“Books. Glass fronts protect books. Val meant to put these shelves in the room she called a library but moved on before she got around to it. Books aren’t my thing, so I never followed through. There’s a library table under here somewhere too.”
“Huh.” Jax rapped on the solid old wood and examined the intricate glass panes. “Most of my journals are digital, but these would add an air of respectable permanence.”
“Here da library table.” Having given up on the costume wardrobe, Roark lifted boxes off a substantial oak table. “Look at the size of those planks—old timber.”
“Chair!” Loretta called from one of the turrets.
Jax turned to see her wearing a feathered hat and bouncing in what appeared to be a leather Morris chair that could hold three of her. It might take a crane to haul that out.
“Your clients will love that. You’ll need something more modern for your desk.” Evie joined him in admiring the chair’s solid oak frame. “A little leather softener and it will be good as new.”
She smelled of ylang-ylang and baby shampoo—sexy and innocent. Jax thought it might be deliberate. Last night’s kiss burned through his brain, obliterating sensible thought. She’d turned him on since he’d first met her, but last night... Had given him hope he didn’t deserve.
“The thrift store will have more modern stuff, maybe even some of Norton’s original décor,” Evie suggested.
“Not if it reeks of cigars.” Jax pictured the modern, glass-and-steel office he’d left in Savannah and tried to see himself in an old-fashioned one with real wood and leather. It suited the old building with its wood trim and bricks.
“You’ll look rich and established,” Evie said for him. “You can tell people they’re family heirlooms. It’s a shame all your parents’ things were sold off.”
There it was, his need to connect with roots he didn’t have. He had photos of his childhood home and memories, but they were fading. He couldn’t afford sentimentality. “I just want my bank account to look rich and established. Free furniture helps, if we can haul these things down the stairs.”
Reuben, the engineering expert, had already cleared a path over to Loretta’s turret and the Morris chair. “French doors,” he called, pounding at rusted door handles. “Balcony. A few ropes...”
Evie was past him before he had the doors completely open. “Oh, look, I haven’t been up here in forever! That balcony is outside Val’s master suite.”
Master suite? The house had a private suite? In the turret, of course, and stuffed with family discards like the rest of the house.
“We need a winch.” Reuben headed for the attic stairs. “Best check the balcony ain’t termite infested before you drop massive stuff on it.”
Before Jax started envisioning a suite with turret and balcony and Evie in it, he headed for the stairs too. “Tell me where to find the thrift store, and I’ll stop by later. I’m having George’s files delivered today.”
“Are you sure there aren’t any ghosts up here, Evie?” he heard Loretta ask as he descended the stairs.
“No, I laid them to rest when I was a kid.”
Jax hoped she was being facetious. With Evie, one never knew.
He didn’t think anyone could layhisghosts to rest. It felt as if the specter of his father leaned over his shoulder, urging him on. Connecting an accident twenty years ago with Pendleton’s murder? That was Evie-talk.
What he needed was a desk for his computer, an internet hook-up, and a few hours to better examine those contracts Senator Swenson and his father had signed. And then he needed to go through the papers Pendleton’s office had sent. If the California lawyer had died because of those files— Jax didn’t want to believe a man was murdered over his father’s files, but he didn’t like coincidences either.
He checked Evie’s security footage on his phone before he left the house. All clear. Maybe they had imagined being followed back in California and that phone call yesterday meant nothing. Maybe Pendleton’s death had no relation to his father’s papers.
And maybe Afterthought was the center of the universe, and a drag queen would become mayor.
* * *
“Sensible Solutions.We have a solution for you,” Reuben said into his phone mic as he and Roark hauled bookshelves downstairs the old-fashioned way, by muscle.
Evie shook out the old draperies, wondering if they might work in Jax’s office. They’d been custom made of sturdy fabric and were well-lined to keep out the cold and heat.
“Yes, Mrs. Winsted, I agree. Owls shouldn’t be hooting at your window in broad daylight. We’ll be right out. No, I don’t think it’s your late husband. Yes, ma’am. Yes, yes, let us finish this job, and we’ll move you to the top of our priority list.” He spoke without even breathing hard as they carried the heavy wood and glass cases down the second flight of stairs.
“Business is booming,” Roark said with a heavy dose of sarcasm from the down side of the case.
“The little old ladies like watching big muscular hunks crawling around on their roofs.” Dropping the draperies, Evie followed them down. “We’ll snag the big cases one of these days. If you can’t get the owl to move, tell Mrs. Winsted that I’ll be out to be certain it’s not her husband. She just wants company.”
Evie opened the front door so they could leave the bookcase on the porch. The June heat had hit a hundred already. They’d have to give up on the attic for the day.