“I think there’s been some kind of mistake. I did not plan on staying on-site. I’ve already rented a small apartment just a half mile away. I just have…I have certain…”

“Didn’t you?” He slid his silver glasses down his thin nose and walked toward a small table and overstuffed chairs near a dusty fireplace. I followed him to continue my protest and immediately began a mental appraisal of the items in the room while he shuffled through a stack of papers.

“It’s Carrie Jo, please.” I took a step toward the cabinet, unable to resist a peek. “When will I be able to start?”

“Soon. First, I need you to sign this confidentiality agreement, the one we discussed on the phone. It’s fairly standard, but please let me know if you have any questions. You can start as soon as you like. As soon as tomorrow, of course. With such eagerness to explore this mansion-sized time capsule, I’m surprised you wouldn’t like to stay. Aren’t historians slaves to history?” Without waiting for a reply, he continued, “We’ve arranged for you to have a room here, along with your team.” Matthews slid the papers and a pen across the table and appraised me. He had slate gray eyes, almost as shiny as his glasses.

“I sure hate to inconvenience you, but I won’t be staying on-site.” I felt my backbone stiffen slightly as I sat opposite him, faking confidence. “I hope that’s not a problem for you or Mr. Stuart.”

“It’s not a condition, of course, and we do realize you can’t devote yourself to this project around the clock. The offer was meant to help you offset some costs and make things more convenient, but it’s whatever you desire.” He accepted my signed papers and passed me an envelope with a check inside. I slid the check into my red clutch without even looking at the numbers. Such a fastidious man. He would never miss a small thing like a zero.

He smiled and rose from his chair. “Well, Miss Jardine. That is, Carrie Jo. Let’s take that tour. I’m sure you are eager to meet the contractor.” He pointed me back toward the door.

I listened to him talk about the upcoming maintenance schedule as we walked down the hall to the back of the house. I wanted to yell “Stop!” at every door we passed, but I figured I could control my curiosity just this once.

“Mind your step on the...”

I felt a sharp, stabbing pain at the back of my head. Everything went black, then fuzzy, and then slowly the lights came on. It was as if someone had hit a dimmer switch. What had been there before, a dark, empty hallway with peeling paint and an inch of dust on the chair arms, had transformed. The paint looked fresh, a pale blue, and the wooden baseboards shone with wax. Fine wooden floors lined with blue floral-patterned runners looked vibrant and soft. A long table against the wall held trays of fresh fruit and hot foods. Lined up against the wall were three young black men holding trays and pitchers, wearing white collared shirts and black cotton pants. I drew my breath sharply, surprised by their frozen presence and glad they didn’t seem to see me sprawled on the floor even though I was practically under their feet.