The House on Tradd Street by Karen White Page B

so early in the morning. He continued. “As for not using the doorbell, I thought that the wide-open door was an invitation to come right in. You know, you really shouldn’t do that. Considering the stuff that’s in this house, you should always set the alarm whether you’re here or not.”
    “There isn’t one. Mr. Vanderhorst told me that he’s had some vandalism recently but that he hadn’t put in an alarm.”
    Jack pulled a small notebook out of his back pocket and unclipped a short pencil from the metal rings. “That should be the first thing on our list, then.”
    I glanced up at the cracked plaster and a large dark spot in a corner of the room that looked suspiciously like mildew. I turned to him, a little irritated at his mention of “our” list. “Really, Jack. I think we have bigger problems than an alarm. Besides, I would think that most vandals would be discouraged from breaking in by the condition of the outside. I know I would be. Unless you think they’ll take pity on me and sneak in at night with paint and paintbrushes.”
    He ignored me, continuing to jot down notes on his pad. “I’ve a friend in the home-security business. I’ll give him a call and set up a meeting, ASAP.”
    “I really don’t think it’s neces . . .”
    His blue eyes rested on my face, the expression unsettling. “Believe me, it’s necessary.” He dipped his head to write something else in his notepad but paused briefly, looking back at me as if an afterthought. “You said yourself that Mr. Vanderhorst had experienced some vandalism. Now that you’ll be living here by yourself, it would be a good idea to have a little security.”
    I found his insistence that I get an alarm as soon as possible odd, but the last part of his sentence caught me off guard. “I didn’t say that I would be living here. . . .”
    His eyes met mine again, but this time with the addition of a raised eyebrow. “You told me that part of Mr. Vanderhorst’s will required you to live in the house for a year.”
    My chest felt like a deflated balloon. I’d somehow forgotten about that little gem. I looked around me again at the mildew and plaster damage. “Assuming the walls don’t crumble down around me first, I guess I’m going to have to.” I sighed, blowing out the air through full cheeks. “Go ahead and call your friend. Guess I’ve got to start spending that sack of money somewhere. Might as well be an alarm system. Maybe we’ll be able to salvage it after the house crumbles down around our ears.”
    I turned to leave.
    “So, this was Nevin’s room.”
    I faced Jack again and found him studying the framed pictures on the bedside table. He picked up the photo of Louisa and her son, which I had knocked over and left facedown. Jack looked at me with an accusing glance before studying it. “They must have been close.”
    I recalled Christmas card photos of me as a young girl with both my parents, beaming at the photographer with bright smiles and frigid poses. “I think that would be a hard thing to judge from just a picture.”
    He didn’t saying anything as he put the frame gently on the table and looked around at the furniture. “My parents would have a fit if they could get their hands on some of this stuff for their store. Have you had a chance to go through anything yet?”
    I had to remind myself that he had a reason to be so nosy about the house and its previous inhabitants. “No. I had thought to get started this morning but I ended up working for a bit in the garden instead.”
    “I didn’t picture you to be a gardener type.”
    “I’m not.” I shrugged. “Nor have I ever had an interest in owning an old house, much less restoring one. Go figure.”
    “Melanie? Are you here?” Sophie’s voice called up from the foyer. “You left the door open, so I’m letting myself in.”
    I shot Jack an annoyed look. “If you’re so concerned about people breaking in, maybe you should try closing the door behind