Page 103 of The Christmas Spirits on Tradd Street
Like the red lights on the floor of a plane that led a passenger to the emergency exit door, the fence designs served the same purpose, instructing the treasure hunter how deep into the cemetery one needed to go before bearing left or right to each dot on the map. It was brilliant, really, and I turned my head to share it with Jack, too late remembering that I was alone.
I remembered Yvonne telling us that no burials had taken place in the cemetery since Eliza, Lawrence, and Alexander had been interred in the mausoleum in 1782. It had never occurred to us to wonder why, even though Gallen Hall had been inhabited for more than two centuries afterward and people had presumably died during that period. The moratorium on burials had been part of Carrollton Vanderhorst’s great master clue, and we’d overlooked it completely.
Not wanting to get the paper wet, I pulled out my phone and took a photo of the map with the dots marked, then of the pattern of each section of fence I needed to find. Having the images on my phone meant I could make them bigger, making it easier to see the intricate designs.
I sent a text to Jayne to let her know I’d arrived, that there was no sign of Marc or Anthony, and that I was about to head into the cemetery. I made no mention of the fat blobs of snow now splattering quietly onto my windshield. I hitSEND, then slid the phone into my coat pocket. I’d deal with that later. Somehow. I popped the trunk, pulled Jayne’s hat lower over my ears, then exited the car.
The smell of gunpowder permeated the air, the jangling of a horse harness ringing out in the quiet of falling snow. I quickly retrieved the camping light from the trunk, knowing with certainty that I wasn’t alone. I held it aloft, turning around in a circle, seeing no one, dead or alive, but registering the scent of horses and leather now mingling with that of gunpowder.
“Eliza?” I called out, more because I needed to hear the sound of a human voice than because I expected to hear her answer. But she was there. I felt her presence, warm and comforting, as if she knew that I wanted to expose the truth about her death. And maybe even to let the world know that she’d been a patriot and had stayed true to her cause despite her heart calling her in another direction.
Using the camping light to see the way, I walked through the unlocked front gate, pulling out my phone to access the map and guide me to where the first spot was indicated. A dark shadow emerged from behind an ancient obelisk at the rear of the cemetery. I jerked the light up, trying to find out who—or what—it was. The blood rushed through my ears, my breath frosty puffs blowing out in quick succession. I stayed perfectly still for a long moment, my gaze trained on the spot, but nothing moved.
The sound of iron clanging made me jump. I swung the light toward the mausoleum, realizing it must have been the door swinging shut, briefly wondering why it had been open. The sound of whispering voices came from behind and in front of me, the snow seeming to blur the words, making it impossible to tell what was being said.
My feet crunched over the frozen grass and a thin layer of snow. I was careful to avoid the sunken spots where Sophie had warned me the oldest wooden caskets, some piled in as many as three or four layers, had disintegrated under the ground, making the earth above the concave spots treacherous to walk on. I shivered at the thought of slipping beneath the surface and being buried alive, out here alone where no one could hear me scream. At least no one who could help me.
I shone the light at the fence, studying the pattern on each panel and comparing it with the picture on the phone. The snow was falling faster now, and I had to continually wipe it off my screen. I had reached the halfway point in the fence when I matched the pattern to the edge of the brick puzzle, telling me that it was time to turn right and head into the middle of the cemetery.
The whispers, louder now, had the cadence of a taunt, or a threat. I stopped to listen, recognizing one word among the others, nearlysmothered by the falling snow.Traitors.I swallowed down the fear and uncertainty. I wasn’t by nature a brave person, but at that moment I had no other choice.
I walked around a slight indentation in the ground, then nearly ran into a headstone. I glanced down at my map to make sure I was at the right spot, then shone my light on the slate face of the headstone. The words were worn by the elements but still legible. Leaning closer, I read the name:HERA. I put the light closer, trying to find a last name or dates, but there was nothing. I squatted to see the bottom, scraping snow off to make sure I hadn’t missed anything. I sat back, staring at a carving that would be easily missed by the casual observer.
It was of a peacock feather, long and slender, the eye clearly marked at its end. If I hadn’t been so cold and afraid, I might have appreciated the cleverness of it all. I remembered Anthony mentioning that Eliza buried her favorite peacocks in the cemetery, and seeing about a dozen stones with only first names on them on my previous visit. Until the Civil War, when the last one had been eaten, the family had apparently continued to bury the birds here, either intentionally or inadvertently helping to hide the four gravesites I was sure were indicated on the map.
Encouraged by my success, I dug the heel of my boot into the ground in front of the stone, stirring up dead grass and dirt so I could find it again without using the map, assuming the snow stopped soon. Looking at my map again, my frozen fingers nearly dropping my phone twice as I remembered to text Jayne that I was okay, I found the other three graves, all with female Greek mythological names. I marked them with the heel of my boot as I’d done the first one, inordinately proud of myself.
I wanted to sink down onto the ground and cry with relief. But I knew I couldn’t or I’d risk hypothermia. I needed to keep going. Jack needed me to keep going, no matter how many times in my head I could hear him telling me not to think I could solve all of our problems by myself. But I was here, and I had figured out where Lafayette’s treasure was buried. I needed to take care of this now, or risk our losing to Marc Longo one more time.
First, I needed to sit in the car with the heater blasting to defrost myself. I knew I probably had a candy bar somewhere in my purse to give me a burst of energy I would definitely need. Then I’d grab the pick from the trunk and figure out what I was supposed to do with it.
I was so focused on getting to the car that it took me a moment to become aware of movement from the direction of the mausoleum. A violent shiver went through me that had nothing to do with the snow pelting my face and freezing my toes as I recalled my arm being pulled through the gate by an unseen hand.
A bright spotlight flipped on, blinding me, but not before I’d had the chance to register who the two figures were standing behind it.
“Thank you, Melanie. Such a help, as always.” Marc Longo moved forward to stand in front of me. “You must be freezing.”
I clenched my teeth to keep them from chattering, and looked behind his shoulder to see Anthony. He wasn’t cowering, exactly, but he seemed to want to hide behind his brother.
“I hope you’re ashamed of yourself,” I shouted at him, although the effect was muted by my stiff jaw.
“For helping his brother?” Marc offered. “He did the right thing. As you did, helping us find the treasure. For a brief moment, I thought Anthony and I should take the time to figure it out ourselves, and then I realized we didn’t need to bother. You’re such a worker bee, Melanie—we knew you’d be on it. We parked our cars out back and waited in the warm house for you to do all the work.” He feigned a concerned expression. “We left hot chocolate on the stove for you, if you’d like it. And there’s a fire going in the kitchen with a chair in front of it waiting for you.”
I frowned. “What? And leave the treasure out here for you to find?”
Marc threw back his head and laughed. He held a can out toward me. “I’ve brought spray paint to mark the four headstones, so when it warms up in a few days and the ground has thawed a bit, we can go in at our leisure and dig up Lafayette’s treasure. Except this time we’ll remember to lock the gate against intruders and have someone standing guard.”
It occurred to me then that he didn’t know what the treasure was. And that it didn’t matter to him. All he cared about was winning and crushing Jack and getting what he wanted. If he came into possession of a fortune, too, even better.
“But I found it.” I sounded like a child on a playground, but I couldn’t think of a better way to say it.
“Yes, you did. But you found it on Anthony’s property. According to South Carolina law, it legally belongs to him. Sure, you could probably take us to court, but the process would be long and expensive and you and I both know that you can’t afford it. Who knows what the stress might do to Jack? And because you’re family, I’m not going to charge you with trespassing. This time.”
An icy wind blew through the cemetery, slapping me in the face and forming small tornadoes of snow around us. I saw Anthony glance at them uneasily, and it occurred to me that the funnels might not be part of the natural world. The distinct clang of a horse harness made Marc spin around, taking the light with him. I blinked in the darkness, aware of the sparkle of a gold brooch against a dark form. And behind that was the man from the cistern photo—Lawrence, with the dark hollows for eyes, his white stockings bright against the night. And right before Marc’s light blinded me again, I saw the bloody hole in his white shirt.
I was shaking with anger and cold and fear. I had lost everything, and I had no one to blame but myself. I had once loved my aloneness, my independence, which meant I didn’t have to rely on anyone but myself. Even with the expansion of my family in the last years, I’d still seen myself as a separate entity—out of either habit or stubbornness, I didn’t know, and it didn’t matter anymore. Whatever the reason, it had been my undoing.
“But I found it,” I repeated, incapable of expressing every emotion that was running through me. I cringed at how toddlerlike I sounded and was oddly relieved that it was so cold that my watery eyes disguised the fact that angry tears were streaming down my face.
