The House on Tradd Street

by Karen White

  I turned to Marc. “Dr. Arasi is a professor of art history at the college. He’s had some renovation experience and has kindly donated his time to help.”

  Marc took the offered hand but pulled it back quickly when General Lee began a low growl, baring small fangs that looked about as fierce as marshmallows.

  Chad pulled General Lee back. “Whoa, little doggie. That’s no way to be nice.” Looking back at Marc, he said, “Sorry about that. Don’t know what came over the little guy. He’s usually just chillin’.”

  Marc smiled but it did nothing to alter General Lee’s opinion of him. The little dog continued to growl and bare his teeth until the front door opened and Jack stuck his head out. The dog leapt from Chad’s arms and ran to Jack, who quickly scooped General Lee up and began scratching him behind the ears like somebody who’d owned dogs all of his life.

  Jack stuck a hand out to Marc. “Well, hey, there, Matt. Glad you could stop by again so soon. Hope you brought a change of clothes, because this kind of work can get messy.”

  Marc shook Jack’s hand halfheartedly. “It’s Marc, actually, and I was just stopping by to say hello to Melanie and to issue an invitation for this weekend. I don’t think she’s answered me yet, however.”

  Jack looked at me, his eyes penetrating. “Well, except for working on the house, I know I’m free. What about you, Mellie?”

  I wish he’d been standing closer because I would have kicked him. I smiled, hoping he could read the real message in my eyes. “I believe the invitation was just for me, Jack. But I wasn’t sure what was going on this weekend at the house. I haven’t done the work schedules that far in advance.”

  Jack held up a palm. “Say no more. I understand. I’m sure the four of us and the assorted hangers-on can manage without Mellie for a weekend. Just bring your phone in case of emergencies. You never know what can go wrong with one of these old houses.”

  “Four of you?” Marc raised an eyebrow.

  Jack nodded. “Yep. There’s Chad here and myself, Mellie’s friend Sophie and Mellie’s dad. We’ll all be working here this weekend.”

  “Well, then,” Marc said, “looks like you’ve got it covered. And I’m sure you’d agree that Melanie here could use a little bit of rest and relaxation. She’s had a difficult month.”

  Jack’s smile didn’t dim. “And I guess you would know best.”

  We had all managed to walk into the foyer at some point in the awkward conversation. Chad passed us and was now staring into the drawing room with his hands on his hips, surveying the broken chandelier lying on the floor and the hole in the ceiling. “Man, that must have hurt.”

  The three of us moved to stand behind Chad in the doorway. “Luckily, no one was in here when it happened,” I said.

  Marc kneeled in front of the chandelier and was inspecting it closely. “Looks like it’s Italian. I wonder if it’s even repairable.” He picked up a loose teardrop pendant. “Of course, you could always sell if for salvage. Old-house owners are always looking for the odd crystal pendant missing from their grandmother’s chandelier.”

  “Actually, it’s nineteenth-century Baccarat and worth a fortune.” Sophie had come in without me hearing her and was standing next to Chad in an identical position with her hands on her hips. She was frowning at Marc as she spoke. “I have an expert coming in tomorrow to take it to be repaired. Luckily, it fell on the rug and not the hard floor, so it’s not as irreparable as one would think. It will be expensive to repair, but compared to its value, it’s nothing.”

  Marc stood, brushing off his pants knees as he did. “That’s amazing. You’d think it was made of diamonds or something.” He watched me closely as he spoke, making me wonder if I had missed something.

  “It definitely wasn’t,” said Sophie, leaning down to pick up a crushed piece of crystal that had been half hidden under the rug. “The poor Aubusson would have a huge hole in the middle if that were the case.” She held up the crushed crystal in her open palm. “Diamonds are a lot more lethal to old rugs than crystal.” She smiled before dropping the pendant into her pocket.

  “Oh, my goodness! What happened in here?” We all turned around to find Mrs. Trenholm standing behind us in the doorway, taking in the damage. Her eyes finally settled on Jack. “Please tell me that you had nothing to do with this.”

  Jack reached her side and kissed her on both cheeks in greeting. “No, Mother. It just fell out of the old plaster. But thank you for thinking me capable of ripping a chandelier out of a fourteen-foot-high ceiling.”

  Mrs. Trenholm shook her head sadly. “I knew you as a toddler, remember.” She approached the chandelier. “Definitely Baccarat. Mid-nineteenth century would be my guess. And certainly worth repairing.”

  “That’s what I thought, too,” said Sophie as she offered her hand and then introduced herself.

  I greeted Jack’s mother and then introduced the remaining people in the room, ending with Marc.

  “Oh, yes. Mr. Longo. I believe we spoke several times on the phone last spring regarding the Gibbes Museum’s AIDS benefit.” She raised an elegant eyebrow, and I thought I could see Marc squirm under her scrutiny.

  “Yes. I do remember. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you in person, Mrs. Trenholm.”

  “Likewise,” she said with a polite smile.

  I introduced Amelia to Sophie and Chad, then turned my attention to her. “Thanks for coming by. Please excuse the mess.” I indicated the tarps covering the marble floor in the entranceway and the short scaffolding Chad had been erecting in the foyer to begin the arduous process of peeling off fifty-year-old wallpaper without damaging the 150-year-old handpainted wallpaper underneath. With much frowning and agitated sighs, Sophie had finally agreed to show Chad how to do it, figuring it would keep him away from her for a good long while. Chad’s eagerness had bordered on pathetic.

  “It’s not a mess, dear. Just a work in progress. And I’m sorry to intrude. Jack called me this morning and wanted me to take a look at some of the things he found in the attic.”

  I faced Jack. “Did you finish going through everything already?”

  “I couldn’t sleep after you left last night.” He paused—the innuendo intentional, I was sure. “So I decided to finish sorting through the attic. I brought most of the boxes and smaller items and stored them in the two extra bedrooms on my side of the house. The bigger stuff—like your buffalo—I left up there. When Mom’s done, Chad here can help me move the more valuable furniture to other spots in the house—at least until we get the roof repaired.”

  “I’m working on it,” said Sophie. “I’ve got our paperwork into the BAR, and I’m waiting to hear from them. Hopefully we’ll just be rubber-stamped. In the meantime, I’ve got some guys coming over today to patch some of those holes over the attic.”

  Marc crossed his arms and frowned. “Ah, yes. The BAR. Aren’t they the ones referred to as the second cousin who comes for a visit and stays too long?” Marc looked around for corroboration.

  His words echoed my sentiments exactly, but hearing them said out loud embarrassed me, made me feel like an impostor, reminded me that there had been a time when I’d once thought that the oak-lined streets of the historic district were the most beautiful streets in the world.

  Marc clasped his hands together at the deafening silence. “Well, then, would this be a good time for a tour?”

  “Sure,” I said, avoiding Jack’s glance. “Let’s head up to the attic first to show Mrs. Trenholm some of the treasures Jack’s uncovered, if you’d like to get started there.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” he said, heading eagerly toward the staircase. The rest of us followed, including General Lee, who seemed to be adopting the annoying habit of gluing himself to my side whenever we were in the same room together.

  As we walked up the stairs, Mrs. Trenholm paused halfway, admiring the view into the foyer. “You truly are lucky, Melanie. I know many people who would just kill to get their hands on this furniture, much less th
e house! Speaking of which, I have connections with several museums, two of whom have expressed an interest in housing some of your collections while you’re in a state of renovation. I was thinking mostly of some of the museum-quality pieces Jack suspects you might have in your attic, but now that I see the extent of the work being done in the house, you might consider lending a few of the other pieces that are in the way.” She looked around her again with narrowed eyes. “How long are you anticipating the restoration will take?”

  “I’m giving it a year, tops. And then I’ll be able to sell it.”

  I watched as Amelia’s eyes met Jack’s over my head. “A year, hmm? I’m thinking you’ve never worked much with contractors, have you?”

  I crossed my arms over my chest, feeling defensive. “Not really. Which is one of the reasons I always prefer to live in new construction.”

  “I see,” she said, and those two words seemed to mean a lot more than I could translate at the moment.

  We continued on our way up the stairs. “I’d love for you to take that grandfather clock in the downstairs drawing room. It chimes every fifteen minutes all through the day and night, and it is driving me crazy. Sophie wants to get started on the ceiling and walls in there, but it’s going to be hard to work around it.”

  Mrs. Trenholm stopped at the top of the stairs and looked at me. “Oh, no, Melanie. You shouldn’t move that clock. It’s bad luck—or haven’t you heard?” She put her finger to her chin, a small line forming between her brows. “There’s some sort of story, made up years ago, I’m sure, about that clock. It’s been here since about the time of the War Between the States, and has never been moved. The story says that it’s cursed or some such nonsense and that anybody who tries to move it meets with some horrible fate—but I have a feeling that whoever started that story was probably somebody’s husband who didn’t want to break his back because his wife wanted to rearrange the furniture again.” She winked. “You know how men can be.”

  Jack grunted, but everybody else remained silent as we made our way to the attic. We crowded around the space inside the door as Jack went ahead to flip on the single bulb.

  “Oh, my goodness,” exclaimed Mrs. Trenholm as she studied her surroundings. “It’s like finding treasure.” She walked over to a low chest with a bowed front and elaborate brass fixtures. Kneeling in front of it, she slid open a drawer and peered inside. “French, seventeenth century at the latest. Very well made.” She stood and patted the top of it the way a mother would before sending her child off on his first day of kindergarten. “It needs refinishing but other than that it’s in good shape.” She faced me. “Melanie, you really need to get it out of this humid attic. I’ll have my museum friend contact you tomorrow.”

  “Thank you,” I said, adding that to my never-ending and growing to-do list.

  General Lee ran past me toward the buffalo and began barking. Chad laughed. “Look at that. He thinks he’s found a friend.”

  Sophie stepped forward, her attempt at sending Chad a withering glance failing miserably. “No, actually. He seems to be barking at the desk next to Mr. Buffalo.”

  She sneezed as Chad joined her and picked up the dog. “What’s wrong, big guy? Something spooked you?”

  General Lee responded with a resounding yap and twisted in Chad’s arms to face the desk again.

  Jack and I joined them near the desk as Sophie stepped forward and opened the desk drawer. “Look—there’s a stack of papers in here.”

  Jack reached in and lifted them out. “I know. Mellie and I found them last night. When I get a chance I’ll go through them, although at first glance I don’t think there’s anything of real significance here.” He moved to stick them back in the drawer when I remembered what I’d thought about the night before as I’d gone to sleep. I put my hand on his wrist. “Wait a minute. I want to look at that deed again.”

  For a moment I had the extraordinary thought that he was going to refuse. “Sure,” he said, riffling through the documents until he pulled out the right one and handed it to me.

  I scanned the document, my eyes settling at the bottom, confirming what I’d thought before. “I know the person who witnessed this.” I looked up, meeting Jack’s eyes, and it became apparent to me that he already knew. “My grandfather—Augustus Middleton.”

  General Lee let out a bark as Sophie and Chad gathered around us to get a closer look at the deed. Sophie took the paper from me and squinted at the small print. “I guess it makes sense since your grandfather was not only a friend but also a lawyer. But why would Mr. Vanderhorst deed the property to his wife?”

  Chad reached down to pick up General Lee, who was jumping up as if to get a better look. “It sure is a mystery,” he said, looking around. “But I bet if we put our four heads together we could figure it out.”

  Mrs. Trenholm made a strangled sound in her throat, and then coughed. “Jack, what was that silly cartoon with the dog and his four friends that you used to watch every Saturday morning? They would solve mysteries and drive a van.” I watched as a grin spread across Mrs. Trenholm’s face.

  Jack’s brow furrowed. “You mean Scooby-Doo?”

  Sophie snorted. “With Shaggy, Fred, Velma, and Daphne?”

  “Yes! That’s it.” Amelia put her hand over her mouth to stifle a laugh.

  “Ruh-roh!” said Chad, obviously getting the joke that so far eluded me.

  When Jack and Sophie began laughing, too, my annoyance turned into peevishness. “I guess some of us had better things to do than sit in front of a television set on Saturday mornings,” I said, remembering how I’d used that time to sit by my father’s bed with a bucket so that when he threw up after his Friday night binges, I wouldn’t have to clean up.

  Marc cleared his throat. “The resemblance is a bit uncanny. But wouldn’t you need a ghost, too?”

  That quickly sobered everyone up, and I wondered if they were all remembering the flying picture frame in the drawing room. I avoided Jack’s eyes as I turned back to the deed. “Didn’t I hear somewhere lately that Magnolia Ridge had been purchased recently?”

  Marc coughed again. “I own it, actually. Sort of my first foray into historical real estate investment. Magnolia Ridge plantation had been abandoned and then owned by the state for years and was about to go up for auction. I guess you can say I was in the right place at the right time.”

  “What a coincidence,” Jack said with a tight smile.

  “Yes, wasn’t it?” Marc smiled, then turned back to me. “I’m sorry to be leaving so soon, but I’ve got another appointment. I’ll ask for my tour another time, Melanie, when you’re not so busy. And I’ll pick you up at five o’clock on Friday, all right? All you’ll need is a toothbrush and a bathing suit.”

  All eyes turned to me, and I felt my cheeks burn, feeling guilty that I could be considering time off when everybody else had been working long days with only a minor stipend—my father’s idea—and good food provided by Mrs. Houlihan as payment. Except for Chad’s motivations involving Sophie, I wouldn’t entertain the possibility that people would restore an old house for fun. I looked down at my chipped fingernails, courtesy of scraping decades of paint layers from the corkscrew spindles on the central staircase, and remembered that I’d missed yet another appointment with my hair colorist because I’d been waiting on the electrician again.

  “If it makes you feel any better, I promise you that it won’t all be leisure,” Marc added. “We can finish our discussion about historic real estate in Charleston and maybe come up with a list of houses to see in the next week.”

  The talk of doing work did assuage my conscience somewhat, and when I spied my neglected fingernails again, my mind was made up. Defiantly, I raised my chin. “Yes, that would be great. I’ll be ready.”

  His look of surprise was quickly hidden behind a smile. “Great. I’ll see you then.” He kissed me briefly on the cheek, his warm breath teasing my nerves and making me blush. I was grateful for the dim lighting.


  “I’ll see you out,” I said, following Marc to the door.

  “Me, too,” said Jack as he followed us both to the stairs. I didn’t bother sending him a scathing look, knowing that it wouldn’t make any difference.

  Marc paused halfway down the stairs. “This is such a beautiful home. I’ll admit to being a bit disappointed that it’s not for sale. Then again, look at all this work. I’m not sure if I were in your position I’d be willing to see it through.”

  We reached the front door. “Believe me,” I said, “I have second thoughts every day about my sanity in deciding to stay here.”

  Marc smiled, his eyes warm. “There’s nothing wrong with your sanity, Melanie. You made a promise to an old man, which shows you have a warm and generous heart. That’s a very good thing, you know.”

  I thought he was about to kiss me, and I wasn’t opposed to the idea, when Jack spoke up from behind us. “That’s our Mellie. Heart of gold.” He stepped around us and pulled open the door. “Thanks for stopping by, Matt. We’ll see you later.”

  A flash of loathing appeared in Marc’s eyes and then just as quickly was gone. Marc looked at me again, his brown eyes penetrating. “I’ll see you Friday.”

  “Looking forward to it,” I said as I watched him head down the piazza, wondering if he really would have kissed me if Jack hadn’t been there.

  I closed the door, then turned around, almost jumping in surprise to find Jack standing so close. He wasn’t smiling.

  “Remember what I said about coincidences, Mellie? They don’t exist. Regardless of what he wants you to think, it is not a coincidence that Marc Longo not only owns Magnolia Ridge, but also showed up on your doorstep asking to buy this house.”

  Irritated, I pushed away from him and headed back to the stairs. “I told you, he’s a businessman. It would only make sense that he’d want to invest in real estate in his hometown.”

  Jack followed me, his heels digging into the floor with each step. “But why you? Why this house? Don’t you think there’s something else here?”

  I stood on the third step and turned around to face him. “Like what? That he found out his grandfather and Louisa really did have an affair? Why would that make him want to buy up all the real estate that had anything to do with her? Marc Longo is simply not the kind of man who would get sentimental over an old love story or a past scandal. He’s a businessman, remember? He’s looking for ways to make money.”