South of Broad.

  “Mellie?”

  I swung around and saw Nola standing outside the kitchen door.

  “Hi, Nola,” I said, walking toward her with a smile. It was Saturday, so instead of wearing her school uniform, she wore an eclectic combination of leggings, purple high-tops, a denim skirt, Ashley Hall T-shirt with hand-stitched peace-sign appliqués, and a rainbow-colored scarf—eerily reminiscent of one I’d seen Sophie wear—draped artfully around her neck. She and Sophie might shop at the same stores, but Nola had an element of style that Sophie, very contentedly, lacked.

  “Nice outfit,” she said.

  I looked down at my oversize T-shirt that I’d swiped from my father’s drawer, and the baggy white capris with the loosely knotted drawstring Mrs. Houlihan had given me out of pity. She said they had belonged to her daughter, but I had the horrible suspicion that they had actually belonged to the robust Mrs. Houlihan herself.

  “Thanks,” I said. “I haven’t had a chance to go shopping yet for maternity clothes.”

  “Been busy showing houses to my dad?” Her blue eyes narrowed as she examined the garden, and I wondered whether she was thinking the same thing I had.

  “Pretty much. And doing lots of reading about pregnancy and childbirth. I like to be informed.” I left out the fact that I’d also started preparing a spreadsheet with the projected changes to my body and the baby’s on a week-by-week basis. I definitely didn’t tell her that my projected weight at the end of the nine months—assuming I gained at the same rate as the first two—would double my prepregnancy body weight.

  “Cool. Now I can get all the gross pregnancy stuff from both you and my dad. You know, I think I could live my whole life very happily without ever hearing the words ‘placenta’ or ‘afterbirth.’ Well, unless I get unlucky enough to actually fall in love and get married and then have a kid of my own. Not necessarily in that order,” she said, her gaze flicking over me.

  I walked into the kitchen, enjoying the cool blast of air-conditioning. Eager to change the subject, I said, “Have you had breakfast?” I stood inside the pantry door, my hand hovering over the box of glazed doughnuts I had surreptitiously put there after Mrs. Houlihan left for the weekend.

  “Yeah. I just came over to see if I could practice the piano for an hour or so.”

  My gaze settled on the box of organic cardboard cornflakes Sophie had given me, along with a recipe book for homemade baby food—neither of which I had any intention of actually using. “Sure. As soon as I’m done with breakfast, I’ll be in the front parlor with my laptop catching up on some work. I enjoy listening to you play, so you won’t be disturbing me at all.”

  “Cool.” Instead of leaving, she sat down in one of the kitchen c
hairs and folded her hands in front of her.

  With an inward sigh and a last lingering look at the doughnuts, I picked up the box of cereal and set it on the table.

  Smiling up at me, she said, “By the way, I think we need to have the piano tuned. Three notes are sticking and it’s a real pain. It must have been from the move, because the piano worked perfectly when it was at Miss Manigault’s house.”

  “All right. I’ll find a tuner as soon as possible.” I thought of the doughnuts in the pantry and looked at her hopefully. “Will you be able to practice today?”

  “Yeah. They only stick sometimes.”

  Holding back a sigh, I retrieved a bowl and spoon and reluctantly dragged out the carton of soy milk.

  When my back was to her, she asked, “So, how was your date with Detective Riley?”

  I turned to her, startled. “It wasn’t a date. We were just talking business. And how would you know about Detective Riley, anyway?”

  She shrugged and began picking at her black nail polish. “I may have overheard Dad talking on the phone with Grandmother.” She looked up at me with Jack’s eyes. “He didn’t seem too happy.”

  I sat down across from her and poured my cereal. I desperately wanted to know more, but I also knew with the same certainty that what Nola was trying to tell me had nothing to do with me at all. Focusing on my bowl, I said, “You do know that regardless of my relationship with your father, you are always welcome here. You’re like a daughter to me, and that will never change, okay? I’ll always be here for you.”

  She looked up at the ceiling as if in mid–eye roll, but I’d seen the moisture there. “Whatevs,” she said before pushing back her chair and standing.

  The phone rang and I ignored it as I always did, while I poured the milk over my cereal and stuck my spoon in the bowl, mentally preparing myself.

  “Aren’t you going to answer that?”

  I looked at Nola, confused for a moment before I realized what she was talking about. “The phone? No. I never answer my landline, since it’s always telemarketers. Anybody I want to hear from knows my cell number.”