Free The Guests on South Battery by Karen White

it.
    â€œYes,” I said, forcing a smile. “Everything is fine. I sometimes like to check out the acoustics in these old houses for fun.” I faced Sophie. “Did somebody leave a window open or crank the AC?”
    I noticed Sophie’s expression. “You must be coming down with something. I don’t think the house has central air, and the only unit I saw from outside was in an upstairs window.”
    I faked a cough. “Could be.”
    â€œDoes it get as hot here as it does in Birmingham?” Jayne asked, her words stiffened by her clenched jaw. “I mean, would central air be required for resale?”
    Both Sophie and I stared at her for a moment, trying to see if she might be joking. Finally, I said, “It will really depend—you can either have the work done or reduce the price accordingly. Either way, summer in Charleston is like living in a toaster stuck on high. Air-conditioning is generally not considered optional.”
    I left the front door open, telling myself it was with hopes of crisp, fresh air instead of giving me the option of a quick exit.
    Jayne still had her arms crossed, but she was looking at me with an amused expression. “ABBA, huh?”
    â€œYou like them?”
    She wrinkled her nose. “I didn’t say that. They were a little before my time. I saw the movie
Mamma Mia
, though, so I’m familiar with their music.”
    Sophie began walking toward the staircase. “You didn’t hear this from me, but Melanie’s a little obsessed. She denies it, but I’m pretty sure she has a white leather fringe jumpsuit in her closet.”
    I joined Sophie at the staircase, but Jayne remained where she was, her gaze focused at the landing where the stairs took a turn and disappeared from sight. I followed her gaze, then stopped. The fat cat with the missing eye sat on the landing staring disinterestedly down at us. “How’d that get in here?” Jayne asked.
    â€œMust have sneaked in while we were talking. I’ll send someone from the office who likes cats to come get it to see if it has a tag.”
    â€œAnd if it belonged to Button Pinckney?”
    â€œI guess it will go to a shelter.”
    â€œWhat cat?” Sophie asked.
    â€œThat one,” I said, pointing to the empty spot where the cat had been. “Well, he or she was here a moment ago. It’s rather chubby, and is missing an eye. I don’t know how easy it will be to find it a home, so let’s hope it doesn’t belong to the house.”
    I waited at the doorway to the parlor, hoping Jayne would take the hint, but she remained where she stood, her feet planted like a recalcitrant toddler. “There’s nothing to worry about,” I reassured her. “I promise the cat will be taken care of.”
    She looked at me for a moment before stiffly nodding. Slowly, she moved inside, her gaze never leaving the top of the stairs. The skin on the back of my neck assured me that we weren’t alone in the house, yet the feeling of being barred from seeing anything extrasensory remained.
    The stench of decay and a sense of foreboding permeated the space, brightened only by the extraordinary light flooding in from the front windows. It would be even brighter once they were cleaned, but even now I could see how beautiful this house had once been. “The lawyer told me that Miss Pinckney never left her room on the second floor for the last few years of her life. She had a housekeeper and nurse who took care of her. That might explain the neglect of the rest of the house.”
    â€œIt’s old,” Jayne said. “And it smells old. And . . .” She shivered, clenching her hands even tighter over her arms. “And I definitely don’t want to live here.”
    She moved toward the door but was called back by Sophie’s voice.
    â€œOh, my gosh—I think it’s a William Parker glass chandelier. There’s only