The Christmas Spirits on Tradd Street

by Karen White

  I leaned up on my elbow so I could look him in the face. “That’s not what I was going to say. You’re a recovering alcoholic, and I know from my dad that it will be something you will need to confront every day for the rest of your life. But I’m here, Jack. If you feel the need to talk with someone . . .”

  Before I was even aware of him moving, he’d flipped me over on my back, his frame pressing me into the mattress, his blue eyes staring into mine, and I was reminded again of his powers of persuasion and how he knew just what it took to distract me.

  “I find you irresistible when you’re trying to be serious.”

  “But I am serious,” I said, trying not to focus on the heat of his bare skin against mine, or how I knew it was all intentional. “I’m worried that all this pressure is affecting you. . . .”

  He nibbled on my neck, moving up to my earlobe with small kisses. “There’s only one thing affecting me right now, Mellie, and that’s you, naked, in my bed. I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of this.”

  I struggled to remain coherent. “Jack, please. Listen to me. Maybe you and I should go away for a long weekend—to Palmetto Bluff, maybe. To get away from everything.”

  He didn’t lift his head as he continued his attention on every nerve ending in my neck. “We can’t afford to get away, remember?”

  I focused on my breathing, wondering if I should try to use the Lamaze techniques I hadn’t had a chance to put into practice when the twins were almost born in the backseat of a minivan.

  “Just promise me one thing, Mellie.”

  “Mmm?” I mumbled, unable to articulate a coherent word.

  “Please don’t think you need to solve all of our problems, all right? When you get it into your head that you and you alone can fix everything, your tendency is to react rashly and independently, and that never turns out well.”

  “But . . .” My words of protest were quickly forgotten as he moved his lips against mine, neatly erasing all thought and worry.

  My blissful and oblivious satiation lasted until an hour later, when I was awakened from a deep sleep by the sound of Jack sitting down on the edge of the bed and lacing up his running shoes before closing the door gently behind him. The last thought I had before I fell back asleep was that he hadn’t kissed me good-bye.

  * * *

  • • •

  “You might find this easier with your glasses on,” Anthony suggested.

  I glanced up at him over the top of Jayne’s dining room table. Despite having been in the hospital for almost a week and not being able to eat any solid food, he looked surprisingly robust. His coloring seemed healthy and his hair was thick and shiny, the crutches and arm sling gone. Maybe it was a male thing. I remembered what I’d looked like following my hospital stay after giving birth, when I resembled an extra from The Walking Dead instead of a youngish new mother. I would have hated him if he hadn’t been so affable.

  I sighed, then reached inside my purse under my chair for my glasses. “I’m just not in the habit of wearing them.”

  Anthony nodded sympathetically. “So they’re new?”

  I considered lying, then changed my mind. It was stupid, really. “No. I’ve had them for a couple of years. I just haven’t gotten in the habit of wearing them.”

  He smiled. “Well, for the record, I think you look just as beautiful with them on as you do without them. Just in case you were wondering. And you don’t look like Jayne’s older sister at all—more like her twin. But I suppose with a mother like Ginette Prioleau, it’s in the genes.”

  There it was again, that little pang in my gut at the mention of Jayne. We’d just had a lovely tea party with the twins in the garden, taking turns pushing JJ and Sarah in the new double swing. I’d enjoyed being with her and loved the relationship my sister had with my children. It was clear she loved them, and the sentiment was returned twofold. But the ball of resentment lodged in my stomach wouldn’t budge. Obviously, I was the worst person in the world.

  I forced myself to smile. “If I didn’t know any better, Anthony, I could swear you were buttering me up for something.”

  “Ha—got me,” he said, standing up with one of the brick pictures and bringing it to my side of the table. “I want you to say nice things about me to your sister.”

  “I do that anyway.”

  He met my eyes for a moment. “Yeah, well, Jayne and I are just friends. I’m hoping we can move beyond the friend zone.”

  “Ah. Have you mentioned this to her?” I picked up a photograph and leaned over the table, holding it next to other photos to see if it matched.

  “No. I can be pretty shy around women.” A slight blush tinged his cheeks. “Marc was always the one who got the girls when we were growing up. Or maybe he just bullied me enough that I wouldn’t go after the girls he wanted. And if I had a girlfriend he found interesting, he usually ended up dating her.”

  “Sounds like a wonderful big brother.”

  “You think? He certainly had the potential. He’s always had the kind of personality that makes people do what he tells them to.”

  There was an odd note in his voice, one that I was beginning to recognize in my own when I talked about Jayne. Something that could be either love or hate. Something unexplainable. “Even now?”

  He was silent for a moment, his eyes unable to meet mine. “Well, we don’t speak anymore, remember? It’s easier without him in my life.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said, meaning it. Despite all my weirdness where Jayne was concerned, I couldn’t imagine my life without her now.

  He waved his hand dismissively. “Nah—don’t be. Maybe when we’re old men we’ll reconcile enough to be chess partners in the same nursing home. Who knows?”

  Before I could say anything else, he yelled, “Bingo! Got one.” He slid one of the photos up next to another three, making it a perfect match on the top, bottom, and one side.

  “Thank goodness. At this rate we’ll be lucky to be done by the time we’re all ready for the nursing home.”

  “So it’s a good thing I’m living here for a bit while I recuperate. I intend to spend every spare minute working on it until we’ve found where all the pieces fit.” Anthony’s voice had a hard edge to it, and I wondered if it had to do with Jayne keeping him at arm’s length.

  “Yeah,” I said. “It’s a good thing. Because everything else we’ve discovered has led us nowhere in a hurry.”

  “Seems like it,” he said. “Jayne’s caught me up to speed on everything—thought that maybe I could help. Sadly, I can’t offer anything new. Except . . . Well, did Jack find the drawing in the box of papers I gave him?”

  “Yes, he did. But it means nothing to us. We need to see the one Marc copied from your grandfather’s diary, put them together, maybe, to see if they form a picture or code or something that might make sense.”

  “Remember I told you that Marc showed it to me? I might remember it if I could see the other picture. It’s a long shot, but worth a try, right?”

  For the first time in a long while, I felt a glimmer of hope. “Yes,” I said brightly. “It’s definitely worth a try. I know Jack hid it, but I’m not sure where. I’d call him and ask, but I know he’s working and I hate to disturb him, but I promise to ask him tonight. Not to worry—it’s out of sight, so Marc can’t find it. And if you can’t offer any hints after you’ve seen it, I’ll try to get Rebecca to help.”

  “Rebecca? Good luck with that. She’s definitely drunk the Kool-Aid where Marc’s concerned.”

  “Yeah, well, she’s still my cousin. And they say that blood’s thicker than water.”

  “So they say,” Anthony said, already back to studying the photo in his hand, searching for where it might belong.

  The doorbell rang, startling us both. “Maybe it’s the UPS man,” I said. “Jayne does a lot of online shopping.” That was only half t
he truth. I actually did a lot of online shopping—or had before our financial situation had deteriorated—and had most of it delivered to Jayne’s house so Jack wouldn’t realize exactly how much.

  I peered through the sidelights, surprised to see Meghan Black, holding her Kate Spade purse against her chest with both arms wrapped around it, the shoulder strap around the back of her neck. I pulled open the door and ushered her inside.

  “Meghan! It’s good to see you. But what are you doing here?”

  “Your sister, Miss Smith, said I could find you here. I hope you don’t mind, but I needed to see you right away.”

  Fear tiptoed its way down my spine. “Has something happened?”

  She looked past me to the dining room, where she could see Anthony sitting at the table. He glanced up and waved. Her large brown eyes widened with concern. “Can we speak privately?”

  “It’s okay,” I assured her. “He’s on our side.”

  She nodded, but the look of concern didn’t leave her face. Lifting the strap off her neck, she said, “We found something.”

  The scrape of the chair in the dining room announced Anthony’s approach. “In the cistern?” he asked.

  Meghan nodded. “It was actually my friend Rachel Flooring who discovered it. She wasn’t sure what it was, so she showed it to me. I probably wouldn’t have had any idea, either, except that I’ve seen that portrait of Eliza Grosvenor at Gallen Hall—back when we were doing work in the cemetery there, we were given a tour of the house. I remember how creepy the painting was, how the eyes kind of followed me around, you know?”

  Anthony nodded emphatically. “I know exactly what you mean. I will admit to hurrying past it as fast as I can every time I need to use the stairs.” Anthony reached out his hand. “Anthony Longo. Pleased to meet you.”

  Meghan’s eyebrows shot up as she jerked her head toward me.

  “He’s Marc Longo’s brother—but it’s okay. Anthony doesn’t see eye to eye with Marc on what he has planned for our house on Tradd Street and is trying to help us.”

  Meghan relaxed a little and shook his hand. “Good to know. But, yeah, that portrait with the scary eyes . . . Well, it’s not something a person forgets. Especially that peacock brooch she’s wearing. Something about it draws the eye. Like she’s asking you to look at it.” She began fumbling with the latch on her purse. “Speaking of which.” After pulling a small bundle wrapped in cloth from her purse, she looked toward the dining room. “Can I put this on the table? You should probably see it under better light.”

  I led her into the dining room, Anthony following close behind. Meghan’s eyes widened when she spotted the rows and columns of photographs. “Wow—what’s going on here?”

  “These are bricks from the mausoleum at Gallen Hall,” Anthony said. “We think they’re all supposed to fit together like some kind of a puzzle. It’s a total guess, but as you can see we’ve already matched up quite a few, so it’s possible we’re not completely out of the park.”

  Meghan smiled. “It reminds me of a Nancy Drew book. I was obsessed with them when I was younger—I’ve read them all about a dozen times.”

  “Me, too,” I said, liking Meghan more and more.

  “So,” Anthony said, reminding us of why we were there, “what did you find? The Confederate gold or another diamond?” His laugh sounded forced, and both Meghan and I looked at him.

  With a serious face, Meghan said, “You know, Mr. Longo, all the diamonds were located and the story of how the gold is buried somewhere waiting to be discovered by some lucky person is a complete fabrication.”

  Anthony chuckled. “Yes, of course. Just making sure you’d done your homework.”

  I wasn’t sure, but I thought Meghan might have rolled her eyes as she placed the wrapped item on an empty corner of the table, then carefully peeled back the layers. She stood back so we could see it under the light of the chandelier.

  “Wow,” Anthony and I said in union, our hands stretched at the same time.

  “Please put these on before you handle it,” Meghan said, pulling out a pair of gloves and handing it to me. “Sorry, Mr. Longo. I only have one pair, so you’ll have to wait your turn.”

  I quickly slid on the gloves, then hesitated a moment. “It’s the brooch, isn’t it? Eliza’s brooch from the portrait.” I carefully lifted it in one hand, fitting it inside my palm while I traced the outline of the peacock’s head and body and the splayed tail feathers, as if to reassure myself that it wasn’t my imagination.

  Meghan nodded. “I pulled up a photo of the painting I took on my phone and compared it. It’s definitely the same. Well, either an exact replica or the same one.”

  “But all four stones are missing,” Anthony said, as if he couldn’t quite believe it.

  Meghan glanced up at him before redirecting her attention toward me. “We’re pretty sure it’s pinchbeck—that’s why it didn’t show up on any of our scans. And because pinchbeck was almost exclusively used for costume jewelry, we’re assuming that the stones were glass or paste.”

  “Have you found any of the stones?” Anthony asked. “I mean, even if they’re not valuable, it would be nice to put them back in the brooch. For posterity.”

  Meghan shook her head. “Not yet. But if they’re in there, we’ll find them. We’re literally sifting through every ounce of dirt. We’ll be lucky to be done by next Christmas.” She laughed but stopped when she realized no one else was laughing with her. She cleared her throat. “Flip it over and look closely at the back of the bird’s head.”

  I squinted and saw only blurry gold before holding it up for Anthony to see, and he did the same. Even with my glasses it was too small for me to read. This time I was sure Meghan rolled her eyes. Pointing toward a spot on the back of the brooch, she said, “The initials S.V. are engraved on the neck of the bird. So, even if it’s pinchbeck and it’s missing its stones, it could have some value just because of who the jewelry maker was.”

  “Samuel Vanderhorst!” I shouted, as if I were a contestant on Wheel of Fortune. “He was the metalworker who did all the gates in the cemetery at Gallen Hall, right? And later became famous as a freedman after the Revolution when he set up shop in downtown Charleston.”

  “Exactly,” Meghan said. “It’s further evidence that this might be Eliza’s brooch, since both she and Samuel lived at Gallen Hall around the same time. It’s possible she commissioned it, or someone else did for her. Maybe he did it as a favor in return for his freedom.”

  “Why do you say that?” Anthony asked.

  Meghan shrugged. “Well, it was unusual for a slave to be freed because he was good at something. His owner could make a profit from the slave’s skills. Samuel Vanderhorst was incredibly skilled—and Carrollton Vanderhorst definitely knew it. It’s curious, that’s all. Something lost to history, I suppose. Or buried in a cistern.”

  “True,” I said, gently placing the brooch on top of the cloth. “Have you shown this to Dr. Wallen-Arasi yet?”

  “No. I wanted to get it to you as soon as possible, and I figured I’d let you show it to her.” She glanced at Anthony again. “Marc Longo and that Harvey person were hanging around the dig again this morning, making sure we knew to tell them if we found anything interesting.”

  “Did they see this?” I asked in alarm.

  “Nope. My Burberry jacket has these great, deep pockets so I stuck it in there as soon as Rachel showed it to me.”

  “Good job, Meghan,” Anthony said.

  “I agree. Thanks, Meghan. You’ve been a big help.”

  She beamed at us. “Anytime—happy to help.” She glanced over at the dining room. “And if you think you need more help with that puzzle, please let me know. I’d love to work on it, and I bet my friend Rachel would, too.”

  I walked her to the door and opened it for her. “Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind next time I’ve sp
ent three hours at the table without finding a single piece.”

  We said good-bye and I closed the door behind her. Rubbing my hands over my arms, I walked back to the dining room, where Anthony stood looking down at the brooch. “A cold front’s coming in. The weatherman said this morning there was a chance of snow by this weekend. I sure hope not. It’s a rare occurrence, thankfully, but Charleston is worse than Atlanta when it comes to snow.”

  “Hmm,” he said, making me wonder if he’d heard anything I’d said. “You should probably keep this here, just to make sure Marc doesn’t see it.”

  “I thought about that, but I really need to show it to Sophie, get her expert opinion. Not to worry—I have a good hiding spot in mind. He’ll never find it.”

  “Oh, sounds fascinating. Where?”

  I carefully rewrapped the brooch in the soft cloth it had arrived in. “If I told you, it wouldn’t be a good hiding spot, would it?”

  He laughed. “No, I suppose not. Just hide it well. At least until Marc and Harvey are done.”

  “If they’ll ever be done. They’re having so many technical problems I’ve suggested they find a soundstage somewhere and make it look like my house. Because then they’d be out of my hair.”

  “Good plan,” Anthony said, settling himself into a chair and picking up another photograph. “In the meantime, let’s get this puzzle solved so we can all move on.”

  I regarded Anthony for a moment, his mention of moving on striking a chord with me. “Can I ask you a personal question?”

  He peered up at me without moving his head. “I suppose. As long as it’s not too personal.”

  “Well, maybe it’s because this whole sibling thing is new to me, but have you ever considered what sort of permanent damage it might cause to your relationship with Marc when he finds out that you’ve been helping us?”

  He looked down at the table, immersed in his study of the lines and circles on the photograph in his hand. “No,” he said. Looking up to meet my eyes, he repeated, “No. If there’s anything Marc has taught me, it’s that to be successful, you need to be prepared to make enemies. Even if they’re your friends. Or your brother.”