Page 97 of The Christmas Spirits on Tradd Street
I looked at my watch, then back at Jayne. “I’m coming with you. Let me get the caterers situated, then text Mother and ask her to get here a little earlier than planned. I have to see the puzzle and I don’t really think I can wait.”
“Really, Melanie, I think it can—”
“I’ve got an hour and a half before the first guests arrive, and I’m dressed, and the house is ready, and Mother will be here. It will be fine.”
Without waiting for her to respond, I ran to the kitchen to talk with the caterers, then texted both Nola and my mother to let them know where Jayne and I were and that we would be back in half an hour at the most. I grabbed my coat and purse, then ran out the door, stopping at the bottom of the piazza as I watched the freezing rain give way to small snowflakes that lazily glided their way between the streetlamps before settling on the ground below.
“It’s not melting,” Jayne said. “That’s not good.”
“At least it’s not heavy. Maybe that means it’ll stop.”
She glanced at me, but I just shrugged before heading toward her car. “We have to take yours—mine’s been blocked in by the caterer’s van.”
Jayne drove like an old woman, leaning close to her steering wheel as if that might help her see better.
“It’s not even sticking to your windshield, Jayne, so you can definitely drive faster. Or I’ll get out and walk and meet you there.”
She pushed her foot just a little harder, creeping up to twenty miles per hour. If it hadn’t been so cold out, I would have made good on my threat and hopped out.
I tapped my foot from cold and anticipation as I waited for her to unlock her front door, doing my best not to push her out of my way as I ran to the dining room. Jayne flicked on the wall switch to light up the chandelier, and we stood in the doorway looking at the table with awe.
“It’s exactly how I thought it would look,” I said. “When I said it reminded me of one of those puzzle squares. It’s still a bunch of random designs, but look at how they all connect to each other.”
“So this was intentional,” Jayne said. “Whoever designed this wanted it to look haphazard.”
I nodded. “Jack thinks it must have all been designed by Carrollton Vanderhorst, Lawrence’s father. He fought alongside George Washington in the French and Indian War and Washington himself called him his ‘great strategist.’ He designed the cemetery and must have left clues as to where the treasure was hidden.”
“But who was he hiding it from? Was he the patriot, since he was friends with Washington? And what about Lawrence and Eliza? What side were they working on?”
I began walking around the dining room table. “I’m not sure—and I don’t know if we’ll ever find out the whole story. But I think Lawrence was in love with Eliza, but Eliza was in love with Alexander, the British soldier.” I told her about Greco being dressed in his reenactor’s uniform, and the kiss he’d received when he’d slipped on the peacock signet ring. “Mother said the owner of the ring was a woman, and I’m fairly confident that was Eliza.”
“And she wore the brooch, remember? She must have known what it was.” Jayne was silent for a moment, thinking. “So—she was the spy,” Jayne said slowly. “And she and the British soldier had a thing. Maybe that’s why he ended up buried in the mausoleum, too.”
“Maybe, because Carrollton would have been the one to decide that. And the interment of the soldier. Even with his patriot beliefs, he must have known that Eliza would want to be buried with her beloved.”
“And Lawrence, too. Or maybe he felt that Lawrence belonged there because he was Carrollton’s son.”
I leaned over the table, mesmerized by swirls and lines. “Jolly told me something interesting. That when she sensed the man following Jack—the man from the cistern holding the brooch, who I suspect is Lawrence—she sensed his heart was deeply wounded.”
Jayne nodded. “I imagine if his fiancée was in love with another man, that would hurt. And that she was betraying him by being a spy for the other side would be a double betrayal.”
I nodded. “Which is why I don’t think she killed herself. That’s why she keeps repeating the wordlies. She wants people to know the truth.”
“But what is the truth? That Lawrence killed her?”
I shrugged. “He’s the spirit with the evil vibes, remember? The one who spoke through our mother saying that traitors deserve to die and rot in hell. I mean, there’s a possibility that Alexander killed Eliza when he found out that she was using information she got from him to pass on to the patriots, but that’s not the feeling I get from him at all.”
Jayne nodded. “I agree. But whether Alexander was aware of what was going on and either helping Eliza or turned the other way is something lost to history.”
I continued to walk around the table, studying the completed puzzle, occasionally reaching over to make an alignment of edges straighter. I slid my finger around the lip of the table, thinking out loud. “Since Eliza and Alexander died before Lawrence, it’s entirely possible that he killed them both.”
I stopped walking, feeling Jayne’s wide-eyed gaze on me. “And that brings us back to the question of who killed Lawrence.”
“I suspect someone on the American side—maybe they thought he had the rubies.”
“Or maybe theyknewhe had the rubies. Eliza had the brooch. Remember the door on the hidden compartment in her jewelry cabinet,how it had been ripped off its hinges as if in a hurry. Or in anger. And only the brooch was found in the cistern, discarded with the garbage. The one scenario that makes sense is that Lawrence found out about the jewels and somehow found out where she’d hidden them. Maybe he killed her out of anger, or revenge.”
“Or a broken heart,” Jayne added.
