“Right here,” he said, tapping the drywall next to the fireplace stone. He stepped to the wall, ear and palm hoveringclose like he was scanning for a hidden safe. “I feel something! Vibrations or—oh.”
The music stopped.
“That’s it?” he asked, genuinely disappointed.
“Until three a.m. tomorrow,” she said. “Then he’ll—I meanit—will be back.”
He stepped back to look up and down the wall and the fireplace mantel. “What was in this spot before the remodel?”
She frowned, trying to picture the workroom. It was so different then, and she’d spent very little time up here, using the space mostly for storage.
“I think that’s where Grandpa Owen kept a worktable.”
“Anything electric?”
She frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Right before it stopped, I felt the slightest vibration in the wall. Something is back there making the sound. I know it’s not your music box, but something like that, only it doesn’t sound…mechanical. Does that make sense?”
Nothing made sense. “Maybe,” she conceded. “But why would it start two weeks ago and always play at a specific time?”
“I don’t know, but I could find out if…” He angled his head toward the wall. “I could do a little demolition. I’ll be neat and have it fixed in a day, I promise.”
She lifted a shoulder. “You can try, but there’s nothing in the wall but insulation and ancient lodge dust and probably a couple of spiders.”
He gave her a look that saidtrust me.“Can I cut a hole in the drywall?”
“Now?”
“Can’t think of a better time.”
She gave a breathy laugh. “Matt Walker, at three in the morning on Christmas Eve, you want to do surgery on my apartment because…”
He took a step closer and put his hands on her shoulders, drawing her into him. “Because I want to eliminate the possibility of the late, great George McBride keeping me from spending the rest of my life loving you.”
“Oh.” She put her fingers over her mouth, the sentiment so sweet.
“So, Mary Jane, if you’ll let me cut a hole, we can settle the sound. If it’s him, I’ll back away. If it’s not, well…life as you know it is about to change for the better.”
She wasn’t sure what that meant—move into one of those big houses? Well, now wasn’t the time to discuss that. Now was the time to answer her questions.
“Then get some tools from the mudroom, Graham Matthew Walker. You know, the red toolbox from when you saved me from a plumbing emergency.”
“I know the box well. Gimme a sec.”
When Matt returned, he carried a small handsaw with a pointed tip and a short, jagged blade that she recognized from her tool collection.
“You have the perfect jab saw,” he told her, holding it up. “This’ll cut clean without destroying the whole wall. This place is too special to hurt.”
“Thank you.” She stood back to observe the process.
He pressed the sharp tip into the drywall with controlled force until it punctured. Then he sawed a careful square, the blade rasping softly. Drywall dust drifted to the floor like pale snow. MJ watched with a weird combination of dread and fascination, clutching her robe.
Finally, he pried the little square of drywall free, grabbed his phone from the coffee table, and used the flashlight to peer in.
“What do you see?” MJ asked, not surprised that she was holding her breath.
“I see…” His shoulders moved like he was…laughing.
