Page 9 of The Christmas Spirits on Tradd Street
I shivered, either from the chill that wouldn’t dissipate or from the way he looked when he said the accuser was related to him. Something Anthony said pinged at my brain.Marc haslots of connections. Has a lot of influence, even in the publishing world.I tried very hard to keep my voice even. “I’m sure the reason Jack hasn’t mentioned it is because it has no impact on him or his work. There are lots of really good editors at his publishing house. I’m sure with such a valuable asset as Jack is to them, they’ll make sure they match him up to someone who’s a good fit.”
Marc sat up, a look of mock concern on his face. “I’m not sure if you’re aware, but when an editor who has been the single and loudest championing voice for a particular author or book is suddenly let go, the author is, effectively, orphaned. Sure, Jack will be assigned to a new editor. But it just won’t be the same, will it? Not unless the new editor shares the same passion and enthusiasm for the book as the previous editor. And that, my dear Melanie, rarely—if ever—happens.”
I walked to the door and held it open so my intent was obvious. “I’m sure Jack and his project will be fine. Sorry I can’t help you.”
“Ah, Melanie. Still so naïve.” He stood but didn’t move, instead taking his time examining the contents of the top of my desk.
My voice shook a little when I spoke. “I’m not naïve. I know Jack is a very talented author, with a solid track record, and his new publisher knows this. His new book idea is brilliant and will succeed with whatever editor he’s assigned to. He’s got a fabulous agent who believes in him and has his back. So stop making these stupid threats and go away. We’re not selling our house, nor will your movie be filmed there. And there is nothing you can say or do that will make us change our minds. You think your big donation to the Ashley Hall fund-raiser might give you a loophole to get stills or shots or whatever it is filmmakers do, but I will fight you every step of the way. And you won’t get a single scene shot anywhere near my home.”
When he didn’t move, I jiggled the doorknob to remind him that he was just leaving.
He wasn’t smiling anymore. “I’m being nice now because you and I have a history. But this courtesy has a limited time span.” He walked slowly toward me, and stopped so that he was definitely invading mypersonal space. I didn’t step back. “I’m not a patient man, Melanie. And I always get what I want. One way or another.”
“You didn’t get the Confederate diamonds,” I said, referring to the treasure hidden in the house by a former Vanderhorst owner at the end of the Civil War. Jack and I had found them before Marc could, much to Marc’s ire. I hadn’t meant to antagonize him, but I couldn’t stop myself. His smugness on top of what he’d done to Jack—tous—was too much for me to let it slide.
His nostrils flared. “You can make this easy, or you can make this hard. Either way, my wife and I will be moving into Fifty-five Tradd Street in the very near future, and we will happily open our doors to a film crew who are champing at the bit to begin filming what I’m sure will be a huge blockbuster hit.” He leaned closer so I could see hazel flecks in his eyes. “And you can tell your historic-house-hugging professor friend that I have all sorts of ideas of what I’d like to do in the house once it’s mine and that there will be nothing she can do to stop me. Just know that it will involve the removal of most of the interior walls and all of those tacky wedding-cake moldings.”
Of all the things Marc said, that hurt me the most. My back still ached when I thought about how I’d hand sanded the wood floors, banister, and spindles. My head hurt as I recalled how much money I’d spent on replacing the roof, and the time and focus it had taken Sophie to repair the antique silk Chinese wallpaper in the foyer. Most of all, I couldn’t forget the beautiful garden my father had brought back from ruin, or the memory of walking with Nola down the grand staircase on my wedding day and then carrying the twins up to their nursery on their first day home from the hospital. What Marc was suggesting was pure desecration. Considering I’d never wanted the house in the first place, I was stunned at the ache in my heart at just the thought of Marc and Rebecca moving in and ruiningmyhouse.
I leaned forward so that our noses were almost touching. “Over my dead body,” I hissed.
Something flickered in his eyes before he stepped back, a crooked grin splitting his face. “That could be arranged.”
A small frisson of fear erupted inside of me, but I refused to look away or even blink. Marc Longo was a bully, and I wouldn’t be cowed by him. “Get out,” I said through my teeth. “And don’t even think you or your film crew will get past the front gate.”
He walked out into the hallway, then turned around to face me. “I made another rather generous donation to Ashley Hall and promised them that I’d have movie professionals document the progressive dinner so they can use it for promotion. I think you’ll have a hard time telling them no. But that’s really just to annoy you and Jack. Sure, I’ll be able to get some great interior shots of the house, but I think I’ll wait until my name is on the deed before I make plans for the real filming to begin.” He scratched his chin as if deep in thought. “I’m thinking Emma Stone—she’d have to dye her hair again, of course—would be the perfect actress to play Rebecca, don’t you?”
Something pinged again at the back of my brain, and my anger slipped away, replaced again by something that felt a lot like fear. I just needed to make sure he didn’t see it. “Why do you want it so badly, Marc? There are plenty of other beautiful historic houses much grander than mine for sale. What is it about my house?”
He paused for a moment. “Simple, really. It belongs to Jack. And you. But not for long.” He raised his eyebrows before turning on his heel and walking away.
I watched him until he disappeared around a bend in the corridor, a sense of unease settling in the pit of my stomach. Marc was a businessman. Everything he did had to be a means to make money or get ahead in some way. Marc had originally purchased the Vanderhorst plantation because he’d thought the Confederate diamonds had been hidden there. And then he’d lied to his own brother about turning it into a winery to extricate himself from a bad investment. He’d even professed his love for me just to access the house I’d inherited so he’d be in a good position to search for the diamonds.
There was something else about my house on Tradd Street besides jealousy that made Marc Longo want it. I just needed to figure out what it was before it was too late. I returned to my desk and sat down, knowingwhom I needed to talk to. My finger was poised over the intercom button when Jolly tapped on the doorframe, her dragonfly earrings swinging. I could tell by the look on her face that she’d heard every word.
“He is not a nice man,” she said, a deep crease between her brows. “He has a black karma cloud that hovers around him, but I think you have to be a psychic like me to see it.” She gave me a sympathetic stare.
“I’m sure.” Jolly was convinced she had psychic abilities and had begun taking classes to learn how to use them. So far, she’d had more misses than hits and had arrived at the firm conclusion that I had no abilities of my own. I was more than happy to have her continue to believe that.
“Would you like me to call Jack for you?” Her green eyes were wide with concern.
He probably was the first person I should call, but I couldn’t. Not yet. If it was true that he’d lost his editor and hadn’t told me, he had enough to worry about. “No. But I do need you to find a number for me. For Anthony Longo.”
Jolly raised her eyebrows in question.
“Yes, Marc’s brother. I believe he’s local. I seem to recall Marc once telling me that his younger brother owned a house downtown. Hopefully he has a landline.”
“Would you like me to put the call through if I can get him on the line?”
I shook my head. “No. Just get me the number. Please.”
She nodded, then left my office, and I reached over to straighten the lampshade because I couldn’t take it anymore. My iPhone buzzed and I looked down at the screen and saw a text from Rebecca.
I dreamed of a man in old-fashioned clothes with empty sockets for eyes. He said he was coming for you. And Jack.
I quickly hitCLEARbefore leaning back in my chair and closing my eyes, wondering how, once again, my formerly orderly world had suddenly become everything but, and why the restless dead never seemed to want to leave me alone.
CHAPTER 4
