by Karen White
He simply returned my gaze, his expression flat.
“And you think that’s enough evidence to prove that the diamonds were real and part of the treasury?”
“I’m positive. After I saw the trunk, I took a trip to the University of Texas at Austin, where they have a large collection of Davis’s papers. I found a letter he wrote to General Lee before Davis fled from Richmond, stating how he had the means to support Confederate widows regardless of the outcome of the war. I was pretty sure what he was implying, and that I had discovered the validation needed to prove that the diamonds existed.” He paused and shoved his hands in his pockets, reminding me of the photo on the back cover of his last book, and I had a fleeting thought that the pose wasn’t meant to be arrogant or self-assured; it was simply the man I thought I had come to know hiding behind the author. If I hadn’t hated him so much at that moment, I might have found it endearing.
Jack continued. “And that’s when I decided what my next book would be about.”
I unclenched my jaw. “Because you needed something really big to resurrect your career. To make up for the fiasco of your previous book. The book that made you an object of public ridicule and caused your publisher to not renew your contract.”
Jack’s jaw shifted. “Yeah. Something like that.”
“And Colonel Vanderhorst’s town house. Where was it?”
He leaned over in his chair, his forearms resting on his knees, and when he looked up, he looked as miserable as I felt. “Here. At Fifty-five Tradd Street.”
I nodded, then kept nodding like a dashboard bobblehead, not seeing anything or thinking any coherent thoughts. The idea of Marc possibly deceiving me registered like a leaf falling on a lake in comparison to the feeling that was now taking over—a feeling that reminded me of walking into my mother’s closet and finding all of her clothes gone.
“So when we first met and you told me about the book you were working on, it had nothing to do with Louisa and Joseph Longo. That was just a convenient story for you to gain access to my house.”
He nodded, his face completely serious for the first time since I’d met him. “Yes, although at the time I was pretty sure that the two mysteries surrounding your house might be related. I still do. I think the disappearance of Louisa and Joseph is connected to the diamonds somehow.”
“So you’ve been lying to me since the day we met.” My voice shook, and I hoped he thought it was from anger instead of those damned tears in my throat that wouldn’t leave me alone.
He stood and began walking toward me, but my father stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for it to get this far. What I’d heard of your reputation . . . well, I wasn’t sure you’d give me carte blanche to scour your new house for a bunch of priceless diamonds. I figured a more personal connection to Mr. Vanderhorst would soften you up, make it easier for me. I planned on just getting the information I needed and then leaving. Even if I discovered the diamonds, I would have given them to you. I just needed them as proof that I’d found them.”
I turned away, not able to look at him anymore. “When I showed you Mr. Vanderhorst’s letter, you must have jumped up and down at how easy I had made it for you.” I stopped for a moment, chewing on my lip and listening to the gentle tick of the clock. “I would have given you access, anyway, you know. If you’d told me why solving this mystery was so important to you, I would have understood. You didn’t have to lie at all.”
“I know that now, Mellie. But I didn’t know you then. And this was so all important to my career that I acted like an asshole and didn’t stop to think how it might affect you. I figured I’d be in and out so fast that you wouldn’t even care.”
I threw back my head and laughed, except it wasn’t a real laugh. It sounded more like a hurt bird or a disappointed child. A thought niggled at the back of my brain, and I turned to face him. “That bet you had with your mother—the one you lost. That was about this, wasn’t it?”
He nodded, and if I’d had any emotion left at all, I suppose I would have admired his honesty. “She told me to be straight with you right from the start, but I didn’t listen. I promised her that I would tell you right away—just as soon as I figured out how receptive you’d be.” He stopped, as if unsure how to continue.
“So what was the bet?”
“That I’d wait so long to tell you the truth that eventually I couldn’t.”
My crossed arms were pressed so tightly against me that they were starting to tingle from loss of circulation. “But why not? After you got to know me, why not tell me?”
A light flickered in his eyes for a moment and then was gone. “Because I ended up liking you too much to let you know that I’d lied to you. Because I was afraid that you would hate me and throw me out on my ear. And because I knew that losing your friendship would be worse than losing my book contract.”
I bit down hard on my lip, concentrating on the pain so I couldn’t think about the implications of what he’d just said. With a fortifying breath, I said, “Well, guess what. You were right. I do hate you right now.” I faced my father. “So you knew all along? I’m the only one who’s been kept in the dark?”
“No, Melanie. Jack just told me—out of concern for you because of this Marc Longo fellow. I even tried to persuade Jack to let me tell you that I was the one who found out about the diamonds. But he wanted you to know the truth.”
“And Sophie and Chad?” I asked.
“Nobody else,” Jack said quietly. “Except for Marc Longo.” He took a step toward me, then stopped. “Mellie, I’m sorry. I know that sounds inadequate, but it’s true. But regardless of how much you might hate me right now, you need to listen to me about Marc. He’s desperate and could be dangerous. I don’t think you should be alone with him. Remember the vandalism and the break-in when you were here? Even the phone calls. I wouldn’t be surprised if he were responsible. He’s desperate, Mellie. And desperate men have been known to do desperate things.”
I ignored him, my mind busy replaying the events of the last few months since Jack had come into my life. “So your insistence about the alarm system wasn’t about your concern for me at all, was it? It was about these mythical diamonds that may or may not exist. And your idea to move in here was to protect them—not me.”
His jaw clenched. “You’re wrong, but I don’t expect that you would believe me now.”
“No, I wouldn’t.”
My father stepped forward. “Melanie, there’s more. And this is probably a rotten time to tell you, but it’s all related and might help you figure out what to do next.”
My reputation as a hard-ass in the real estate business, while not duplicated in my personal life, was well earned. I blocked out any emotion that didn’t involve getting my own way or sealing the deal and faced my father with a hopefully calm demeanor. “What?”
“I’ve spent the last two days crunching numbers, using Sophie’s predictions of expected costs for the work that still needs to be done.”
I felt my calm demeanor slip slightly. “And?”
He swallowed but didn’t break eye contact. “It . . . uh . . . well, it looks like we’re going to run out of money before all of the work is completed.”
“How is that possible?” My voice wavered slightly, but I didn’t shout.
“Simple, really. The roof replacement took up more than twice what the budget allowed because we originally thought we’d only have to replace part of it and patch others, and the foundation repair, while essential to the rest of the restoration, was completely unexpected. And Sophie’s methods”—he shrugged—“well, there’s no doubt she knows what she’s doing and everything is first-class, but the money is flying out faster than either one of us expected.”
The French toast and coffee I’d consumed for breakfast threatened to come back up. “So what are you saying, exactly?”
“That we need those diamonds. If they’re found on this property, they will belong to you. So if anybody f
inds them, it will need to be us.”
I waved my hands in front of me, as if I could erase everything that had been said. The lies, the diamonds, the shortage of money—all these thoughts ricocheted around my head like a ball in a pinball machine. I was either going to throw up or cry, either option as equally humiliating as the other. “I can’t deal with this now, Dad. I just can’t. When Chad and Sophie get here, tell them that they’re getting a day off. We’ll sit down and talk with Sophie later but not now. I’ll let you know.” I turned around for the last time, pausing again in the doorway with my back to them. “Jack, I want you packed and out of here within the hour. And I don’t ever want to see you again.”
“Mellie, stop. Please listen. You could be in danger. Your house has already been broken into twice, remember? Please. It’s not about the book anymore. Or my career. It’s you I’m concerned about now.”
I didn’t stop to listen to any more. I made it to the bottom step before I paused. “Just leave. Please. I don’t want to hear anything else you have to say.” I made it up one step before I paused once more. “And stop calling me Mellie,” I called out before running up the stairs, careful to hold in my stupid tears until I’d made it to the safety of my bedroom.
I nearly tripped over one of Louisa’s albums as I entered the room, barely catching my balance by grabbing on to the armoire. The album lay neatly on the floor, faceup and open. Ignoring it, I slid down the door until I’d reached the floor, using the heels of my hands to stanch my tears. Eventually I stopped and even managed to open my eyes. Something empty and pulsing inside my chest interrupted my breathing as I sat staring at the open album.
Both pages were filled with amateur photographs of a growing Nevin. In one, I recognized the piazza, where Nevin sat on a rocking chair, his index finger pointed at the invisible photographer, his face creased with laughter. It was slightly blurred, as if the subject had failed at sitting still for the picture, but the spirit of the child had been captured perfectly.
I remembered the Brownie camera that Jack had found in the attic and how Louisa had written that it had been a gift to her from her husband. Even if I hadn’t known that, I would have assumed from the look on little Nevin’s face that it was his mother behind the camera.
I closed my eyes, not wanting to see the face of the boy I had failed. Regardless of whether the diamonds existed—and even if they did, I was pretty positive that if they were in the house, we would have found them by now—I was no further along in my search for finding out what happened to Louisa than I had been when I’d first sat in the drawing room with Mr. Vanderhorst and ate pralines from the rose china. Without Jack I wasn’t sure I’d be able to dig up anything else; I simply didn’t know where to look. I felt numb, as if my nerve endings had been scattered into the wind like a dandelion, leaving a bare stem of simple weariness.
Opening my eyes, I stared again at the pictures, at the happy boy who had grown up to be a lonely man wondering why his mother had abandoned him. And who had entrusted me with his house and his dream of finding the truth.
I curled my legs up to my chest and rested my forehead on my knees. There was one thing I could do that I hadn’t done yet—something I hadn’t done since my grandmother had died and I’d realized that my imaginary friends weren’t real but something else entirely.
I took a deep breath through my nose and held it, then slowly exhaled from my mouth, trying to exorcise Jack with the outgoing air. With another deep breath, I looked at the pictures again of the smiling little boy and then around the empty room. “Louisa? Are you here?”
The clock chimed downstairs and then all was silent again. I remained where I was, listening.
“Louisa?” I asked again. I rubbed the heels of my hands into my eyes. “Please let me help you.” I kept my hands pressed into my eyes, so all I saw were red spots against my eyelids. “Why would you leave your son when you loved him so much?”
I shivered, and when I opened my eyes, I could see my breath. The dry rustle of paper brought my attention to the album, where the pages were flipping slowly as if blown by an invisible wind. They settled on a double layout of pictures of Louisa’s garden, focusing on her roses and a pergola that had since been replaced by the fountain. I sniffed, smelling the roses as if I were sitting in the middle of them on a hot summer day. The pages rustled again, fluttering like moths around a lamp, and a yellowed newspaper clipping caught the current of moving air, twirling twice before landing on the floor at my feet.
The article was dated December 30, 1930, and the small headline read, Two Prominent Gentlemen End Their Longtime Association. My eyes scanned down to read the entire article.
A spokesperson for the esteemed legal practice of Vanderhorst and Middleton reported today that the firm is being dissolved. Assurances are being given that existing clients will continue to be handled in the manner in which they are accustomed, albeit by the lawyer of their choosing. Clients have been notified and can reach the firm at the current address until the first of February.
No reason was cited as to the dissolution of the firm, but many speculate it could be related to the recent disappearance of Mr. Vanderhorst’s wife, Louisa Gibbes Vanderhorst. Her whereabouts are unknown as of present, as is her reason for abandoning her husband and eight-year-old son, Nevin.
I stared at the article for a long time before sticking it back into the album. I slowly shut the cover and slid the album to the floor before dropping my head in my hands. Very quietly, I spoke to a woman who had long ago left this house but now seemed reluctant to leave it again. “I know all of this, Louisa. I know about your roses, and how my grandfather and your husband were friends and partners and had a falling-out.” I grabbed two fistfuls of my hair in frustration and tugged. “What I don’t know is why you left and where you went and why you’ve come back.”
Slowly, I struggled to my feet and stood, smelling now the tangy scent of old roses left too long in a vase. Wrinkling my nose, I reached under my bed and pulled out my suitcase and began packing up as many of my belongings as I could. I wouldn’t stay another night in this house, where everywhere I looked I saw my failures. I wasn’t used to failing: I’d been the top seller at my agency for the last five years, and a person didn’t get to that level by failing. My success was the one thing that kept me from looking backward and seeing a gawky girl whose own mother couldn’t find enough in her to love.
I wasn’t sure how my desertion would affect the codicils of the will, but I figured I had a little time before I’d have to contact the lawyers. Before that, they wouldn’t have to know. My father, who had the most dealings with the lawyers, wouldn’t tell them without asking me first. Regardless of all of his other failings, disloyalty had never been one of them.
As I was zipping up my bulging suitcase, I spotted the yellow rubber gloves on the dresser. I hadn’t left them there, and wondered who had. My cheek creased in an unwanted smile as I remembered the first time Jack had seen me wearing them.
My eyes then settled on the photo albums holding all the pictures of an amateur photographer who had once taken pictures of her beloved family, her garden, and her house, and then gone away one day and didn’t come back. I felt a rush of anger at someone who would go away and never once contact the little boy she left behind—the little boy who never stopped waiting for her to come back. What sort of mother did such a thing to a child?
My anger was irrational, and I’m sure on some level I realized it. But the dark feelings seemed to be leeching from the walls of the old house, feeding my anger like rain on parched soil. The anger made it easier to pack my suitcase, easier to leave this house with its warped floors, hand-carved mantels, and hidden secrets, which looked as if they would remain hidden. With more force than was necessary, I threw the yellow gloves into my suitcase, slammed the lid down, then jerked on the zipper until it was closed.
I’d already heard Jack’s departure and then my dad speaking with Chad and Sophie before watching my dad’s car leave
, so I knew that when I opened my bedroom door I would be greeted only by silence and the incessant ticking of the grandfather clock.
Struggling with the heavy suitcase, I made it down the stairs and out the front door. I closed the door behind me for the last time, making sure the dead bolts were secure before dropping my keys into the bottom of my purse. Letting myself out the front gate, I crossed the street to where my car was parked at the curb and threw my suitcase in the trunk. As I fumbled with my car keys, gooseflesh erupted on the back of my neck. I turned back to the house, staring at the upstairs window of the bedroom I had just left, bringing back the feeling of anger that had dissipated when I left the house. There, outlined in the warped handblown window glass, was the dark shadow of a man.
My keys dug into my palm as I clenched my hand into a fist, my skin raw with fear. I backed up against my car, my hands fumbling for the door latch, because I didn’t have the courage to turn my back on the dark entity in the window. I had an odd feeling that to do so might prove fatal.
I slid into the driver’s seat, managing to stick my key into the ignition after the third try. My tires squealed as I peeled away, my hands still shaking as they gripped the steering wheel. I paused in the middle of the street, realizing that I’d forgotten to write a note for Mrs. Houlihan. And that the sweet aroma of roses had not appeared to dispel my fear. It was almost as if by abandoning her house, Louisa had abandoned me.
A thickness grew in my throat as I moved slowly down the street, glancing back in my rearview mirror as the house on Tradd Street grew smaller and smaller until I couldn’t see it at all.
CHAPTER 18
For the first time in my life, I called in sick to work. I thought I’d called early enough so that I wouldn’t have to speak with anybody and could just leave a message on the machine, so when Nancy picked up on the second ring with a bright and cheerful greeting, I was speechless for a moment.