Page 104 of The Christmas Spirits on Tradd Street
“Like I said,” Marc responded calmly, “it doesn’t matter. Gallen HallPlantation belongs to Anthony, and anything found on his property belongs to him.”
“Not exactly,” a voice called from the front gate.
“Jack?” I said, relief battling with horror in my voice.
Marc jerked around, shining his light in Jack’s direction, illuminating three figures walking toward us.
“Jayne?” Anthony stepped forward, then stopped, as if realizing that she might not be happy to see him.
I squinted through the dark and the falling snow, recognizing the tall form of Detective Thomas Riley, my knees almost weak with relief that I was no longer alone.
Marc barked out a laugh. “Wrong again, Jack. Gallen Hall belongs to Anthony. Therefore, whatever is found here belongs to him.” He nodded in Thomas’s direction. “I’m glad you brought the police with you to help enforce the law. Although I’m hoping reasonable heads will prevail so we won’t have to reduce ourselves to using force.”
Jack now stood in the circle of light but didn’t come stand next to me. He didn’t look at me, either, and I told myself it was so he could stare Marc down. Keeping his voice low, he said, “You’re right. Gallen Hall does belong to Anthony. But the cemetery doesn’t. When Gallen Hall was sold all those years ago, the cemetery wasn’t part of the deal. It was still owned by Vanderhorst descendants, until Nevin Vanderhorst willed it to Melanie. Which means that what is found in this cemetery belongs to her.”
We all stared at Jack in stunned silence, until Marc struggled to find his voice. “You’re lying.”
“He’s not,” Jayne said. “After Melanie left tonight, I realized too late that Anthony might lay claim to the treasure and I wanted to know the legal implications.” She shot a quick glance of apology in my direction. “So I told Jack everything, and he called Yvonne from the archives. She has access to several databases on her home computer and was able to look up the property deed to trace ownership. The cemetery wasn’t included in any sale, remaining the property of the Vanderhorst family until Melanie inherited Nevin Vanderhorst’s estate. She e-mailed me a copy, if you’d like to see it.”
“This is ridiculous,” Marc said, moving toward Jack just as Thomas took a step in Marc’s direction. He fumbled with his words for a moment before a grin lifted his mouth. “You’re still trespassing. To get to the cemetery you had to pass through private property and park your cars on land belonging to Anthony.” He faced Thomas. “I want you to arrest these four people for trespassing.”
“So much for family,” I mumbled.
“So you’ll have time to remove whatever is buried under those markers?” Jack said. “I think not.”
Marc turned to Anthony. “Tell them, Anthony. Tell them that you want them off of your property now.”
“Don’t you dare,” Jayne shouted, approaching Anthony with a raised hand. He didn’t even bother to block her slap.
“Detective, that’s physical assault,” Marc shouted. “We are pressing charges and want her arrested.”
“No.” Anthony stepped away from where Marc was facing off with Jack. “We’re not pressing charges. I deserved that.”
He began to walk away, brushing roughly against his brother and making Marc stumble.
“Hey, what’s your problem?” Marc said, rushing after Anthony and grabbing him by the shoulders. “You said it was easier than taking candy from a baby, remember?”
Anthony tried to pull back, but Marc wouldn’t let go. He tilted his head as he stared at his younger brother. “You didn’t sleep with her, did you? I told you not to complicate things.”
Anthony drew his fist back for a punch, but before he could swing, Marc flew backward, propelled by an unseen force and thrown twenty feet before landing flat on his back with a grunt.
Thomas was the only one to move, rushing over to Marc. Instead of taking the offered hand to help him up, Marc twisted in the opposite direction, pulling himself to stand and angrily dusting the snow from the sleeves of his jacket. “What the—”
Before he could finish the sentence, he was knocked down again, then dragged through the snow by his feet toward the mausoleum. Heclawed at the ground, trying to find purchase, his face showing his terror. Jayne and I both moved forward to help, but whatever was pulling him was too strong and fast. Before we reached him, the mausoleum had swallowed him, his head bumping like a rubber ball against the brick steps, the gate slamming in our faces. We wrapped our fingers around the bars and shook them, but the gate remained unyielding.
“Marc!” Anthony shouted as he and Thomas ran up behind us. Thomas had grabbed Marc’s light, and he shone it inside, moving from one crypt to another, then back, looking for Marc.
“Marc!” Thomas shouted. Slowly, he trained the light on the top of Lawrence’s crypt and paused. The lid had been slid back unevenly, a corner of it hanging over the edge, the opening big enough for a man to fit through.
“Is there another entrance to this?” Thomas asked.
I half listened to Anthony’s answer as I became aware of two black shadows in front of Lawrence’s crypt. As Jayne and I watched, the shadows took on human forms. I told my feet to back away, to start running as fast as they could in the opposite direction, but I was frozen, forced to stay and watch whatever was about to unfold. Lying prone, the red spot on his cravat larger now, was the man I recognized as Lawrence, and standing over him was an older man with graying hair pulled back in a ponytail and wearing a heavy cape. He turned to look at me, his cape billowing open and revealing a pistol in his hand. His eyes were piercing, asking me for something I couldn’t understand.
“Forgiveness,” Jayne whispered from beside me.
I nodded, because I knew that was the word I’d heard inside my head. It was the reason I wasn’t afraid. I understood that I wasn’t meant to be. And when I looked down at the prone figure of Lawrence, I understood something else, too.
“It’s his father,” Jayne whispered. “It was Carrollton Vanderhorst who killed him. He didn’t feel as if he had a choice.”
