Page 64 of The Christmas Spirits on Tradd Street
Jack held up his hands in surrender. “I didn’t say anything.”
“You didn’t have to.” I began walking toward the group, my pace quickening as I spotted the young Charleston dancer moving toward me from the other side of the room, her bruised and bloody mouth open as if she were trying to speak.
“Come on,” I said, sliding my arm into Jayne’s. “Let’s go—we’re missing out on some Christmas shopping.” I hurried toward the exit without turning back, feeling the disappointed gaze of the dead woman following me out the door.
CHAPTER 22
The high heel of my shoe got stuck for the third time in the dirt courtyard of the Aiken-Rhett House museum as I moved among the various wreath-decorating stations set up inside the carriage house and around the courtyard. As I twisted my foot back and forth to remove it from the rocky soil, I looked up to see Sophie standing by the coffee and doughnut table watching me before dipping her head and staring pointedly at her own Birkenstock-clad feet.
I hobbled toward her, intent on diving into the box of doughnuts on the table in front of her; I had ordered them from Glazed, making sure there were plenty of my favorite flavors, the Purple Goat and tiramisu. I’d already placed two in a napkin and hidden them inside my purse beneath the table.
“Sure,” I said, “you might be more comfortable, but at least I don’t have to worry about being mistaken for someone needing a handout. You should probably put a glass jar in front of you—you can always give the proceeds to Ashley Hall.” I eyed her mom jeans with the tapered ankles and high waist circa 1990, the turtleneck with tiny whales all overit that was definitely a nineteen eighties holdover but had been subjected to Sophie’s tie-dyeing obsession, and the leather-fringed vest that was more circa eighteen eighty.
When Sophie had told me her parents were downsizing and her mother was sending her a bunch of clothes from her closet, I’d tried to prepare myself. But the sheer scope of Sophie’s windfall had been worse than I’d thought. I’d tried to tell my friend that just because her mother had given her all those clothes didn’t mean she actually had to wear them, but Sophie was as dedicated to reusing and repurposing everything as she was to restoring old homes. Unfortunately.
“It’s a nice turnout,” I said, looking around at the groups of people standing at each wreath-making station. I leaned down and reached beneath the red-draped table. “Thank goodness for the good weather—maybe we’ll raise enough money today that we can skip the progressive dinner.”
Sophie blew out of her face a strand of green-streaked hair that had slipped from its braid. “Right. And that would happen just after they canceled Christmas.”
I pulled out a small shopping bag from Sugar Snap Pea and handed it to Sophie. “Against my better judgment, I bought this for Skye. I was in the store looking for yet another replacement for Sarah’s favorite book,If I Were a Lamb—JJ keeps tearing off the covers—and I saw these and had to get them.”
Sophie opened the bag and peered inside. With a happy exclamation, she pulled out a small yellow knit cap with peace signs stamped all over it in neon colors. “I have one just like this!” she said.
“I know. But I thought it would look cute on Skye anyway.”
“Thank you!” she said, taking me by surprise and hugging me. “I’ve always known you’re not the curmudgeon you pretend to be.”
“Humph.” I looked across the courtyard to where Veronica was at the orange-and-clove station, helping customers attach the fruit to their boxwood wreath frames before they moved on to the holly-berry station.
“Aren’t you supposed to be helping Veronica?” Sophie asked, pouring coffee from an industrial percolator into a recyclable paper cup for a customer.
“I was, but then she said she could handle it by herself, so she sent me to Jayne, who’s at the ribbon station, and she said the same thing. So I came over here to see if you needed any help.”
We looked over at the growing lines in front of Veronica’s and Jayne’s stations, where it was obvious they needed another pair of hands. Sophie faced me. “You were reorganizing all their supplies, weren’t you?” She looked pointedly at the stack of cups I’d picked up and was placing on the opposite side of the table.
“Maybe,” I said slowly. “Is there something here I can help you with?”
“Sure. Why don’t you organize the sugar packets in the little basket by expiration dates printed in tiny writing on the back of each pouch, oldest in front?”
I would be lying if I said the thought didn’t excite me. I replaced the cups and reached for the sugar. “All right,” I said. “Although it looks like my talents could be used elsewhere.” I indicated the growing lines now spilling out into the courtyard.
I looked at the milling crowd, wishing Rebecca would hurry up and get here so I could ask her more about the drawing Marc had. I’d told Jack what Rebecca had told me the previous evening, and we’d gone through the papers from the archives after we’d returned from the Shop and Stroll, eventually finding the photocopied page of what Rebecca had described as lines and scrolls. It meant nothing to us, and I’m sure Marc had reached the same conclusion about his drawing. But we needed to see it, just in case it did mean something. All I needed to do was to make Rebecca show it to me.
“Dr. Wallen-Arasi?”
Sophie and I looked up to see Meghan Black standing in front of us. I might not have recognized her out of context, except she wore her usual pearls and Burberry quilted jacket, her hair in a high ponytail. Shedidn’t have on the cute earmuffs, but I recognized the J.Crew pants and flats from a recent shopping expedition with Nola.
“Meghan!” I said. “Good to see you out of the cistern. I was starting to think you were only three feet tall. Here to make a wreath or two?”
“I might—I live in a carriage house on Rutledge and the door isn’t visible from the street, but I bet my mom in Atlanta would like one. I’m actually here because Nola mentioned this is where I could find both of you this morning.” She looked around for a moment, then stepped a little closer. “Is Mrs. Longo here?”
I shook my head. “My cousin won’t be here for at least another hour. She said her husband came home late last night and woke her up, and it took her a while to get back to sleep. She’s exhausted.” I forced my expression to remain neutral as I recalled the two trips to the nursery I’d made the previous night, one because JJ’s whisk had fallen through the slats of his crib, and the second one because Sarah was babbling so loudly I thought someone was in her room. She’d settled down by the time I’d reached her, the sweet smell of roses telling me it had been Louisa. The third time, Jack had gone and I’d fallen back asleep immediately so I had no idea who or what had caused the interruption to my sleep, and at that point I’d ceased to care.
Meghan nodded, her brown eyes wide. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I’m not sure she should hear this.” She leaned in a little closer. “I found something in the cistern yesterday that I thought you both might want to see. That film guy and Mr. Longo were hanging around a lot, asking questions and requesting that if we find anything we show it to them first. Please don’t take offense, but I’m not sure I’d want them around anything fragile or historically important. I don’t think they appreciate the importance of old things, you know?”
Sophie and I nodded emphatically. I’d liked Meghan from the moment I’d first met her, and now I understood why. “We couldn’t agree more,” I said, peering at the Anthropologie shopping bag she held in her hand, balls of newspaper shoved inside and around a newspaper-wrapped object. “What did you find?”
Glancing around one more time, she placed the bag on the ground next to her, then took out the newspaper-wrapped package before placing it on an empty corner of the refreshment table. It was rectangular, but thinner than a brick, and seemed lightweight. “It’s not super fragile, but it’s old, so be careful when you open it.” She slid it toward Sophie.
