Page 99 of The Christmas Spirits on Tradd Street
I nodded. “And I’d bet a fortune in rubies that these four spots show us where Lafayette’s treasures were buried.”
The hall clock chimed and our giddy smiles quickly turned to expressions of panic. “We’ve got to go,” I said.
“But I haven’t changed my dress yet.”
“No time. We need to find Anthony. I’m hoping he’ll be at the house by the time we get there.”
“And if he’s not?” Jayne asked.
“Then we’ve got a problem.”
CHAPTER 33
The flurries had stopped by the time we left Jayne’s house and headed back to Tradd Street, but when I checked the weather app on my phone, it looked like the break was temporary, the chance of frozen precipitation going from five percent to one hundred percent by two in the morning.
Jayne squeezed into the driveway behind the catering van, promising to move her car when they were ready to leave, unwilling to park blocks away and walk back in the cold. Nola had texted earlier to let us know that Cooper had brought sand to scatter on the walkway and steps, which I’d have to make sure Jack knew about so he’d stop scowling so much in the young man’s direction.
The front door opened as we walked quickly down the piazza, and I held back a shout of surprise when I saw Anthony wearing a dinner jacket and holding two coat hangers. “Ladies,” he said with a wide smile. “So glad to see you. We were wondering if you would get here before the guests.”
“We’ve been calling you and texting,” Jayne said, turning around so he could help her with her coat. “We noticed that you’ve moved out—weren’t you going to tell me?”
“Sorry—I should have given you a heads-up. I figured I had imposedenough on you and that I needed to get back to my house. That’s when I dropped my phone down your stairs this afternoon and it shattered. First thing tomorrow, snow allowing, I’m heading to the Apple store on King Street. I’m so sorry for making you worry—I didn’t think to borrow someone’s phone to let you know since I knew I’d see you here.”
He placed her coat on a hanger, then reached to help me take off mine, pausing slightly when he noticed our dresses but making no comment. “Well,” I said, “I’m glad you’re here. We need to get to Gallen Hall—can you take me as soon as the dinner is over?”
His eyebrows shot up. “Why?”
I looked at him, surprised. “You didn’t figure out the map?”
He shook his head. “What map? Of Gallen Hall?”
“No—the cemetery. I think there’s something—” The doorbell rang, cutting me off. He sent it an annoyed look but didn’t move to answer it.
I gave him a small shove on his back. “Guests are arriving, and I’d rather we speak in private. We’ll talk later.”
He looked as if he might argue, but then smiled as he opened the door to allow in a couple I’d seen at another Ashley Hall event. Several other couples followed, including a group of teachers from the school, and it quickly grew loud and crowded as guests began filling the foyer. Nola joined Anthony to help hang up the coats on the rented racks placed in Jack’s study, even though I was pretty sure I hadn’t assigned her that job on her spreadsheet.
They were kept busy hanging coats for half an hour as people trailed in at different times, most of them having hesitated leaving the appetizer houses until assured the snow would stop. Servers dressed in Revolutionary War–era clothing walked around with tankards of syllabub (made from Sophie’s authentic recipe) to keep the party atmosphere going while we waited for everyone to arrive before we were seated.
I was eager to find time to speak with Anthony, but I had to play hostess and give guests the tour of the Christmas trees and discuss how I’d made the centerpieces and wreaths.
“Are these real?” The mother of one of Nola’s classmates leaned over to study the oranges in the large bowl on the foyer table that Greco had been kind enough to zhush for me.
“Yes,” I said. “All of the fruit in every decoration is real.”
She put her hand to the side of her mouth to whisper conspiratorially, “You know, they sell fake ones now that look as good as the real ones, and they last a lot longer.”
I kept the smile on my face, considering for a moment calling Sophie and asking the woman to repeat what she’d just said. “Yes, well, I’ve heard that, too, but we wanted this to be a more authentic experience for the attendees.”
The woman moved on as I was approached by an older couple who remembered Nevin Vanderhorst and said they were happy to see the house dressed up for the holidays again. “You’ve done such a lovely job, my dear,” the wife said, her green eyes matching her beautiful emerald earrings. “It certainly has the feeling of being a home again.” She took my hand and patted it. “I’m sure Nevin and his mother would be thrilled to know what you’ve done.”
“I’m pretty sure they know,” I said, not meaning to say it out loud.
They both looked a little startled as the woman dropped my hand. “Yes, well, I just wanted to let you know that this house finally has the warmth of a home.”
“Thank you,” I said, feeling my chest puff with love and pride for this house that I’d never wanted to own and that I still had doubts about. But she was right. It washomefor my family and for me. It was something worth fighting for.
As they walked away, they paused by the centerpiece bowl and I overheard the gentleman say, “I don’t believe I’ve ever seen cloves placed so precisely on oranges in all of my years....”
