Page 70 of The Attic on Queen Street

Nola rolled her eyes while I scanned the garden and spotted Beau at work on the rear fence. He hadn’t made much progress, due to the intricate craftsmanship and the requirement of not using modern tools (dictated by Sophie).

For the first time since inheriting the house, I was grateful for the labor- and time-intensive methods that were required to authentically preserve a house. Even if my gratitude was due completely to the delay in invoicing.

As if sensing my gaze, Beau turned and nodded his hello, then bent down to retrieve something before heading over to where we sat.

“Oh, no,” Nola moaned as she crouched lower on the bench as if trying to hide.

When he got nearer, I recognized the red heart-shaped pillow in his hand. “Is this yours? Someone put it in the passenger seat of my truck while it was parked in your driveway. Can’t figure out who or why, but I was hoping you might know who it belonged to.” He leaned it against the bench leg next to me.

“It’s mine—thanks. I must have dropped it outside and one of the crew just tossed it in the nearest vehicle.”

It was an obvious lie, but Beau seemed as eager to accept the explanation as I was. The strong scent of Vanilla Musk suddenly sat heavily in the morning air. Beau turned and tilted his head back slightly, sniffing.

“Does anybody smell that?” I asked, looking closely at Beau.

Nola’s nostrils flared slightly. “Smell what?”

“The perfume.” The scent had become strong enough to make me feel nauseous.

Beau shook his head, his gaze focused anywhere but on my face. “No, ma’am. I thought I smelled the starburst magnolia bush, but they’re not blooming yet.” He leaned down to give both children a small push in their swings, eliciting squeals from both Sarah and JJ and distracting me from wondering why he wasn’t telling the truth.

Sarah reached up toward Beau, her small hands opening and closing like a little lobster’s claws. “Hol’ me, hol’ me!” she chimed sweetly.

Beau unlatched her from her swing and picked her up, giving her a little jiggle in the air and making her laugh.

“I think you have a new friend,” I said, watching as Sarah pointed behind Beau’s head at something—or someone—I couldn’t see, and giggled.

“She sure is a happy baby, isn’t she?” Beau asked, apparently smitten, as Sarah returned her focus to his head and began playing with his ears.

“She’s just not very discerning,” Nola said, not completely under her breath.

“Nola!” I said.

Beau settled a calm gaze on Nola. “Have you told them?”

“Told us what?” Jack asked.

Nola straightened on the bench, then lifted her chin to look at Beau. “He fired me.”

“I put you on probation. There’s a difference.”

“Not really. My grandparents own the store. You shouldn’t be able to do either one.”

“Well, your grandmother apparently disagrees, which is why you’re on probation for a week.”

“What happened?” Jack asked slowly.

Nola’s cheeks reddened, her lips pressed tightly together.

“Nola,” I prompted softly.

“Should I tell them?” Beau asked, looking very adorable and not atall serious as Sarah played with his hair, spiking it so that it stood straight up.

“My friends and I were just having some fun,” she blurted. “It’s only a game.”

“What game?” I asked.

When she didn’t answer right away, I knew. I swallowed. “A Ouija board?”