way for us to better understand what the instrument is telling us.'
She hoped that sounded reassuring, but Lila didn't look any happier.
They drove down in two cars, Cree alone in her rented Taurus and the Warrens together in the Mercedes. Following them, Cree could see Jack's head bobbing and swiveling as his right hand gestured vehemently. Obviously, the argument wasn't finished yet. But by the time they got to Beauforte House, it had apparently settled into the comparative calm of emotional exhaustion. The Warrens met Cree at the iron gate wearing chastened expressions.
They went up the broad stairs and between tree-thick pillars onto the front porch, which Jack explained was called a 'gallery' in New Orleans. The day had turned quite hot, but when Jack opened the front door a wave of cool, stale-smelling air poured from the interior. And suddenly the deep, shadowed porches and dense vegetation made sense to Cree: Down here, shade was all that kept houses from turning into ovens.
They went into a large entry hallway, where Jack took a moment to disarm a blinking security panel. A proud staircase rose along the left wall; double doors opened to rooms on either side. As Cree's eyes adjusted to the poor light, she could see more of the interior: fourteen-foot ceilings, tall windows covered by full-length drapes, antique furniture, darker doorways at the rear.
Open the curtains, let in some light, it would probably be a pleasant place, Cree thought. But the whispers were growing, like a chorus singing in the far, far distance. Very faintly, she felt the subliminal jitter, the sense of some activity just out of view or hearing. The vague, irrational sense that something was about to happen.
Yes, there was something here.
That recognition came with a thin blade of fear but also a tingle of excitement, the thrill of the hunt that she and Edgar shared. Cree's right hand found the controls on the fanny pack, turning on simultaneously the receiver- recorder and a voice-activated audio recorder. While one recorded changes in Lila's vital signs, the other would record anything said in the coming interview. Both were equipped with a chronometric tagging system so that the polygraph readings and voice track could be precisely synchronized, second by second, later.
Jack led them into the right side room. He flipped a switch to turn on a little galaxy of lights in a chandelier hung from the center of the ceiling.
'We keep the drapes closed 'cause with no one here we want to keep pryin' eyes off all these antiques,' he explained. 'Anyway, too much light'll degrade the old fabrics and finishes.'
The electric lights allowed Cree a better sense of the space, but they gave the interior a depressing, underlit, yellow cast. The slotted daylight around the curtain edges was bright, almost harsh, by comparison.
'I'm… not sure where to start,' Lila said in a tiny voice. Her earlier grit was gone, and now she looked around like a pursued creature trying to decide which way to run.
'Whatever is easiest,' Cree said. 'Why don't you just walk me through the house? We can focus on specific areas later. You just tell me whatever comes to mind, I'll take a few notes as we go, and if I have questions I'll ask them. Does that sound okay?'
Lila nodded.
The room they were in was the size of Cree's whole apartment, perhaps thirty by thirty, and was joined at the back by a wide, arched doorway to a second room the same size. Windows lined the outside walls, defined by the daylight that sneaked around the drapes. A massive marble fireplace coping and mantel framed a small, black coal-burning grate, and fine cornice moldings detailed the juncture of walls and ceiling.
Jack gave a running commentary: 'Originally, this front room would've been the guest parlor. Usually, it'd be closed by these sliding doors so's to be kept clean for social occasions, with the rear room serving as your main family living room. 'Course, for major social events the doors'd be slid open like they are now, making it one long room big enough for musical recitals, dances, and whatnot. These chandeliers are Baccarat crystal – they used to be set up for burnin' oil, then got converted to gas, and then finally to electricity7. Those portraits, that one's Lila's daddy, there's Momma, there's her uncle Brad… these others are of General Beauforte, his wife and daughters, various relatives – Lila or Ron can tell you more than I can on that score. The carpets and furnishings are authentic period items collected at great expense by Lila's daddy. Ol' Temp Chase, he had a more contemporary style, so a lot of 'em we just locked in the storage room in the back after Momma moved out. There's central air and heating now, and wiring of course, but mostly this looks look just as it did back in 1851.'
Shit, Cree was thinking. Bring a Realtor along when you tour a house, you'll get a Realtor's spiel. How to shut Jack up long enough to allow Lila to think?
Still, Lila managed to chip in, 'We used to keep it open – Daddy liked a big room. And he and Momma entertained so often anyway… Naturally, with all these antiques, we kids weren't allowed to run crazy in here, but one time Daddy let Ron set up his model train tracks all through both rooms.' She was still speaking in a small, shaky voice, but as Cree had hoped, being back here had triggered a mood of recollection.
They headed into the rear parlor, identical to the first, with four windows, coal stove and mantel, chandelier, all period furniture. Also a splendid, ten-foot-tall gilt-framed mirror with an unfortunate crack marring its heavy silvered glass. Jack talked briefly about the antique Turkish Ushak carpet and Chippendale tables, then led them into the hallway that continued from the foyer through the center of the house. The relatively dark hall had several doorways opening to rooms on the other side, and to a brighter room at the back – the kitchen, Cree saw. Through the open doors Cree saw a smaller room that was set up as a formal dining room, and a sitting room with very little furniture in it.
They paused in the hall while Jack flipped on more lights and told Cree that the moldings and fluted pilasters – flat Grecian pillars on either side of the main doorway to the rear of the house – were not really marble but wood painstakingly painted to resemble it. 'And the doors themselves, they're all Southern cypress, hand painted to look like white oak. Faux finishin' was quite a popular art, back then – '
'Jackie.' Lila's quavering voice interrupted him.
Jack pulled up short. 'What, darlin'?'
'Jackie, I want you to stay with me.'
He took a step closer to her. 'Well, of course, honey, we'll just – '
'No – I mean after what I have to tell you. After you know. No matter what you think about it. Even if it's the craziest thing you ever heard.'
Now Jack seemed to remember what they were here for. And gazing at the diminished, shaking creature that was his wife, he began to look a little frightened himself Cree was rocked by a wave of sympathy for them both: two plump, staid-looking little people standing on the trembling verge of chaos.
'Course,' Jack mumbled.
'Promise me you won't tell Momma? You won't tell Ron? No matter what? Both of you! I can't live with what they'd say, I already know what they think of me. You have to promise.'
Cree promised. Jack nodded and moved as if to put his arm around her, but then, confused, seemed to think better of it.
Once she'd gotten their assurances, Lila seemed determined to plunge on, straight into it. She turned and stumped ahead of them down the remainder of the hall, a woman running on utter desperation and not much else.
The hall ended in a large kitchen that had obviously been remodeled not long ago, with white-marble counters, cheerful yellow walls, tile floors, and brushed chrome appliances. The pleasant breakfast nook was surrounded on three sides by windows framed by bright, flowery curtains. Where Temp Chase had blown his brains out. Yes, Ron had gone to considerable lengths to get rid of that unmarketable 'ambience.' Cree could feel it, just barely – the dark paroxysm, the convulsive pain and confusion that had been lived here. But she pushed it away, held it down: Not yet.
'This is the kitchen,' Lila said. 'Isn't it the prettiest kitchen you ever saw.'
On her pad, Cree made a note of Lila's flattened affect. The recording unit in her fanny pack vibrated faintly, reminding her that the scroll would tell it definitively later. But watching Lila now she knew what it would probably show: ragged, generally rising indicators on all of Lila's signs since they'd come into the house, but not the telltale spikes and deep valleys that revealed a remembered or unconscious crisis. Not yet.
'Wasn't the original kitchen,' Jack said. 'Old days, they always kept the kitchen pretty separate – wood-fired stoves, too hot, and there was always the fire risk, so – '
Cree gave Jack a look and tossed her gaze to Lila. To his credit, he got the message.
'Down here is the library,' Lila said. 'Jack, remember I told you about that noise, I thought it might be
