Free If Walls Could Talk by Juliet Blackwell

a dollar apiece for a ‘tour’ where I snuck them into the backyard to look in the windows.”
    “I’ll bet the reclusive Gerald Buchanan just loved that.”
    “Yeah, well, I’m sure I drove him further into hermit mode. I wasn’t a mean kid, but . . . kids can be thoughtless.”
    “And does any of this have to do with your mother’s séances?”
    Vincent looked surprised. “To tell you the truth, I never really thought about it. But I don’t think so. She’s probably heard the haunting rumors just like everyone else in the neighborhood, but she never discovered my boyhood antics. I don’t think there’s any connection.”
    We walked through the spacious redesigned kitchen. Kitchens are the one area where period authenticity usually cedes to practicality, even in the most careful historical restorations. Original kitchens in fancy homes—like the one in Gerald’s house—were set up to accommodate staffs consisting of several people. Stoves used to be heated with wood, making maintaining a consistent oven temperature a dicey procedure at best. The only refrigeration was provided by a chunk of ice inserted in a little door at the back of the kitchen, in what was quite literally an icebox. Furthermore, since kitchens were considered servants’ areas, they were cut off from the living areas of the house.
    Modern design, in contrast, usually incorporated the kitchen as one of the most-used family rooms in the home. Celia’s kitchen, for instance, opened onto a bright room overlooking the garden, lined with comfy-looking couches and featuring a breakfast nook.
    “My mother mentioned you were asking about Matt’s party the other night,” Vincent said. “I did drop by, but I left when things started getting rowdy. I’m not much of one for working with my hands; just wanted to help out. Plus, I was curious to finally see inside the house.”
    “Did you notice anything out of the ordinary? Anything suspicious?”
    “Nothing I can think of.”
    “I don’t suppose the police have questioned you about it yet?”
    “No . . .” he said. “Do you think they’ll want to?”
    “A man was injured sometime after the party; he passed away at the hospital. I thought someone might be canvassing the neighborhood, looking for witnesses. But then, my knowledge of police work is primarily gleaned from mystery novels.”
    “Not CSI ?” Vincent asked with a smile.
    “I’m not a big TV watcher,” I said. “I never seem to find enough hours in the day as it is.”
    “Mel!” Celia’s smile was as bright as her blue eyes as she joined us in the front hall. “I see you’ve met my handsome son. Vincent, I hope you’ve been keeping Mel entertained. I do apologize—I had to take a phone call, long distance, you know. I forgot all about the tea!”
    “Please don’t bother,” I said. “I took a quick look at the basement room, but I should tell you that Turner Construction specializes in historic restoration, taking homes back to the style they were in when they were originally built. For your purposes, we might be overkill.”
    “Nonsense—I’d love to hear your ideas. It’s rather dreary down there, don’t you think? What I’d like to do is make it feel more integrated with the rest of the house. I find myself spending a lot of time there.”
    “Are you working with an architect?”
    “Do you think it’s necessary?”
    “It’s helpful on a redesign,” I said. “I have several names I could give you if you’d like.”
    “Have you ever seen that two-story library in My Fair Lady ?” Celia asked. “I’ve always fantasized about something like that! Perhaps we could get rid of the floor here, make it a two-story room, lined with bookcases?”
    This from the woman who didn’t have enough books to fill her current shelves.
    “I do know that movie,” I said, “and I’ve always coveted that library. But something like that would involve major structural issues. You’ll definitely need to include an