The Christmas Spirits on Tradd Street

by Karen White

  “Mother? Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine—I promise. The whole process is just exhausting—and gets even more so the older I become.” She gave me a reassuring smile. “But I’m fine. Really.”

  I bent down to pick up the ring from the floor, then slid it onto my finger so I couldn’t lose it. “Did you see anything? Did you see the man it belonged to?”

  She tucked her chin as if confused by my question. “The man?” She shook her head. “No, Mellie, it didn’t belong to a man. It was a woman. Definitely a woman.”

  “A woman?” I said slowly, recalling what Greco had said. How when he’d slipped the ring on his finger, someone had kissed him on his cheek.

  “Yes.” She reached up and brushed her neck with her fingers. “She . . . couldn’t breathe. She was choking. But she was hurting elsewhere, too.” Her palm pressed against her chest where her heart was. “Not like the pain from a heart attack. More like . . . a broken heart.”

  We stared at each other while I tried to find room for this particular puzzle piece. “Is that all?”

  Mother shook her head. “No. She kept repeating the same word, over and over. I believe she’s said it before.”

  “What?” I asked, although I knew exactly what she was going to say before the word passed her lips.

  “Lies.”

  CHAPTER 30

  I hesitated on my mother’s porch, the chilly wind buffeting me, the scent in the air definitely something odd. Something that smelled a lot like a word I dared not say out loud. Down south, where snow was treated with the seriousness of an erupting volcano and its subsequent lava flow, it was often referred to as a four-letter word.

  I looked at my watch again. I’d already called Jolly and had her cancel lunch with Sophie and change my appointment, so I wasn’t worried about being late. But I was torn between heading over to Jayne’s house—where Jack had told me he’d moved the box of documents—to compare the drawing Rebecca had given me with the one from the archives, and going home to see how Jack was and to go over the most recent developments with him.

  The wind hit me full on, so cold that my cheeks burned and I could no longer feel my nose. There was definitely going to be something freezing and cold dripping from the sky, so it simply made more sense for me to head to Jayne’s first, so that if it did begin to snow, I could head home to hunker down and talk with Jack then. Assuming he was even up to any kind of discussion.

  Telling myself I was doing this in Jack’s best interest, I slid behind the steering wheel of my Volvo, glad I’d driven the short distance instead of walking. I’d learned my lesson that morning when I’d walked the dogs—Jack’s usual duty—and I’d felt an odd sort of solidarity with the mushers racing the Alaskan Iditarod as the wind pierced my coat and three sweaters and froze my mascara.

  I rang the doorbell of Jayne’s house, even though I had her key, too. But with Anthony temporarily living there, it felt like an invasion of privacy to just walk in. He opened the door and smiled widely, in contrast with his bedraggled appearance and bleary eyes.

  “You look like you’ve just pulled an all-nighter,” I said as I stepped inside.

  “That’s because I have,” he said, shutting the door behind me.

  “Working on the puzzle?”

  He nodded. “Yeah. It’s a little obsessive, I know. But when I do find a brick that fits, I can’t help but think the next one will be easier, and then off I go again.”

  “Well, it looks like you’re doing much better—despite the exhaustion you look perfectly fine.”

  “You’re right. Recuperating here at Jayne’s was a very good idea. Nobody pushing me down stairs, at least.”

  “That’s a good thing,” I said as I took a step toward the dining room.

  “Jayne’s not here,” he said quickly.

  I stopped. “Of course not. She’s at my house with JJ and Sarah. She’s the nanny, remember?”

  He gave a little chuckle. “Sorry, of course. I’m just exhausted, so I suppose my brain’s not functioning completely.”

  “No worries—I go a little crazy after just ten minutes staring at the bricks. Did you get very far?”

  “Not really. I think it’s going to take another week.”

  I made a move toward the dining room and he stepped in front of me, so that for a moment I thought he was trying to block me. Realizing his mistake, he stepped aside, then followed me into the dining room. I stopped in front of the table, surprised at what I saw. “You’ve got more than seventy-five percent of it done. Surely it won’t take that long to finish—especially since there are fewer pieces now.”

  Anthony scratched the back of his head. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. Cooper was here for a bit early this morning before class—I guess he did more than I thought.”

  “Why don’t you go take a nap?” I suggested. “You’ll be able to think more clearly once you give your brain a rest. And you’ll want to be rested for the progressive dinner tomorrow.”

  “Is that tomorrow?”

  “Yes, sadly. Unless it snows,” I said hopefully. “Although knowing the organizers, they’ll make it happen no matter what gets dumped on us from the sky.”

  He looked longingly toward the stairs, as if already envisioning his bed and crawling into it. “Are you here to work on the puzzle?”

  “No, actually.” I reached into my purse and pulled out the piece of paper. “Rebecca just gave this to me. This is the drawing Joseph Longo copied from Robert Vanderhorst’s desk. I just need to compare it to the one you found with the other papers in the garbage.”

  Anthony followed me as I moved toward the front window with the large curved window seat. “Pretty clever hiding place, right? Even though it’s not even locked. Jack figured that besides Jayne having an alarm system, Marc wouldn’t have thought to look here.” I slid off the seat cushion, then pulled open the lid. “And apparently he didn’t figure it out.”

  I reached inside and pulled out the box.

  “Wow. So it’s been here the whole time? Very clever.”

  “Pretty much the only thing that hasn’t been hidden is this.” I held out my hand, where the signet ring sat on my finger. “I think this belonged to a spy in the peacock spy ring—but I’m not sure. Still so much we need to figure out.”

  Anthony was shaking his head. “So none of the pieces are coming together for you yet?”

  “Not yet. As soon as Jack gets over this flu bug, I’m confident that he’ll see the connection. It’s how his mind works.”

  “But you both think it’ll lead you to Lafayette’s treasure.”

  “We certainly hope so. That would really be the answer to everything for us. It would solve our financial issues, give Jack a brand-new book idea to start fresh with a new publisher and contract, and get Marc off our backs for good.” I looked at him closely. “What about you, Anthony? What do you hope to gain?”

  He looked uncomfortable. “I just want to see him not get what he wants for the first time in his life.” He looked away, staring at the photographs on the table. “He’s always gotten what he wanted, regardless of who he might hurt in the process.” He indicated the box I was holding. “Let’s see if this tells us anything.”

  I placed the box on the table and sat down. It took me only a few minutes to thumb through the documents until I found the drawing I was looking for. I pulled it out, then placed it on the table next to the one from Rebecca.

  “They look the same until you see them together, don’t they?” Anthony said.

  I nodded, then moved them around, perpendicular and then parallel, to see if that changed the perspective. It didn’t. I stared at them, knowing I’d seen something similar. Recently, even. Similar, but not the same. I was silent for a moment, trying to think of where I’d seen it, the memory dangling in front of me like a carrot.

  I squinted, ge
tting closer to the page from the archives, and saw something I hadn’t seen before. I tapped on the spot with my fingernail. “Anthony—can you see this? Does this look like anything?”

  He leaned over the drawing, then looked at me with a grin. “It’s initials. S.V. Like on the brooch.”

  I nodded excitedly. “Exactly. Samuel Vanderhorst, the metalsmith at Gallen Hall. Maybe this was the pattern for something he was working on.” I sobered a bit. “Which means it’s probably not going to help us. He made all the wrought-iron gates and fences at the plantation, so it would make sense that his sketches would remain either in the archives or in a Vanderhorst desk. Which makes me wonder why Marc was so eager to find our drawing.”

  “Probably because he knew that our grandfather had made a copy of something he saw in Robert Vanderhorst’s desk, so it must mean something, right?” Anthony picked up the pages, moving them around like he’d done with the photographs in the brick puzzle. When none of the sides matched up, he placed one drawing on top of the other, then held them up to the chandelier, turning the one on top several times before stopping. “It appears to be something like a primitive map—just lines and angles,” he said. “But they need to be converted to the same size so that they match up better. Maybe then we can figure out what it’s a map of.”

  “It’s just . . .” I closed my eyes, desperate to remember.

  “What?” Anthony prodded.

  “I know I’ve seen this pattern before—or one very similar. And recently.”

  “Where?”

  I glanced up at the sharpness in his voice. “It’ll come to me. I just need to stop thinking about it. My subconscious does a lot of my thinking for me.”

  “Right. Sorry—I really am so tired. Forgive me.”

  “I understand. I’m the mother of twins under the age of two, remember? I know what mental exhaustion is like.”

  Anthony nodded, his gaze moving past me to the stairwell behind me. “I think I’m getting delirious in my fatigue. I keep imagining I see Elizabeth, even though I’m not at home with her portrait. And I have the distinct impression she doesn’t like me. I’m pretty sure she’s the one who pushed me down the stairs.”

  “Really? And you’re sure you didn’t trip?”

  “Positive. I had the bruises on my back to prove it—in the shape of a small woman’s hands.”

  “Did Marc have any experiences while he was living there?”

  “Nope. I seem to be the lucky one.”

  “Right. The lucky one. It’s just odd that she’s picking on you and no one else. She seems to be more of an insistent spirit than a malevolent one, from my experiences with her.”

  “Maybe I just remind her of someone she didn’t like when she was alive.”

  “Maybe. It’s been known to happen.” My phone rang. I plucked it from my purse and looked at the screen, surprised to see it was Nola calling. She never called. I didn’t think her generation knew their smartphones could actually be used to make phone calls. “Hang on,” I said to Anthony. “It’s Nola—it might be important.”

  I slid my thumb across the screen to answer, but before I could offer a greeting, she demanded, “Where are you? Didn’t you read my texts?”

  “I’m at Jayne’s house, and no, I haven’t read your texts yet. Is everything all right?”

  “I’m at home. I figured something out, so I left school so I could get home to show you. But you’re not here.”

  “You left school?”

  “Melanie!” Her tone was part frustration and part exasperation. “So sue me—but trust me, this is important. Can you come home right now? I’ve already texted Cooper and he’s on his way, too.”

  “I can be there in about five minutes. But can you first tell me what this is about?”

  “The code!” She nearly screamed the word, and I had to hold my phone away from my ear. “Those four words, remember? In the letter from Lafayette that Dad gave me to work on? Cognac, feathers of goldfinch, kitchen maid, Burgundy wine? We were going over our Dutch painters quiz in my art history class—I got an A, by the way—and it hit me. I know what the words mean. And it’s definitely a code.”

  * * *

  • • •

  My fingers were so cold from my race down Jayne’s driveway that I could barely fumble in my purse for my keys or pry the car door handle open. I’d almost managed to close the door when it was wrenched from my grasp. Anthony stuck his head inside the door opening. “Let me come with you. I can help.”

  “Thanks, Anthony, but we’ll have Nola and Cooper and Jayne, and even Jack if he’s up to it. Right now, I think you’d be most helpful finishing up the brick puzzle. You’re really close.”

  He looked so disappointed that I almost changed my mind and sent him back into the house for his coat and shoes. But then my phone dinged again and I glanced at it on the seat next to me. The message was from Nola. PLS HURRY!

  I shook my head. “Thanks—but we’ve got this covered. I’ll check back with you later. Go inside now and take a nap.”

  “Fine, you’re right. But keep me posted.” He closed my door and shoved his hands into his jeans pockets, then stood watching me as I backed out of the driveway and onto South Battery.

  I’d barely made it a block when I was met by flashing lights and a policeman rerouting traffic toward Water Street. It was apparently just a fender bender involving two cars, but it was enough to block traffic going in both directions. Biting back an expletive, I waited behind five cars to take the directed U-turn, drumming my hands impatiently on my steering wheel.

  My phone beeped again. I glanced over at the seat again, expecting to see another text from Nola, but that wasn’t what it was. Instead, my screen was rapidly scrolling through all of my stored photos, mostly of JJ, Sarah, and Nola, slowing down when it got to the photos I’d taken at the Gallen Hall cemetery. I started to get annoyed—now was not the time for my phone to go on the fritz. But then I noticed the photo it had stopped on and understood that my phone wasn’t malfunctioning at all.

  A car honked behind me, and I jerked my head to face forward, noticing the policeman waiting for me to make my U-turn. I smiled and waved, hoping he wouldn’t stop me for texting and driving—not that that’s what I was doing, but it might have looked that way. Beyond it being dangerous and stupid to text while driving, texting was a skill I could barely perform sitting at a desk and using two hands, much less using one hand while trying to control a car.

  I smiled as I passed the officer, then hit the dial button on my steering wheel and called Anthony’s cell. I skipped all formalities as I blurted, “It’s on my phone—where I saw that pattern before!” I took a deep breath to slow down my words. “It’s on the small square inside the larger wrought-iron gate in the mausoleum. I took a picture of it, and I’ve still got it on my phone.”

  “Can you send it to me right away?”

  “I’ll text the picture in just a minute—I’m not home yet.”

  Another text came from Nola. HURRY!!!!!

  I found myself clenching my jaw and forced myself to relax. Ignoring the text, I said, “I was thinking that maybe you could convert the three patterns to the same dimensions and see if putting them together means something.”

  “Great idea, Melanie. And I’ll absolutely do that. I’ll keep you posted—and do the same with whatever Nola’s discovered, too, all right?”

  “Deal.” I hit the disconnect button, then found myself detouring my way back to Tradd Street, the short distance taking forever because of all the one-way streets not going the one way I needed to.

  When I pulled into the driveway, I immediately texted the photo to Anthony, then raced inside the house. Nola met me in the foyer and began pulling me back toward the kitchen. “I thought we’d work on the dining room table, but Mrs. Houlihan said you’d probably blow a gasket if we messed up any of your table settings
for the party.”

  She dragged me through the kitchen door before I could defend myself, which was a good thing, since Mrs. Houlihan was probably right.

  “Jack!” I said in surprise. He sat at the head of the table wearing his pajamas, robe, and slippers, with a thick blanket wrapped around him. A box of tissues sat near his right hand, a wadded tissue shoved in the collar of his pajamas. His hair looked like he’d been stuck in a wind tunnel, and he had three days of stubble on his chin, yet when he grinned at me, my heart beat a little faster and he was still the most devastatingly handsome man I had ever seen.

  I raced over to his side of the table, but he held a hand up to block me. “Not too close, Mellie. You can’t get sick, too.”

  I looked around the table and noticed how all the chairs were clustered at the other end. I greeted Cooper, then glanced around for Jayne and the children. I was a little addicted to two sets of pudgy arms around my neck and sloppy kisses on my cheeks when I came home each day. Even with the three dogs scurrying around my feet in greeting, it just wasn’t the same. Still, I bent down to scratch behind each set of ears, spending longer on General Lee because he was the eldest.

  “Jayne’s upstairs with the twins, but when they go down for their nap she’ll join us,” Jack said. Despite wanting to see JJ and Sarah, I felt a tiny twist of relief that Jayne wouldn’t be a part of this. I told myself that I would dissect my feelings later. When I had time.

  Jack continued. “We were going to have the twins in the kitchen with us on their blanket with their toys and the dogs, but they kept wanting me to hold them. I don’t know who this quarantine is harder on—them or me.”

  “It’s pretty hard for me, too,” I said, giving him a meaningful glance.

  Nola sighed heavily. “Okay, you two. Can we focus, please?”

  I moved to stand behind her while she opened the same art history textbook I recalled seeing her and her two friends with at the wreath workshop. Cooper pulled out a notebook and opened it to a blank page.