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She felt a chill run down her spine as she stared at the upper windows, but told herself she was letting her imagination run away with her. Whatever malevolence may have resided here, it had left when the Duval family moved on.
Still bothered, she walked the few blocks east, toward the street where the cinema had been built, a wide boulevard skirted with storefronts, cafés, a couple of bars and an apartment building. The theater, a staple in this part of town for over a hundred years, had closed not long after the Duval girls’ disappearance. It had been on the market, empty for years before the owner had sold to a developer, who had converted it to this mini-mall, but the original ticket-taking booth was still positioned in front of a double set of glass doors.
Inside, of course, everything had changed. Where o
nce the floor had descended with row upon row of seats, it was now level, skylights cut high into the domed ceiling. The lobby with its old-fashioned refreshment counter, alcove leading to separate restrooms and doorways to the stairs leading to a projection room and offices one floor above were gone, replaced by two stories of small shops and kiosks tucked against the walls, all of which opened to the center courtyard where café tables had been strewn around an old caboose from a train that had been converted into a bakery and coffee shop. A balcony rimmed the entire building, with staircases at each corner. In one glance Nikki noticed a florist, a T-shirt shop, a sunglasses “emporium,” a wine shop and a kiosk that promised “the freshest homemade candy in all of Savannah.”
Her phone buzzed as she was passing a small deli, and she saw the call was from her mother. She walked out a side entrance and took the call. “Hi, Mom.”
“Nikki? Where the devil are you?”
“Out. Why?”
“I stopped by. Well, we did. I was with Lily. Your sister and I wanted to see how you were doing.”
“I’m fine, Mom.” Nikki didn’t say it, but she wasn’t all that sure Lily had wanted to visit, or spend any time with Charlene. A free spirit, Lily was a musician and a pseudointellectual and a single mother by choice. She and her straitlaced, by-the-book, churchgoing mother were always at odds. It said something that Lily was concerned enough to put aside her feelings for her mother to visit Nikki.
“But shouldn’t you be resting? In bed?” Charlene asked.
“Seriously, Mom. I’m okay.”
“Well—”
“I’m following doctor’s orders, okay?” That was a bit of a lie, but there was no way Nikki could spend another day or hour or even damn minute holed up in her supposed misery.
“If you say so.”
“I do. Sorry I missed you.”
A beat. Then, “Me too. Be careful, Nikki,” she added. Then her voice was softer as if she’d turned away from the phone. “Lily, is there anything you wanted to say to your sister? Here, talk to her. I need to freshen up. And don’t go out onto the veranda to sneak a cigarette. You know how I feel about that. You’re a mother, for God’s sake. What kind of example are you setting?”
“You know what they say about reformed sinners,” was the husky response.
“I quit years ago. Years! Now, here. Talk to Nicole.”
A second later, Lily’s husky voice was clearer. “Hey, Nikki. We were just checking on you, no big deal, and if you say you’re cool, then we’ll touch base later.”
“I’m fine. Mom just won’t believe it.”
“Some things never change.”
“I guess not.”
“I’ll call later, or, more likely, Mom will.” Her voice lowered to a whisper. “Okay, she’s gone now, into the powder room. Oh, God, she is in such a mood. The thing is, she’s all about baking you something, if you can believe it, like peanut butter cookies or an apple pie or something. She keeps obsessing about it.”
“I don’t even like peanut butter cookies.”
“I know, I know, but I do, and sometimes she gets us—or what we like—mixed up. Remember the time she bought me that series of crime novels for Christmas and gave you the poetry books? I mean, really? She didn’t even realize what she’d done.”
“That was right after Dad died,” Nikki said, remembering. Charlene had been in a fog for nearly a year, even though her marriage to Nikki’s father had been far from perfect. “She was a little out of it.”
“Still is, if you ask me,” Lily said. “Anyway, right now she feels like she has to do something motherly.” Her voice lowered. “Actually, I think she planned to pick something up at a bakery, she detests getting the kitchen dirty.”
“I know.” Nikki almost smiled. She and Lily were direct opposites, but they had one thing in common: They understood their mother’s need to control them and fought it at every turn. “I need to talk to her. About what she remembers about the Duvals.”
“Oh, God. Once she starts, she’ll never stop.”
“Has to be done.”
