Page 49 of The Christmas Spirits on Tradd Street
“Your posse?” Jack asked with a grin.
“Yes, Jack. I’ve had to learn a whole new vocabulary since working here at the College of Charleston. They do say that studying a foreign language is the best way to keep your brain young.”
“That they do. Please continue.”
“Yes, well, remember when we were speaking I told you how I couldn’t find anything regarding how Eliza died?”
“Yes,” Jack said slowly.
“Well, the Charleston Museum has a huge collection of personal correspondence and photographs that they use interns to sort and file, so it’s usually hit or miss. Plus, they get more and more documents each month as people empty attics and the like. So when I passed the museum this morning, I just had a feeling that I should go see if there was anything about the Vanderhorsts from Gallen Hall in there. I was pretty sure I’d found all there was, but it couldn’t hurt to look again.”
When she didn’t continue, Jack gave me a sidelong glance, then said, “And?”
I could almost see Yvonne’s pink cheeks and sparkling blue eyes. “I found something—it was filed with other documents from the Grosvenor family, which is probably why it was overlooked when Marc Longo was busy stealing the Vanderhorst letters.”
She didn’t say anything more, so Jack prompted, “And what did you find?”
“Well, I found a letter from the doctor who was called to the scene of Eliza’s passing. It was addressed to his wife, which most likely explains his candor. In it he expresses his sadness at the loss of such a vibrant young woman, ‘cut down in the bloom of her youth.’ Those were his exact words. I wonder if the pun was intended, seeing as how she literally had to be cut down.”
I leaned closer to the speaker, wanting to make sure I’d heard correctly.
“She hanged herself?” Jack said.
“Yes, sadly. According to the good doctor, Eliza hanged herself from an oak tree in the cemetery on the plantation grounds.”
He rubbed his jaw, his face dark in thought. “It’s very unusual today for females to commit suicide by hanging, or shooting or anything that violent. I wonder if it was different then.”
“I would think it would have been less so,” Yvonne offered. “Women were considered more delicate back then. Not that I’ve done the full research, but from what I recall from all my reading, of all the suicides and murders involving women in the last two centuries, women tended to favor poisons.” Yvonne’s voice brightened. “I read of an interesting case recently from the early eighteen hundreds where a nanny killed her mistress using oleander leaves—”
“Thanks, Yvonne,” Jack said, cutting her short. “What are you thinking this might mean?”
“Isn’t that your job?” she asked with a chuckle.
“Yes, but I always feel that I have a better chance of being right if you agree with me.”
“Smart man. I knew there was a reason I liked you. And one thing that you’ve taught me is to go with my gut feeling. And when I read that letter about Eliza killing herself, and knowing that hanging is rare for female suicides, guess what I thought.”
“That she hadn’t killed herself at all,” Jack said.
“Exactly.”
Despite the seriousness of the subject, Jack smiled. “I sometimes wonder if we might have been separated at birth, Yvonne.”
Yvonne clucked her tongue. “Now, Jack, don’t be silly. Because then it would be wrong for you to have this tremendous crush on me.”
Jack laughed out loud at that one. “So true. Thanks, Yvonne—this is definitely something to think about. We’re headed to Gallen Hall now to see her tomb, so maybe we’ll discover something new that will make sense.”
“Keep me posted. Good-bye, everybody.”
Jack clicked the button on the steering wheel to hang up. He reached for my hands, which I’d placed around my neck without being aware of it. “You okay?”
I nodded. “Yes. I’m fine. It’s just...”
Jayne cleared her throat, as if to remind me of my promise to Jack to tell him everything.
“It’s just that Rebecca told me about another dream.”
Jack frowned. “What now? Were you being strung from a rope? Because I wouldn’t trust anything Rebecca says. I’d bet that Marc is feeding her things to tell us.”
