I could barely comprehend that level of desperation. It hurt me to even think about it. “That’s…”
“I know. I think by that point he was very nearly mad with grief. He became violent and uncontrollable. Called Father a fraud and worse. Father thought he would have to call someone for help, but John finally left of his own accord. That’s when he disappeared. No one knew where he’d gone off to. I think we all feared the worst. Then we began hearing those rumors that he’d been admitted to a private sanitarium. It was probably just talk. People love to embellish. But John did come back a changed man. He got better after a time, but when I saw him yesterday…” Ethan trailed off worriedly. “I think it’s that house.”
“What house?”
“Mariama’s house. Ever since the accident, he’s been renting a place on Sullivan’s Island, but he never got rid of her house. It’s a gorgeous old Queen Anne right off Beaufain. Mariama was crazy about it. I went by there the other day. The garden was well tended, the porch had a fresh coat of blue paint. I think he’s moved back in.”
“Maybe he was just ready to go back home.”
“Maybe,” Ethan said, but he didn’t sound at all convinced.
“Why are you telling me all this?”
“I don’t quite know. I just thought…here.” He pressed a piece of paper into my palm. “It’s the address. Just in case you’re so inclined.”
I was not so inclined. I told myself I was going straight home, maybe have another cup of Essie’s Life Everlasting and go straight to bed. I had a long day at the cemetery ahead of me tomorrow and I needed to rest up.
And I think I would have done exactly that had I not seen Devlin coming out of the palmist’s house across the street.
Thirty-Seven
I had just driven around the Institute and was about to pull onto the street when I saw him on Madam Know-It-All’s front porch.
They had just come out of the house, Devlin and a woman—the palmist, I presumed—and though I couldn’t see her features as clearly as his underneath the porch light, I knew she was attractive. I could tell by the way she carried herself. Really gorgeous women have an air about them. Temple and Camille both had it. Mariama’s ghost still had it.
Devlin appeared to be in the process of leaving, but then the woman touched his shoulder and he spun back around. There was nothing particularly sexual about the interaction, but I did sense some intimacy in the way he peered down into her upturned face and a measure of urgency when he took her by the arms. My window was open, but I couldn’t hear a word of their conversation, no matter how hard I strained.
I wasn’t proud of myself for trying to eavesdrop, nor for easing onto the street behind Devlin’s car when he drove off a few minutes later. I didn’t know what had come over me. I hadn’t been raised like this. Discretion and decorum went hand in hand in our household, and I had a sudden vision of how appalled my mother would be at my behavior. Listening in on private conversations. Following a man home without his knowledge or permission. Her imagined censure made me wince, but it didn’t stop me.
I had no idea how to tail someone—much less a cop—without being spotted, but instinct told me to hang back. Traffic was light so I allowed a good half block between us. But with such a wide gap, I was afraid I might lose him if he made too many turns.
Thanks to Ethan, I had some idea of where Devlin was headed. From Rutledge he turned right on Beaufain, then left onto a side street. I drove past the intersection and circled back, giving him time to park and get inside.
Switching on the interior light, I checked Ethan’s note as I drove slowly down the street, searching for a lovely Queen Anne with a blue porch and a well-tended garden. When I spotted the address, the windows were all dark and I didn’t see Devlin’s car. He must have parked around back, I decided. Or else he’d spotted me in the mirror and driven on by.
I checked my own mirror just to make sure he hadn’t doubled back and come up behind me.
No one was there. Coast all clear.
Now what?
Pulling to the curb, I shut off the engine, cut the lights and just sat there, my thoughts in turmoil. Why had I come here? I wanted to blame the impulse on Essie’s tea or the few sips of champagne I’d had at Dr. Shaw’s party. I wasn’t behaving like a woman who had always lived her life by a strict set of rules. I could see my reflection in the car window and thought,
“Go home, Amelia.” I said it aloud because I thought the words might have more power. Home to my safe, pleasant, empty sanctuary where I was guarded from ghosts and governed by my father’s warnings.
But I didn’t start the engine, didn’t turn around, didn’t drive off into the night. Instead I sat there for a while longer and then finally I got out.
Crossing the street, I stood at the bottom of the veranda steps, my face upturned to the sky. Clouds drifted across the moon and I could feel something in the air. A storm was coming. The drop in pressure tickled my scalp and I felt almost giddy with excitement as I lifted my arms and let the wind sweep over me.
It was a very liberating moment, a casting off, but then I turned toward the house—her house—and something darker coursed through my veins. Someone stood in the front window. A shadow that darted away when I saw it.
Shivering, I knocked on the front door. It swung open and I took a cautious step inside. “Devlin?”
I took a moment to acclimate my eyes to the gloom. Directly in front of me, an elegant staircase curved up and around to a wide second-story gallery. Beyond the stairwell, a long hallway led back into the house and to my right was a murky parlor.
Moving to the arched doorway, I allowed my gaze to travel over the old-fashioned furniture, which surely had not been Devlin’s choice, and the imposing portrait of Mariama over the mantel, which surely was. The air smelled faintly of sage and lemon verbena—like Essie’s house—with a musty undercurrent of dust, abandonment and unspeakable despair.
Veiled moonlight shone through the large front window, and for a moment I saw Shani standing there staring out.
She was tiny and luminescent, and as I stood there observing her, she faded into nothingness.
The fresh coat of blue paint on the porch had not kept out the ghosts. The chill of their presence surrounded me. Not just Shani and Mariama, but the ghosts of another life. The ghosts of a happy family. The ghost of the man Devlin had once been.
As I backed into the foyer, my gaze lifted to a flickering light beyond the gallery. I could hear music up there now, something exotic and tribal. A drumming that stirred primitive instincts.
Slowly, I climbed the stairs, calling out Devlin’s name. Some thing cold swept against me, the merest brush of a silk dress, and I knew it was her. A mirror hung on the wall, and as I passed by, I caught a glimpse of my reflection. Only this time…I didn’t see my eyes, my nose, my mouth. For a moment, I could have sworn I saw Mariama staring back at me, but the illusion was fleeting. Once again it was me in the mirror. Wide eyes, freckled skin, bedraggled ponytail. Hardly the vision of a temptress.
And yet as I neared the top of the stairs, I grew bolder, freer. When I reached the landing, I paused to remove the band from my ponytail and shake out my hair. My head fell back, swaying in abandon as the rhythm of the music seemed to crawl inside my skin.
The sound came from the room down the hallway. The door was open and the beat seemed to intensify as I approached.
Inside, everything was hazy and candlelit. It was like stepping into someone else’s dream. The breeze that blew in through the balcony doors stirred the flames and rippled like waves through the silky fabric that cocooned the bed. An eerie audience of African masks hung from the walls, and the hollow eyes seemed to watch me as I walked across the room to Devlin.
