The Christmas Spirits on Tradd Street

by Karen White

  The temperature was a good ten or more degrees colder inside, owing—I hoped—to the brick walls. I shivered as we all flipped on our phone flashlights, water dripping from my hair onto my screen.

  “Come here,” Jack said, pulling me close. He was soaked, too, but gave off steady body heat that I wished I could find a way to market to others like me who remained chilled to the bone for most of the calendar year. It could be another source of income.

  “Wow.”

  I enjoyed the rumble of his chest against my ear when he spoke, so that the word didn’t register with me until Anthony said, “You’re not kidding. I’m sure it means something, but I haven’t got a clue.”

  I pulled away from Jack so I could see what he was talking about. Avoiding looking at the individual crypts, I studied the bricks on the lower half of the three walls beneath the alcoves. A stripe two bricks wide ran the width of each wall, with each brick inside the stripe carved with a swirly pattern that didn’t appear to repeat.

  “It does look like hieroglyphics,” I said, squatting in front of one of the crypts. I ran my hand over one of the bricks, feeling the lines beneath my fingers. “But it’s not.”

  “How do you know that?” Anthony asked.

  “When I was in eighth grade I saw a movie about Cleopatra and decided to teach myself hieroglyphics. I’m not an expert or anything, but I know enough to know this isn’t it.”

  No one said anything, so I turned around to find them all staring at me—including Jack, who was trying very hard not to smile. “Hey, I was a lonely kid. We didn’t have Facebook to waste our time so we had to find other ways to entertain ourselves.”

  “Naturally,” Jack said, giving in with a broad smile. “I just can’t believe I didn’t know that about you.”

  I sniffed as I turned back to stare at the bricks. “There’s probably a lot you still don’t know about me.”

  “Then I can’t wait to find out.”

  Anthony cleared his throat. “I’d suggest you two get a room, but the bedrooms in the house are pretty dusty.”

  I slanted a look at Jack, then aimed my flashlight at the bricks in front of me.

  “Where did Marc do his digging?” Jayne asked Anthony.

  Anthony moved the beam of his light toward the crypt on the center wall with the broken corner on its lid. “According to the plaque, this is Eliza. For whatever reason, probably just a guess since she’s in the middle, Marc began digging here after his scanning with a metal detector turned up nothing.”

  “Why did he stop?” I asked, shivering as I read ELIZABETH GROSVENOR on the plaque, her short life memorialized by the dates beneath her name.

  “The same crypt cover that had slid off and almost landed on my foot before did the same thing to Marc—it barely missed him. That’s why he tried later to have it demolished, but the preservation people stopped him.” Anthony frowned. “The last time I was here, it was because Marc wanted help in opening the coffin. He figured once the lid was replaced, he’d never have a chance.”

  “Did you find anything?”

  He gave me an odd look. “Not what we expected. When we returned, the lid was back on the crypt. The only thing that made me believe what Marc told me about it falling again was that the corner had been broken off and the broken piece was still on the ground.” He pointed at a tile in the narrow border around the dirt floor in front of the crypt. “You can see where it hit—this tile is pretty much pulverized.” An strange smile crept across his face. “You have no idea how refreshing it is not to have to try to explain the unexplainable.”

  We were all silent as we examined the odd markings, the sound of our fingers brushing brick melding with the splat of rain on the ground outside and the occasional sound of phone cameras clicking. I sat back on my heels for a moment, trying to pinpoint a stray thought. I tilted my head one way and then the next, and then again.

  “If you want, I can hold you by your feet so you can see them upside down,” Jack said.

  I frowned at him, then looked back at the stripe of bricks. “It looks like one of those slide puzzles, doesn’t it? You know—those square puzzles with the plastic squares inside with one missing space where you slide them around to make a picture?”

  Jack nodded, a slow smile beginning to form. “Yeah—I used to get them in birthday party gift bags when I was a kid.”

  “I remember those,” Anthony said. “And you’re right. It’s like every brick is in the wrong place, judging by how all of the lines on the edges don’t match up with any of the adjacent bricks.” He scratched his head. “I wonder if these were left over from something else, so it didn’t matter what order they were placed in.”

  “Or they were put like that on purpose.” Jack leaned closer, rubbing his fingers on the rough line of mortar between two bricks. “Considering this was built way before cameras, the only way to figure out the pattern—assuming it’s intentional—would be to take out all the bricks and put them together.”

  “Have you heard back from Steve Dungan—your architect friend? Maybe he can shed some light on this,” I asked.

  “I’ll call him as soon as we get home.” He pulled out his phone. “In the meantime, let’s each take a section of the wall and snap photos of the individual bricks. I figure we can enlarge them and print them out so we can lay them all out like puzzle pieces and see if they fit together.”

  I could hear the excitement in his voice, something that had become a rare thing in recent months. Even the trauma of being yanked through a mausoleum gate by an unknown entity made it worth it.

  “Good idea,” Jayne said. “I’ll take this wall.” She pointed to the wall on the left. “Jack, why don’t you take the one in the center, and Anthony, you take the one opposite mine?”

  “What about me?” I bristled, feeling left out and being reminded yet again of the trauma of PE class when it was time to choose teammates for volleyball.

  “You need to be on the lookout for any drop in temperature or weird breezes that might signal that our visitor is back. Your abilities are a lot stronger than mine.”

  Feeling mollified, yet guilty for being too quick to judge, I sent her a smile. “Good plan. And since it’s stopped raining, I’ll stand right outside the doorway. Just in case it locks again. I’d hate for all four of us to be trapped inside.”

  They all regarded me with wide eyes. “Smart,” Jack said, his gaze not leaving the gate until I was safely on the other side.

  I crossed my arms over my chest to hold in as much warmth as I could. The chill of the mausoleum seemed to have crept into my bones, unwilling to release me. I was glad, as it kept me alert, since I was unable to shake the feeling that someone—or something—was watching me.

  “I’m freezing,” I called inside the mausoleum. “I need to keep moving—I promise I won’t go far.”

  I didn’t wait to hear Jack telling me to be careful, and I took off in a sprint around the perimeter of the cemetery. I hoped my new smart watch was keeping track of my steps so they wouldn’t be wasted effort. I slowed as I reached the oak tree, its sad limbs now dripping raindrop tears, and I felt a downward drift in the temperature. I wasn’t afraid, though. The air had a softness to it, a sense of suspension, as if I were diving into the sea but my body was caught in midair. The smell of death and rot was gone, replaced with the scent of rain and wet grass. But I wasn’t alone. Of that I was sure.

  A movement caught my attention, nothing more than a shift of shadow, except no sun shone overhead. I didn’t see her at first, her green gown blending into the overgrowth on the other side of the cemetery fence. As I continued to look, her form became less transparent, her face and clothing easily discernible. I felt my attention drawn again to the brooch worn on her bodice, the jewels in the peacock’s tail and eyes sparkling despite the lack of sunlight. I wanted to step closer to see it better, but I was afraid of making her di
sappear. I wasn’t wearing my glasses, so I couldn’t see her in crisp detail, and for about the hundredth time I cursed my own vanity.

  I recalled the first time I’d seen her, on the stairs at my house on Tradd Street, how I’d felt as if she’d wanted me to notice the brooch, and I remembered there was something about it that didn’t look right. Maybe it had been the metal, which didn’t look quite gold. I squinted to see better, then took a step backward as I realized her feet weren’t touching the ground but were suspended at the level of the top of the fence. And when my eyes traveled upward, I saw the rope around her neck, the other end of the rope tied around a thick tree limb.

  Her eyes never left my face, and her lips didn’t move, but the word lies threw itself at me as if it had been shouted, startling two black crows from a tall patch of grass where they’d been hunting drowned worms. They flew away in a sharp flutter of wings just as I heard Jack, Anthony, and Jayne emerge from the mausoleum.

  “Did you hear that?” I asked, staring at the empty tree.

  Only Jayne nodded, reassuring me that I hadn’t imagined it.

  “Hear what?” Jack asked as he approached. He pulled me close and kissed the side of my head.

  “Eliza was here. And I think . . .” I screwed up my eyes, trying to recall exactly what I’d seen.

  “What?” Jack prompted.

  “She definitely wanted me to notice her peacock brooch. I’m not exactly positive, but I’m pretty sure it’s the same brooch in the portrait, with four jewels in the eyes and feathers.”

  “Let me guess. You weren’t wearing your glasses so you can’t say for sure. You know, Mellie, they have these things called contacts nowadays. . . .”

  “I know, I know. It’s just that my eyes get so dry and I find them uncomfortable. I’ve been meaning to make an appointment with my eye doctor, but haven’t found the time. I will, though. Soon.”

  “Well, hopefully you’ll run into her again when you’re wearing glasses and can get a better look.” Jack glanced up at the darkening sky. “We should get home. Nola’s friends don’t like hanging around after dark.”

  “Why’s that?” Anthony asked. We all looked at him to make sure he wasn’t joking.

  “Same reason you run past Eliza’s portrait,” Jayne suggested. “This would all be so much easier if Marc was afraid of things that go bump in the night.”

  “Oh, he’s afraid,” Anthony said. “He just thinks that Rebecca has some kind of power over ghosts and can control them. Rebecca’s happy to go along with it, too. But she only has premonitions, right? It’s not like you and Melanie, where you can see and talk to them.”

  Jack was staring at him, but his thoughts seemed to be miles away. “No kidding,” he said, turning to me. “I think we might have found Marc’s Achilles’ heel.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You once told me that bringing in a film crew might agitate some of the resident spirits. This might be a very good thing.”

  I frowned. “Since we’ve maybe found a way to make Marc less interested in stealing our house, are we giving up trying to figure out this puzzle?”

  Jack shook his head. “Heck no. We will use every brain cell to figure this out and to make sure Marc never gets his hands on our house or any hidden treasure. Aggravating him while scaring his pants off will just be the icing on the cupcake.”

  * * *

  • • •

  We dropped Jayne off at her house, then drove the short distance home, fighting over the radio station, more out of habit than out of any desire to listen to music. I didn’t recognize the car parked at the curb in front of our house as Jack pulled into our driveway. “Is Lindsey or Alston driving already?” I asked as we walked around the house to the piazza.

  “Not that I know of. They all just have their permits.” Jack walked toward the unassuming sedan, stopping behind it to read the bumper sticker. His lips pressed together in a firm line. “Citadel,” he said curtly.

  I knew to tread lightly. Alston’s older brother, Cooper, now a senior at the Citadel, was a frequent visitor to our house, but always with his sister or a group of friends. His visits had been less frequent over the last year due in part, I was sure, to Jack’s frostiness. I actually liked Cooper. He was tall and good-looking, and he was also polite, smart, and nice to his sister and his mother. I’d always thought the latter was an indicator of good-husband material, my opinion solidified by watching Jack with his mother. Not that Nola was looking for a husband, or that Jack would allow her to date before she was thirty, but I was fairly confident that Nola was safe with Cooper. The craziest thing they’d ever done together was binge-watch all eight episodes of the Star Wars franchise over a weekend in our upstairs TV room. Jack had insisted on leaving the door open and then brought up fresh popcorn and drinks at regular intervals to make sure they weren’t sitting too close.

  “Cooper probably drove Alston and Lindsey—he’s a good brother, you know.”

  “Humph.” Jack stomped up the piazza steps. “He’s a guy. That’s all I need to know.”

  I rolled my eyes, waiting until he unlocked the front door and held it open for me. As we stood in the foyer, taking off our coats, we heard Nola’s laughter from upstairs, followed by a male voice. We waited for another moment, anticipating hearing the sound of other female voices. When we didn’t, Jack took the stairs two at a time while I followed at a more sedate pace.

  I passed the three dogs at the top of the stairs, staring at a corner of the hallway. Stopping short, I followed their gaze, hoping I wouldn’t see anything, and then worrying because I didn’t. General Lee let out a low growl to let the unseen intruder know who was boss, then immediately ran behind me, quickly followed by Porgy and Bess. It was a good thing they were cute, because they were complete failures as protectors.

  I continued to stare at the corner, willing myself to see whatever it was, aware suddenly of the scent of roses. I relaxed slightly, knowing that whatever was there, Louisa was there, too, protecting us. “Thank you,” I whispered, backing away slowly toward Nola’s room and Jack’s raised voice.

  “You know the rules about closed doors, Nola.”

  I stood behind Jack in the doorway, his hands on his hips just like Mrs. Houlihan’s when she’d find me in her kitchen stealing cookies. Nola sat on her bed with her laptop and scattered books, and Cooper stood in front of the armchair he’d apparently been sitting in before Jack threw open the door without knocking.

  “The dogs were acting weird, but they didn’t want to go out and weren’t interested in any treats, but they kept distracting us, so I just shut the door.”

  “Distracting you from what?” Jack asked. I couldn’t see his face, but I imagined his eyes were narrowed in a perfect interpretation of the avenging father.

  Cooper offered his hand to Jack. “Good to see you, sir. We were brainstorming about those words you gave Nola earlier, trying to see if we could interpret them.”

  After a brief hesitation, Jack shook the young man’s hand. “Um-hm,” he said. “I told her she could invite a few friends over for pizza.”

  “Yes, sir. But my sister wasn’t feeling well, and Lindsey is in Pawleys Island this weekend with her parents. So I volunteered to come help and keep Nola company.”

  “Well, isn’t that convenient . . .” Jack began.

  I elbowed my way past Jack to greet Cooper. “That’s wonderful. Thanks so much. And were you two able to figure anything out?”

  Nola gave me a relieved look. “Nothing yet. We can’t find anything that connects these things, so Cooper thought that we should make identifying lists of each object, starting with color, since three of them—just not kitchen maid—can be identified with specific colors.”

  Jack looked at Cooper with grudging admiration. “I hadn’t thought of that. You might be onto something—although I have no idea where kitchen maid would fit int
o that equation.”

  “That’s the same conclusion we reached, sir. But until we think of something else, we’re creating four lists—since we’re working with four items—of descriptive words, beginning with colors, to see if we can come up with anything. It’s a process. Like writing a book, I would assume.”

  Jack actually smiled at Cooper. “Yes, you could certainly say that.”

  “Did you find anything at the cemetery?” Nola asked, looking a lot more relaxed now that Cooper and Jack had shared a cordial exchange of words.

  “We’re not sure,” I said, pulling out my phone. “Jayne and Anthony will be sending me theirs, but basically we took lots of photos, including pictures of two rows of bricks with odd markings on them. If we print them individually, we should be able to put them together like a puzzle. It’s going to take forever since I’ll have to find a way to print every brick exactly proportionally and then find a surface large enough to put the puzzle together.”

  Cooper cleared his throat. “I might not be able to find the floor space for the actual puzzle, but I have access to some pretty cool software that should make the sizing-and-printing part a little easier. I’d be happy to take a look if you want to send the pictures to me.”

  Nola and I both beamed at Cooper, but Jack narrowed his eyes. “And what would you expect in return?”

  “Dad!” Nola cried out as I punched Jack in the shoulder.

  “Nothing, sir,” Cooper said, his cheeks blazing red. “I’m just wanting to help. I think this whole puzzle thing is really cool—especially when I think it might end up in one of your books. I’ve read them all, by the way. I’m a huge fan.”

  “Hmm,” Jack muttered.

  I grabbed hold of his elbow and began pulling him out of the room before he could say anything else. “Thanks, Cooper,” I called from the hallway. “I’ll have Nola forward all of the photos to you to see if you can come up with anything. And we really can’t thank you enough, can we, Jack?”