Page 19 of The Christmas Spirits on Tradd Street
I recalled what Anthony had said about the cistern’s bricks having come from the mausoleum at Gallen Hall and knew he was right. Ever since I’d seen the specter of the man holding the piece of jewelry standing by its edge, I’d known something besides buried pottery and silverware was causing the air in the back garden to beat like the wings of a bird. I’d just ignored the truth, something at which I was very proficient. I wasn’t sure if the dark shadow in Nola’s room was related to the cistern, too, or simply something unpleasant brought forth during an unfortunate (and hopefully isolated) Ouija board game Nola had played with her friends Lindsey and Alston. Or maybe they were connectedsomehow, the energies of three teenage girls summoning the dark spirits that lurked in all shadows, waiting for an opportunity to invade our lives.
“You sure look sexy when you’re thinking.”
I didn’t startle, having sensed Jack’s presence from the moment he entered the garden, my awareness of him like that of the ocean’s tides for the moon. Or, as he’d once told me, like the wrong paint color for the Board of Architectural Review. He wasn’t wrong.
He kissed the side of my neck, then slid his arm around my shoulders. I hadn’t thought to put on a coat, and I was grateful for his warmth. “Aren’t you cold?” he asked, pulling me against him.
“I didn’t plan to be out here very long. I’m waiting for another designer to interview and thought I’d come check on the progress while I waited. I’d really like this to be done before the progressive dinner. It’s such an eyesore.”
“Well, even if it’s still here, I’m sure your dad can make it look like it was designed to be here by Loutrel Briggs himself. Speaking of which, how is your dad? When I spoke with him last night, he said he was fine by the time he was loaded back into the car and denies any memory of what happened.”
“Yep,” I said. “Only now he’s insisting that he might have blacked out because his blood pressure dipped. And he’s still not speaking to me because I insisted that he stay in bed and miss his gardening club meeting yesterday.”
“That’s pretty serious. Did you have to lock him in his bedroom and bolt the windows? Either that or he really was hurting. That’s the only thing that would make him listen.”
“Exactly what I thought. You know he loves his gardening club. The only thing that pacified him was Jayne’s assurance that she would speak for him at the meeting since she was already familiar with his notes on the subject matter. They apparently spend a lot of time together in the garden.”
“Thank goodness for Jayne, then,” he said.
“Yeah. Thank goodness.” The white-hot seed ofsomethingthat hadimplanted itself in my stomach yesterday when Jayne had made her offer and my dad had accepted seemed to explode in fireworks of heat as I relived the conversation. I turned my head to look up at Jack. “Aren’t you supposed to be writing?”
He averted his gaze, studying the activity inside the cistern with great interest. “I’m just taking a break—I’m allowed breaks, aren’t I?” His voice held an unfamiliar edge to it.
“Of course. But I heard you playing with the children in the nursery, so I was just wondering. Everything all right?”
“It’s fine,” he said quickly. “Just working through a scene with Button Pinckney and her sister-in-law,” he said, referring to the former owners of Jayne’s house on South Battery. “It’s tough creating dialogue for real people, that’s all.”
“I’m sure it is,” I said. “But I have every confidence your book will be the nextMidnight in the Garden of Good and Evil. Isn’t that what your editor said?”
“Former editor,” Jack corrected, his expression solemn.
My gaze traveled behind him to Nola’s bedroom window, and I wondered if the passing shadow had been my imagination.It’s now or never.I took a deep breath and did a proverbial girding of my loins. “I need to show you something.”
He quirked an eyebrow and gave me a lascivious grin. “Me, too. Do we have time?”
I gave him a playful shove, wondering if he’d ever grow up and hoping that he wouldn’t. “That’s not what I meant. I have a picture that Meghan took of the back of the house. There’s something in it you need to see.”
He glanced over at Meghan, happily brushing mud off of what looked like an old stick. “She just came back to work today after having her cast removed. When did she take the picture?” His eyes narrowed as he regarded me.
“Hello?” A tall man wearing an immaculate gray suit stood on the path that led from around the side of the house. “Your nanny was on the front porch with two of the most adorable babies and she told me Icould find you two back here.” He walked closer with his hand outstretched. “I’m Greco.”
I was too relieved by my temporary reprieve to be startled by the stranger’s appearance. He shook both of our hands as we introduced ourselves, then waited for us to speak. When we didn’t, he prompted, “The designer. We had an appointment?”
I looked at him with confusion, taking in the yellow silk Hermès tie and the coordinating pocket square in his jacket. He was very tall with intelligent eyes and a warm smile and, even better, came without any spiritual hangers-on. “Yes,” I said, “but I was expecting someone named Jimmy—a friend of our handyman, Rich Kobylt. Did I misunderstand?”
He laughed. “My last name is Del Greco, but my first name is James—or Jimmy, according to my friends and family. My sister was the one who said that Greco sounded more like a designer.”
Jack grinned, clearly amused. “Can’t argue with that. So you and Rich are good friends, huh?”
Greco nodded. “We’ve been best friends since grade school. We were even roommates at Clemson. Stayed in touch even after I left for nursing school. I’m an RN and MSN, but after all my friends and family started asking for my design help, I realized I was in the wrong profession.”
Jack nodded in understanding. “I sometimes wonder the same thing. Mellie has said more than once that I’m always the person to go to when it comes to placing the stray ottoman or accessorizing a bookshelf.”
Greco looked at Jack with appreciation. “It’s a skill everybody thinks they have, but few actually do.”
“Yes, well,” I said, leading him toward the kitchen door and wondering if it would be appropriate to ask him what he and Rich Kobylt had in common, since it apparently wasn’t fashion.
General Lee, wearing his cone of shame, stood facing the wall when we walked into the kitchen. Even though the cone was clear, he acted as if he couldn’t see through it and nobody could see him. Except for eating and drinking and going outside briefly to relieve himself, he’d stayed in that position, stoically accepting his fate. It was sad and sweetat the same time, and I gave him extra treats when no one was looking and gave him a countdown to when he could see Cindy Lou Who. I wasn’t sure which perked him up more.
