Chapter Five

“Where does Miss Melody live?” Michael asked from the back seat of Reid’s red Sierra.

Glancing in the mirror, he could see that his son had broken into Mrs. Gregory’s cookies and a smear of yellow frosting streaked across his cheek. “Not too far from us, down the street from Ms. Karen’s house,” he replied.

“I like Miss Melody,” the little boy added between chomps of the star-shaped cookie. “She’s pretty.” Reid said nothing, keeping his thoughts to himself, until Michael insisted, “You think she’s pretty, too, don’t you, Daddy?”

“Yes, I guess she is pretty,” Reid said with a shrug. “Careful not to get crumbs all over your booster seat.”

“I know, Dad,” he said, sounding a little more like a tweenager than Reid would have liked. He was getting so big already. How could he possibly be in kindergarten?

They passed Ms. Karen’s house, where Michael went after school for a few hours each day, and Reid made a left-hand turn onto Washington Avenue. They were only a few blocks from their own home, and the houses on this street were even larger and more architecturally stunning than the one he had recently purchased. Moving to Charles Town had been a good idea for someone who loved to restore old homes and wanted to run away from an unpleasant past. He truly hoped this would be the fresh start he and Michael needed.

“Dad! Look!” Michael exclaimed, pointing out the window at a large inflatable snow globe containing a dancing snowman. Tiny white pieces of plastic simulated falling snow and encircled the jolly soul as he wiggled in a swirling winter wonderland.

“That’s pretty cool!” Reid replied, forcing as much fake enthusiasm into his voice as possible. While he attempted to enjoy the holidays for Michael’s sake and though he usually did a pretty good job of pretending, Christmas just wasn’t the same as it used to be. He would manage to get through the holidays, like he always did, but he was certainly one of those people who couldn’t wait to flip the calendar to January.

Checking the addresses on the mailboxes, Reid spied what must be Melody’s house just ahead on the right. It was a stately Queen Anne, absolutely stunning. Most of the house was built of brick with wooden architectural elements in white capping the second floor. A large turret stood on the left side of the house, and the expansive front porch looked inviting.

“Is this her house?” Michael asked, poking through the front seats.

Reid pulled his eyes away from the structure to address his son. “You unbuckled already?”

“We came to a full stop.”

“You look like the Cookie Monster.” Reid wiped some of the crumbs off of his son’s face and considered licking his thumb and wiping away the frosting, but decided to leave that page out of his own mother’s playbook alone.

While Reid wasn’t sure they actually had the right house at first, even though the address matched the one Melody had mentioned in the hardware store, he saw her standing on the front porch, wringing her hands and shifting her weight from one foot to the other. He wondered how someone so young could afford such a large house. He assumed she wasn’t married since she’d mentioned only her mother as a candidate for helping her fix the door knob. While it was possible she could have a well-paying job that allowed her such nice accommodations, he also wondered why a single woman would need such a large space.

Michael was out the truck door before Reid could even unbuckle his seatbelt. He wasn’t sure why his son was so drawn to the young woman; he did have an affection for pretty young girls. Maybe Michael was drawn to her because she seemed nurturing and kind, two characteristics the little boy couldn’t get enough of despite the kindness he received from Ms. Karen, Mrs. Gregory, and just about every other female he came into contact with.

“Miss Melody!” Michael shouted, hopping up the wide brick steps and flinging himself around her knees.

“Well, hello,” Melody stuttered, clearly taken aback by Michael’s enthusiastic greeting. She bent down and patted him on the back, but her eyes were glued to Reid, as if she needed confirmation that the child had actually just flown to her, and her laughter filled the chilly air, a sound unlike anything he’d ever heard before. He couldn’t help but smile at the pure glee his son’s hug invoked.

“Don’t knock her over,” Reid warned as Michael continued to squeeze.

“He’s fine,” Melody said, still smiling as Michael finally released her. “I’m not used to such strong hugs.” She bent down and ruffled his hair.

“I just missed you so much,” Michael smiled up at her.

“It’s only been ten minutes!” Reid shook his head, still trying to figure out exactly what it was that had Michael so excited about this new acquaintance.

Melody placed one hand on the door handle but stopped, her expression shifting back to the nervous look he’d seen even from the truck. “I should warn you. My mom and I are in the process of going through my late father’s antique collection—and the house is truly a mess. It’s pretty embarrassing.”

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. Don’t worry about it,” Reid assured her. “We’re not exactly the tidiest ourselves.”

“No, seriously,” Melody continued, “I keep expecting to see the crew from Hoarders walking through the hallway upstairs, talking about the best place to stage the lighting.”

Reid couldn’t help but laugh at the idea. “I’m sure it’s not that bad.”

Melody’s eyebrows stayed arched, and he couldn’t help but notice how vibrant her green eyes were. “All right,” she said, letting out a deep breath and pushing the door open, “but you were warned.”

The inside was just as opulent as the exterior, and Reid took a moment to look around. A large staircase stood just in front of them, complete with what appeared to be the original hand carved newel post. The floors had certainly been restored with the same care taken when they were first installed. From the molding to the pocket doors leading into the great room, every detail appeared to be authentic.

“This place is incredible,” Reid said, still gazing up at the ceiling. “You hardly ever see Victorian architecture maintained to this standard.”

“Thank you,” Melody said, her hand resting on the railing that led upstairs. “My father loved old things. From houses to antiques, he definitely saw the value and the beauty in anything from the past. He worked on this house most of his adult life.”

“He did a really nice job.” Reid could see from her expression that she was quite proud of her father, and the timid smile of gratitude his compliment received was enough to let him know Melody still missed him very much.

“It’s the attic door that has decided to be uncooperative today,” she said, climbing the stairs. “I took the knob and the kit up just before you got here, but I have no idea what to do next.”

“Let me take a look at it and see what tools I need.” Reid followed her up the stairs, Michael between them.

“Your house is so big,” Michael said as they neared the second story.

“It’s actually my mom’s house,” Melody replied. “I just came to live with her for a little while.”

“How come?” Michael asked, his voice and the question both innocent.

Melody glanced down at him before she answered. “Well, when my dad died, she was sad. And I was sad. So we decided to keep each other company.”

“Oh, that’s nice,” Michael said. Reid could see in his eyes that he looked a little sad himself, and he was certain it was that M-word Melody kept saying that was altering his usual happy-go-lucky disposition.

“All right—this is what I was warning you about,” Melody said once they reached the top of the stairs.

All down the hallway in both directions, antique furniture, boxes, and various other items lined the walls. Though there was a small path to squeeze through, there wasn’t much space at all, and Reid now understood completely what Melody had meant when she said Hoarders might show up.

Trying to be polite, he decided to focus on the positive. “Well, it looks like you have some really great finds here. You could start your own antique store. Be careful not to break anything, Michael.”

Melody chuckled as she squeezed down the path. “We own an antique store. Believe it or not, this isn’t it.”

“Look at all this old stuff!” Michael exclaimed, and Reid grabbed his hand to keep him from touching any of the potentially fragile items.

“You own the antique store downtown?” Reid asked. He could see the attic door at the end of the hallway.

“Yes, my mom does,” Melody nodded. “It’s been in the family since my dad was a little boy.”

Reid had seen his fair share of antiques from working on so many older houses. He saw some very rare, very expensive items among Melody’s father’s treasures. “Once you get these to the shop, you should be in good shape to stay open a few more generations. Your father had a good eye.”

“Thank you,” Melody said, but the tone of her voice made him wonder if she either didn’t want to keep the shop open for generations to come, or she was just exhausted from long hours of working to get everything inventoried and down to the shop.

She stopped in front of the attic door and made a gesture like she was Vanna White. “This is the culprit,” she said, stepping out of the way.

Reid stooped to examine the hole where the door knob should be. He could see what sort of tools he would need to make the repair. He pulled on the door to see if it was locked, which it was, so he felt inside the mechanism of the door and had it unlocked in just a moment. He pulled it open so that he could retrieve the other side of the handle.

“How did you get it open?” Melody asked.

“I have a special way with door knobs,” he said, with a subtle smile.

Melody raised her eyebrows and then looked back at the door. “Do you think you can fix it?”

“Oh, yeah,” he assured her. “I’ll just need a screwdriver.”

“I’m sure we have one of those somewhere….” Melody replied, glancing around as if a screwdriver might be amongst her father’s antique collection.

“I have one in the truck,” Reid assured her. “I’ll be right back.”

“Can I stay here?” Michael asked. He stood wedged between two boxes looking longingly at the caboose of an old tin train sticking up from one of the boxes.

“I don’t know. You might get into mischief,” Reid said with wink.

Michael giggled, and Melody said, “I’ll keep an eye on him.”

Hoping Melody didn’t regret her decision to let Michael stay in the house, he made his way back through the maze to get the screwdriver.