For no reason that she could come up with, the words the attic came to mind. Sophie recalled several large trunks she’d seen when Goebel and she had first moved in to the old plantation house outside of Charleston, months earlier. At the time she didn’t give them too much thought. Old houses always had items left behind from previous owners. She’d planned on going through them, but the timing never seemed to be right. She always seemed to have more important tasks to attend to. Now, though, she knew that there was something she had to investigate and that whatever she was supposed to find would be in one or more of those trunks. She would immediately put the task on her to-do list.

Goebel let the back door slam behind him, startling her. She sat cross-legged and put her smokes beside her, giving him room for the tray he carried. “You’ve either done something you don’t want me to find out about, or you’re trying to butter me up. Which is it?” Sophie asked, as Goebel refilled her mug.

He snickered. “Neither. Now, quit stalling and tell me why you’re out here at this ungodly hour.” He’d put prepackaged blueberry muffins on two plates, along with the butter dish. He sliced a muffin in half, slathering it with butter.

“Is that real?” Sophie asked, eyeing the butter.

Goebel continued to swipe the butter on the muffin. “No, it’s not. If you don’t stop stalling, I might be forced to rub this fake butter all over you. Then of course we would be forced to shower together to clean ourselves, or I could just lick—”

“I get your drift, Mr. Blevins.”

“And?”

“I know you’ll accuse me of stalling, but I’m being serious. When you bought this house, did you research its history? Did you get the names of any previous families who’d lived here? Did Toots share anything with you?”

Goebel had formally proposed to her the night he took her to see this house, telling her it was theirs to do with as they pleased. He’d actually carried her across the threshold. She smiled at the memory.

“As you know, Toots had the place for a few years. Before she bought it, it was owned by the great-great nephew of the original plantation owners. I think it was built sometime in the first half of the nineteenth century, maybe in the eighteen thirties. I think that the great-great-nephew inherited it sometime in the nineteen seventies or eighties, maybe a hundred and fifty or so years after it was built. Why all the sudden interest? I thought you hated history.”

“Do you know the great-great nephew’s name?”

“It’s somewhere in all the papers I have. Is it important? If so, I’ll go look now.”