The Christmas Spirits on Tradd Street

by Karen White

  “Whatever.” Nola dropped her hands from the keyboard and let her shoulders fall. “I need some creative inspiration. Are you sure I can’t go with you?”

  “Absolutely not,” Jack said. “I’m sure you’ve got homework.”

  “It’s Friday.”

  “Right,” Jack said distractedly, as he patted his jacket and jeans pockets. “Has anyone seen my . . .” He stopped, then reached forward to grab his phone from his desk, pausing just a moment before picking up a piece of paper and walking over to Nola.

  “Here,” he said, holding it out to her. “You were so good figuring out Hasell Pinckney’s snow globe puzzle, maybe you’ll have better luck with this than I have. Feel free to search the Internet or any other source you can think of, although I’m pretty sure I’ve seen them all.” He pointed to the books on the floor by his desk. “And there’s a whole pile of books about ciphers going back to the Egyptians. Have at it.”

  Nola took the paper and stared at it, then read aloud, “‘Cognac, feathers of goldfinch, kitchen maid, Burgundy wine.’” She looked up, her brow furrowed. “What’s this supposed to mean?”

  Jack gave her a grim smile. “We’re hoping you can tell us. You said you needed a creative break, so you’re welcome.”

  “Great,” she said with a heavy sigh. “Can I invite Alston and Lindsey over to help?”

  I nodded. “Sure. And you can order pizza. Just make sure it’s not vegetarian and you save some for me. Jayne’s coming with us, and the twins are with my parents, so your friends will be good company. They can spend the night if they want.”

  “I’m sure they’ll come over, but they won’t spend the night. They say our house after dark is creepy.”

  “Only after dark?” Jack asked.

  I elbowed him. “That’s fine. We’ll be happy to drive them home when we get back—shouldn’t be too late, if that makes you feel better.”

  “Finding out who that was in my bedroom window would make me feel better, but no pressure.”

  “We’re working on it, Nola,” Jack said as he bent to kiss the top of her head. He indicated the paper with his chin. “Maybe that will help. All we know so far is that it might connect a treasure from the king of France to the Americans during the Revolution.”

  “All right,” she said, her fingers already flying on her phone as she texted her friends. “Have fun at the cemetery.”

  I grinned, finding it somewhat amusing that a comment like that in our house sounded perfectly normal.

  We took my car, since Jack’s minivan was full of baby toys, cracker crumbs, and spare diapers. He’d come a long way since his Porsche days, and he never seemed to have any nostalgia regarding the lost days of his bachelorhood. For his Christmas stocking, I’d purchased a bumper sticker that read REAL DADS DRIVE MINIVANS. Nola had been with me and had wanted to get one that read CONDOMS PREVENT MINIVANS, but I wouldn’t let her.

  Jayne was waiting outside her house on South Battery as we drove up, and she slid into the backseat.

  “You ready?” Jack asked, looking at her in the rearview mirror.

  “As ready as I’ll ever be.” She buckled her seat belt as Jack pulled out onto the street. “Mother gave me the rundown of what to do, so I feel confident that Melanie and I can handle whatever’s waiting for us. And don’t forget I have a little experience from that incident in my attic.”

  I felt Jack waiting for me to say something. “Yes. Absolutely. And Mother and I have faced enough evil spirits on our own that it’s practically second nature now.”

  “I’ll follow your lead,” Jayne said with conviction.

  Feeling a little embarrassed, I said, “As Mother says, we’re stronger together. We just need to remember that.”

  “Good plan,” Jayne said. “Speaking of Mother, have you thought yet about what to get her for Christmas?”

  I turned slightly in my seat to get a better look at my sister. “Yes, actually. I already got her a skirt at Finicky Filly that I know she’ll love. And she adores the Woodhouse Spa, so I decided to give her a spa-day gift certificate. The owner, Kim, is amazing and said she’d wrap it up in a gorgeous gift basket with candles and skin products.”

  “That’s a great idea. How about I contribute and add stuff to the basket—maybe a whole weekend of pampering? Mother would love it.”

  My throat felt as if it had been coated in sawdust, and I couldn’t speak for a moment, even though I could feel the weight of the silence in the car.

  “That’s a terrific idea, isn’t it, Mellie?” Jack prompted. “Your mother has been so great with the twins and Nola—I think double the pampering from her daughters would be the perfect gift.”

  I nodded, trying to swallow the sawdust so I could speak.

  “Great,” said Jayne. “And for Dad, I thought we could arrange for a master gardener to give him personalized instruction in his own garden. Sophie said she knows someone from the college who would be perfect and she gave me his number—I just wanted to check with you first.”

  I finally managed to open my airway so I could speak. “Sounds wonderful. For both of them. I’ll call Kim at Woodhouse if you want to take care of setting up the master gardener.”

  “Actually, I already did. And I have this great design software, so I made this really cool laminated poster that explains it all so we’d have something to wrap.”

  Jack poked me on the side of my leg. “Thanks,” I managed. “That will save me a lot of time, and I’m sure he’ll love it.”

  Thankfully, I was saved from coming up with anything else to say when Jack’s phone rang. Jack looked at the dashboard screen. “It’s Yvonne. I’ll put her on speaker.” He clicked a button on the steering wheel. “Hello, gorgeous. I’m in the car with my wife and sister-in-law, so don’t say anything compromising.”

  Yvonne laughed, and I pictured her soft hands patting her white coiffure. “Oh, Jack Trenholm. You’re incorrigible.”

  “Thank you. I try. We’re on the way to Gallen Hall now. I hope you have good news for us.”

  “I’m not sure if it’s good news, but it is interesting. I was out power walking this morning with my posse. . . .”

  “Your posse?” Jack asked with a grin.

  “Yes, Jack. I’ve had to learn a whole new vocabulary since working here at the College of Charleston. They do say that studying a foreign language is the best way to keep your brain young.”

  “That they do. Please continue.”

  “Yes, well, remember when we were speaking I told you how I couldn’t find anything regarding how Eliza died?”

  “Yes,” Jack said slowly.

  “Well, the Charleston Museum has a huge collection of personal correspondence and photographs that they use interns to sort and file, so it’s usually hit or miss. Plus, they get more and more documents each month as people empty attics and the like. So when I passed the museum this morning, I just had a feeling that I should go see if there was anything about the Vanderhorsts from Gallen Hall in there. I was pretty sure I’d found all there was, but it couldn’t hurt to look again.”

  When she didn’t continue, Jack gave me a sidelong glance, then said, “And?”

  I could almost see Yvonne’s pink cheeks and sparkling blue eyes. “I found something—it was filed with other documents from the Grosvenor family, which is probably why it was overlooked when Marc Longo was busy stealing the Vanderhorst letters.”

  She didn’t say anything more, so Jack prompted, “And what did you find?”

  “Well, I found a letter from the doctor who was called to the scene of Eliza’s passing. It was addressed to his wife, which most likely explains his candor. In it he expresses his sadness at the loss of such a vibrant young woman, ‘cut down in the bloom of her youth.’ Those were his exact words. I wonder if the pun was intended, seeing as how she literally had to be cut down.”

&n
bsp; I leaned closer to the speaker, wanting to make sure I’d heard correctly.

  “She hanged herself?” Jack said.

  “Yes, sadly. According to the good doctor, Eliza hanged herself from an oak tree in the cemetery on the plantation grounds.”

  He rubbed his jaw, his face dark in thought. “It’s very unusual today for females to commit suicide by hanging, or shooting or anything that violent. I wonder if it was different then.”

  “I would think it would have been less so,” Yvonne offered. “Women were considered more delicate back then. Not that I’ve done the full research, but from what I recall from all my reading, of all the suicides and murders involving women in the last two centuries, women tended to favor poisons.” Yvonne’s voice brightened. “I read of an interesting case recently from the early eighteen hundreds where a nanny killed her mistress using oleander leaves—”

  “Thanks, Yvonne,” Jack said, cutting her short. “What are you thinking this might mean?”

  “Isn’t that your job?” she asked with a chuckle.

  “Yes, but I always feel that I have a better chance of being right if you agree with me.”

  “Smart man. I knew there was a reason I liked you. And one thing that you’ve taught me is to go with my gut feeling. And when I read that letter about Eliza killing herself, and knowing that hanging is rare for female suicides, guess what I thought.”

  “That she hadn’t killed herself at all,” Jack said.

  “Exactly.”

  Despite the seriousness of the subject, Jack smiled. “I sometimes wonder if we might have been separated at birth, Yvonne.”

  Yvonne clucked her tongue. “Now, Jack, don’t be silly. Because then it would be wrong for you to have this tremendous crush on me.”

  Jack laughed out loud at that one. “So true. Thanks, Yvonne—this is definitely something to think about. We’re headed to Gallen Hall now to see her tomb, so maybe we’ll discover something new that will make sense.”

  “Keep me posted. Good-bye, everybody.”

  Jack clicked the button on the steering wheel to hang up. He reached for my hands, which I’d placed around my neck without being aware of it. “You okay?”

  I nodded. “Yes. I’m fine. It’s just . . .”

  Jayne cleared her throat, as if to remind me of my promise to Jack to tell him everything.

  “It’s just that Rebecca told me about another dream.”

  Jack frowned. “What now? Were you being strung from a rope? Because I wouldn’t trust anything Rebecca says. I’d bet that Marc is feeding her things to tell us.”

  “I know. I’ve thought that myself. But whatever Rebecca is, she’s still family, and despite everything, she puts family first. Remember that she’s the one who told us what Marc was planning after that horrible book-launch party. She’s just kind of stuck in the middle because she’s married to him. It’s not in her makeup to harm us intentionally. But, no. It wasn’t about me.”

  He gave me a sidelong glance, and I caught a glimpse of worry.

  “It was Nola. At least she thinks it was—Rebecca said it was unclear, but it was a young woman around Nola’s age.” I recalled Nola sitting on her bed, doing homework, her fingers absently rubbing her neck. “Rebecca dreamed that . . . that Nola had a rope around her neck.”

  His jaw began to throb. Jayne reached from the backseat and put her hand on his shoulder. “We got this, Jack. Melanie and I are here. You figure out all the clues, and we’ll talk to the dead people. We’ll get to the bottom of this and won’t let anything happen to Nola. All right?”

  For the first time, I felt reassured by Jayne’s presence, glad that Jack and I weren’t tumbling into the abyss alone. I reached over and put my hand on top of Jayne’s. “Stronger together, right?”

  She nodded, then sat back in her seat. I did the same, watching the scenery go by as we crossed the Ashley River, resisting the impulse to touch my neck.

  As we bumped over the road leading to the house, I was relieved that no specter of a soldier pointing a musket at us blocked our way, although an unsettled feeling, not unlike the one I’d felt the first time I’d been here, coated my skin like acid. I looked back at Jayne and knew she was feeling the same thing.

  Jack parked the car in front of the steps, and we all exited. The first thing I noticed was the scent of gunpowder. The second thing I noticed was the underlying earthy odor of freshly turned dirt. I watched as Jayne held her hand over her nose, and once again I felt the nudge of reassurance that I wasn’t doing this alone. Having Jack and his strength and brains with me was always helpful, but it wasn’t the same as having a psychic sister. Although I wasn’t sure I was ready to admit that out loud.

  The front door opened, and Anthony stepped out onto the porch. He still wore a sling on his arm from the car accident and still needed crutches because of his sprained ankle, but he now sported a bandage across his nose and had two black eyes. “Thank you all for coming,” he said, his eyes lingering on Jayne for a long moment before turning to me.

  Jack reached out his hand to shake. “I hope the other guy looks worse than you.”

  Anthony reached for his nose as if he’d forgotten it was there. “Oh, right. Yes. Sadly, I wish I could say it was a valiant attempt to defend myself, but it was . . .” He stopped. “Actually, it was the oddest thing. I was standing on the steps leading to the wine cellar when I found myself tumbling forward. I was alone at the time, so I have no idea how that happened. I suppose I’m lucky I didn’t break my neck.” He held out a crutch. “This saved my life. It got stuck in the hand railing, preventing me from plummeting to the bottom.”

  Jayne and I exchanged a glance.

  “We’ll head to the cemetery in just a minute. I had no idea it was so chilly. Come on inside where it’s warm while I go find my jacket.”

  He began leading us inside, but Jayne rushed to his side. “Can I get it for you? If it’s not in your bedroom, I mean. Because that would be where you’re not wearing clothes.” She pressed her eyelids shut.

  “I think she means to ask if she can get your jacket for you to save you from hobbling on your crutches.”

  Jayne’s face had turned crimson, but she managed a nod.

  A clearly amused Anthony nodded. “That would be nice. I do get tired hobbling around. There’s a small coat closet under the stairs. Just pull on the knob—it gets stuck easily.”

  Eager to escape, Jayne walked away while Jack and I looked around us. Despite the Italianate exterior, the departure from architectural norms of the day hadn’t influenced the interior. It was designed as a center-hall Colonial, with formal rooms on either side of the foyer, each separated from the one behind it with pocket doors. From what I could see of the parlor and drawing rooms, the furniture reclined within spectral sheets, ghostly inhabitants of an all-but-abandoned house. It reminded me of my house on Tradd Street the first time I’d seen it, complete with cobwebs and mold stains. It’s like a piece of history you can hold in your hands. Mr. Vanderhorst’s words always came back to haunt me just as my inner voice started tallying up all the repair costs when I entered an old building.

  I was about to ask Anthony about his plans for the house and land when my gaze traveled up the wall along the circular staircase, where uncovered oil portraits of unknown people stared down at us from crumbling plaster. “Am I the only one who thinks by their expressions that we’re not . . .” I stopped, my gaze having settled on the largest portrait, separated slightly from the others as it hung on the roundest section of the wall.

  It was a portrait of a dark-haired woman wearing a green silk dress, her hair piled high on her head. She was young, late teens or early twenties. Her dark eyes seemed to gleam from the portrait, the kind of eyes that appeared to follow the viewer. But it wasn’t her beauty or the skill of the painter that caught my eye. That made me stare. It was the jeweled peacock on her
bodice that made it impossible to look away.

  “Who is that?” I asked, although I was pretty sure I already knew.

  Anthony shook his head. “I don’t know—there’s nothing on the frame or behind the portrait that indicates the subject of the painting. Although . . .”

  Jack quirked an eyebrow. “Although?”

  “Although I feel as if we know each other . . . intimately. She has those eyes that follow me wherever I go. I find myself hurrying up the stairs at night just to get away from her.”

  I continued to stare at the portrait, recalling the woman I’d seen on the stairs at my house, the dark-haired woman in green with the peacock brooch. I remembered, too, the odd way she’d held her head, and the red welt that encircled her neck. When a person is hanged, Jack had once told me, most don’t suffocate, as a lot of people think. If they’re lucky, they die when their neck is broken by the fall, their bodies left dangling.

  I turned to Jack. “I think that’s Eliza. Eliza Grosvenor.” And before I could stop myself, I raised both hands to my neck, just as Jayne walked up to me and whispered the word lies.

  CHAPTER 18

  I gaped at my sister, wondering if I’d imagined she’d just spoken that word out loud. “What did you say?” I asked Jayne.

  Her eyes were dazed, like those of someone who’d just woken from a long sleep. “I said something?”

  I nodded. “It sounded like you said ‘lies.’” I looked back to where Anthony stood next to Jack. If he wanted our help, there was no point in sheltering him from any of the sinister aspects of what it meant to see dead people. “Which is what the woman said to me on my stairs at home before she disappeared.”

  I looked down at Anthony, surprised to find his demeanor more of anticipation than of apprehension. “Did you try to touch her?”

  “Amateurs,” I said under my breath. Jayne elbowed me, giving me a look of reproach.

  Louder, so Anthony could hear, Jayne explained, “Usually, any sort of physical interaction will make them go away. Eventually, so will ignoring them—which is what Melanie likes to do—but that takes longer.”