The Christmas Spirits on Tradd Street

by Karen White

  “You want him to move in with you?”

  “No, not like that. It’s to protect him, and only until he’s one hundred percent better.”

  I peered closely at her. “Was this your idea or his?”

  Her gaze slid to the space behind me. “It was sort of both of ours.” She paused. “Although he may have mentioned it first. I think he’s scared. And this way, someone will be home to work on the puzzle all day long. We’ve only got about one-quarter of it done. There are way too many bricks with nearly identical patterns, with only tiny swirls or lines to make them unique. I’m beginning to wonder if there’s an intentional design at all.”

  I’d had the same doubt but had been keeping my thoughts to myself. It was as if I really believed that if I didn’t say anything out loud, it couldn’t be true. Instead, I said, “I don’t think Thomas is going to like this very much.”

  Jayne pressed her lips together. “I don’t think he has any say in the matter.”

  The carriage clock chimed, and I yanked open the front door. “I don’t want to keep you—tell Anthony I said hello and call me later and let me know how he’s doing.” I closed the door, then waited until I could hear her retreating footsteps.

  I raced to the dining room window and peered out, looking for my mother on the sidewalk. When I didn’t spot her, I ran up the stairs, taking them two at a time, and hurried into Nola’s room.

  Sophie looked up from where she knelt in front of the jewelry cabinet. “Is there a fire I should know about?”

  “No, sorry. Jayne just left and my mother’s not here yet, so I only have a few minutes to come see Nola’s room.”

  She looked confused. “I have no idea how those three things are supposed to be related to each other.”

  I sighed. “My mother and I are supposed to take JJ and Sarah to Hampton Park this afternoon. The weather’s so nice. . . .” I paused, wondering at the expression on her face.

  “And you didn’t want Jayne to go with you?”

  I closed my mouth, realizing that, yes, not wanting Jayne to accompany us had been the reason I’d been rushing around, making sure she was out of the house before our mother arrived. I swallowed. “Maybe.”

  “Don’t be ashamed to admit it, Melanie. It’s understandable. You’ve only recently rediscovered your mother and built a strong relationship. You never thought you’d have to share her, and now you do. And nobody asked you first.”

  It felt as if a bowling ball had been lifted from my chest. I took two deep breaths, enjoying the new sensation of lightness. “I hadn’t really put it into words, but, yes. You’re right. And this afternoon I just wanted it to be my mother and me. Not because I don’t like Jayne or don’t want us all to have a good relationship; it’s just that I wanted some alone time with my mother and the twins. Is that so wrong?”

  Sophie shook her head. “Of course not. And admitting to yourself what you need is the first step toward building stronger relationships with others.”

  “Thanks,” I said. “I appreciate you telling me things I need to hear. Most people don’t have the nerve.” My gaze took in her crazy green-streaked hair, her 1980s Benetton sweater with enormous shoulder pads, the same mom jeans she’d worn to the wreath-making workshop, and her Birkenstocks. “So, despite your questionable style sense, you still qualify as my best friend.”

  “Ditto,” she said, using the bedpost to help her stand. “And remind me to pick up some chakra stones for you. You seem stressed.”

  “Gee, really? I can’t imagine why.” I walked toward the bed, recognizing the rectangular piece of wood Meghan Black had found in the cistern; it was still resting in a nest of newspaper. “I guess this has something to do with why you’re here? Besides dispensing advice, that is.”

  She grimaced. “And deflecting nosy reporters, too, apparently. That Suzy Dorf was here looking for you. Seems she went to your office but was told you weren’t there, either.”

  “Good to know that Jolly at the front desk is doing her job. What did you tell her?”

  “That you weren’t here and I had no idea when you’d be back. She did have one question for me, though.”

  I raised my eyebrows.

  “She wanted to know why we’re friends. I told her I have no idea.”

  I gave her a half grin. “Me, neither.”

  “You know, Melanie, you should probably speak with her. Find out what she knows about the French king’s gift. Because it’s only a matter of time before she finds out everything we’ve discovered so far and tells Rebecca. Then Marc will swoop in for the kill like a palmetto bug on a bread crumb.”

  I sighed. The last thing I wanted to do was speak with the inquisitive and diminutive Suzy Dorf. But Sophie was right. As usual. “Fine. I’ll reach out to her tomorrow.” I indicated the piece of wood. “So, did you find out anything?”

  “Yes and no.” She walked over to the jewelry chest, the drawers and lid all open. “I’m pretty sure I know where that small secret door is from.” Putting down the newspaper, she removed the top drawer of the chest and placed it on the floor before flipping on her iPhone flashlight and beaming it inside. “Look on the right-hand side here—there’s still a broken hinge clinging to the wood of a small cavity, and the size of it matches the holes in the piece Meghan found. When I held up the piece of wood, it was an exact fit.” She looked at me, and our gazes locked. “It appears it was ripped off its hinges. It’s not lockable, so there’d be no reason to rip it off to get to the contents of the narrow cavity.”

  “Unless someone was in a big hurry.”

  Sophie nodded.

  “But the cavity is empty?”

  “Yep.” She picked up the drawer and placed it back inside the jewelry chest. Facing me again, she said, “Do you remember where the chest came from? Is it possible it came from the Vanderhorst plantation?”

  “It came from the attic—it’s full of Vanderhorst furniture. It’s like a time machine up there. I don’t think the family ever threw away anything.” I remembered the peacock Greco had shown me on the bed, and the story of how everything made on the plantation had been marked with the peacock icon. I indicated the claw-foot at the bottom of the bedpost. “Does the peacock carving match the one on the little door?”

  “Yep. But that only means that they were both made at Gallen Hall, and most likely used as furnishings there before being moved here. This house isn’t as old as Gallen Hall, and the carpenters and craftsmen would have been making the furniture for that house first.” She gently kicked at something on the floor. “Any idea why there are so many dead bees in here?”

  I stepped closer to get a better look, the sole of my shoe crunching something beneath it. I looked down and saw a cluster of dead bees, their wings and legs frozen in eternal flight. “They were here last night. Swarming around this bedpost but nowhere else. The windows were closed, and it’s been too cool for the bees to be out of their hives anyway.”

  She tapped her chin. “I’m sure there was something hidden in that jewelry chest. I’m not certain how that little door ended up in the cistern, but it was probably considered garbage after it was broken off and discarded. That’s how most things end up in a cistern. Now, it’s anybody’s guess as to where whatever that chest was hiding might be now, but if this bedpost has the same carving, and they’re both made in the same period style and wood, meaning it’s possible they were created to be in the same room, and there were bees buzzing around this post last night, inside, in the dead of winter, I’d bet here would be a good place to start.”

  Being careful not to step on any of the bees, she leaned over and knocked on the post in several places, her expression not changing. “Pretty solid.” Without a word, she slid out of her Birkenstocks and climbed on top of the bed, moving aside a lilac drapery panel with her foot. Standing on her tiptoes, she reached toward the pineapple finial at the top of the post and
lifted it off. “These finials are removable on all antique four-poster beds so the canopy can be attached in the winter for warmer bed hangings.” Smiling down at me, she stuck her fingers into the opening and swished them around. “Nothing,” she said, frowning. “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t disappointed. Were the bees only around this post?”

  “Yes—definitely. The finial was as big as a basketball, there were so many bees.”

  “Hmm.” She stuck her fingers inside the bedpost one more time before replacing the finial, then gingerly stepped around the mattress to check the other three. With a grunt of defeat, she lowered herself to the floor. “Sorry, Melanie. I don’t know what to tell you. I could have sworn that small door cover would lead us somewhere.”

  “Me, too. Thanks, anyway, for trying.”

  She began wrapping the piece of wood in the newspaper. “Let me know what the reporter says, okay? Or if you would like help replacing all the plastic fruit on the stairway garland.”

  I was saved from responding by the appearance of my mother, looking beautiful and elegant and not nearly old enough to be my mother. “Sorry to barge in, but the door was open, so I just walked right in. You know, Mellie, it’s not a good idea to leave the door open.”

  “I didn’t.” I met her gaze, then waited for her and Sophie to greet each other. “Are you ready to go? I just need to get the children up from their naps and put their sweaters on.”

  She wasn’t listening, her eyes focused on the bed behind me. “There’s something . . .” She stopped, shook her head. “There’s something here we can’t see. I’m being drawn to this bedpost for some reason.” Looking down on the floor, she spotted the pile of bee carcasses. “Oh.”

  “Exactly,” I said.

  “They were swarming around the bedpost last night,” Sophie explained. “I’ve already looked inside the top of each post and knocked on the rest to see how solid they are, and found nothing.”

  “And,” I added, “Eliza was here last night. Briefly.”

  Our eyes met. “Did she say anything?”

  I hesitated a moment. “‘Lies.’ She’s said that before.”

  My mother stepped closer to the bed, then held her gloved finger to her lips before pressing her ear up against the wood of the bedpost. “I hear something. Someone. A woman.” She pressed her ear against the bedpost again and closed her eyes. “It’s too garbled. I can’t hear her clearly.” She began to peel off her gloves, finger by finger.

  I moved forward to grab her arm, to stop her, but she’d already wrapped her hand around the post. Her body went rigid and her face contorted as if in pain, before her chin dipped to her chest and I couldn’t see her face anymore.

  “Mother . . .”

  Her head jerked back and for a moment I didn’t recognize the mottled face that glared at me now, with bulging eyes and bloody skin. The voice that erupted from my mother’s small body made Sophie and me step back as if we’d been struck, but neither of us could look away.

  Traitors deserve to die and rot in hell!

  The putrid stench of rotting flesh leached in through the floor and plaster walls, and my stomach roiled, but I couldn’t leave, no matter how much I wanted to. “Mother!” I screamed, reaching for her hand and peeling her bare fingers off the bedpost, feeling what seemed like an electric current pulse against her skin.

  Her eyes widened as she looked into my face, her expression of confusion softening slightly as she seemed to recognize me. “It’s me, Mother. It’s Mellie.”

  She nodded, letting me know she heard me. I held on tightly to her arms as her body relaxed and I led her to the bed. Just before we reached the edge, her eyes jerked wide, and, as clear as air, my grandmother’s voice shouted from my mother’s mouth. Jack.

  CHAPTER 25

  The following morning, I stepped around the small frosted Christmas tree in the middle of the lobby at Henderson House Realty and stopped at the tinsel-bedecked receptionist’s desk, surprised to find it empty. “Jolly? Jolly Thompson? Are you here?”

  “Right here,” called a voice from beneath the desk. “I’ll be right with you.”

  I moved around to the back of the desk and spotted our receptionist wearing yoga pants and a bright blue tunic, sitting cross-legged in the knee well. Her eyes were closed, allowing me to admire her turquoise eye shadow and sparkly mascara. “What are you doing?”

  Her eyes snapped open. “Hang on.” She rolled over onto her hands and knees and crawled out from under her desk. She reached out her hands and I helped her to stand. She shook her head as if to clear it. “Sorry—just trying to do more homework for my online psychic class. It’s about channeling, so I was giving it a try.”

  “Any luck?” I asked.

  “Not yet. I’m not really surprised, though. I think my strength is intuition. And touch.” She rubbed her hands together. “Like right now, I felt nothing when you pulled me up. There was no tingle or anything, which just confirms my suspicions that you have no psychic powers whatsoever.”

  “Really?” I said. “How interesting.” Her psychic statements were more miss than hit, so I tried not to encourage her, despite the fact that a few times she’d come eerily close to hitting the nail on the proverbial head. I peered at the top of her desk. “Any messages? Cancellations?”

  I was hoping that Veronica would call and cancel our morning appointment. I’d told her I would help her buy time, but I knew that sooner or later I’d need to confront the ghost of her sister and find out what was keeping her here. I just couldn’t manage adding one more thing to my overflowing plate without my head exploding.

  Jolly leaned over her desk, her dragonfly earrings temporarily replaced for the season with light-up Christmas bulbs. “You have two new appointments for showings—both with out-of-towners—and Veronica Farrell called to confirm an appointment at nine o’clock regarding a new listing. And . . .” She drew out the word slowly for dramatic effect. “That Suzy Dorf stopped by yesterday while you were at a house showing and then called twice after you left for the day. I don’t know how much longer I can hold her off. She has a hard time taking no for an answer.”

  I recalled what Sophie had said, how I needed to speak to Suzy and find out exactly what she knew. I blew out a heavy sigh. “Fine. Send me the call next time. Maybe that will make her stop pestering us.”

  “Only if you’re sure,” Jolly said, her disappointment at my apparent caving showing on her face. She was enjoying being my gatekeeper maybe just a little too much.

  “I’m sure.”

  She picked up one of her never-ending lists—she made lists for everything, which was one of the reasons we got along so well—and crossed something off. “Well, then, here you go.” She handed me the messages. “Oh, and one more.” She reached for a pink memo pad and tore off the top note. “Your mother called. She said instead of the park at noon, to meet her and the children at Belmond Place to see the Christmas tree and the toy train in the lobby. The weather has turned a bit nasty for a walk in the park.”

  I nodded, recalling my mother’s collapse the previous afternoon and the aborted trip to the park. “Did she mention if Jayne would be joining us?”

  “No, she didn’t.” Jolly lowered her chin, looking at me over the top of her glasses. “Does that make a difference?”

  I waved a hand in dismissal. “Of course not. She’s my sister.”

  “Um-hm,” Jolly said, looking like someone who knew way more than she should and probably attributed it to her “psychic powers.” I wondered for a moment if I might be mentally broadcasting my mixed feelings about Jayne, and made a note to think only about babies and puppies while in Jolly’s presence.

  I forced a smile, eyeing the coffee and doughnut on the credenza behind her; they were almost hidden behind a giant Santa Claus that would say, Ho, ho, ho and ring his bell if a person clapped. She saw where I was looking and blocked my
view of the doughnut. “I’ll be in my office,” I said. “Let me know when the Farrells get here.”

  “Will do.”

  I began to walk toward my office but stopped when Jolly called me back. I turned around. “Yes?”

  “When that adorable husband of yours stopped by yesterday to drop off your glasses, I saw that man again standing behind him.”

  “That man?”

  “Yes, remember? A while back, I told you both I’d seen a dark-haired man holding a piece of jewelry standing behind Jack. But then I said he had a mustache, and now I’m not so sure. I think he just has a dark shadow like he hasn’t shaved in a few days.”

  “Yes, of course.” I did remember, mostly because Meghan Black had managed to capture a photo on her phone of a man standing by the cistern and matching the same description. “Tell me again what he looked like?” I asked, hoping she’d say something completely different this time.

  She closed her eyes. “Well, like I said, he had dark hair, which I could see because he wasn’t wearing a hat. And his clothes were old-fashioned, with those short pants men used to wear that ended at the knees.” Her eyes popped open. “He was holding something, too. I think the first time I saw him, I thought it was a bracelet, but this time I saw it wasn’t a bracelet at all.”

  “So what was it?” I pressed.

  “Some kind of a bird, I think. With four really big jewels, which was why I thought it was a bracelet at first. But this time I could tell it wasn’t. Maybe a pendant?”

  “Or a brooch?” My voice cracked.

  “Yes! I think that’s it.” She nodded to emphasize her realization. “And whoever it was must have come from wherever Jack had just been, because he followed Jack out when he left.”