Page 16 of The Christmas Spirits on Tradd Street
“Then you’ll probably regret it. I’m sure Nola wouldn’t be thrilled if Lindsey were forbidden from seeing her. Or if your talents were advertised in a public way.”
His mouth twitched as he held back either anger or tears; I couldn’t tell which. His voice was very quiet when he spoke. “I want our lives back, and I see you as a potential interference to that happening. Please, Melanie. Please don’t encourage her.”
“I won’t. But assuming I could help, don’t you want to know the truth of what happened?”
He shrugged. “We already do—Adrienne’s boyfriend killed her and his fraternity brothers helped give him an alibi and cover it up so he got away with it. Veronica thinks this necklace she found means someone else was involved, but I think it’s just wishful thinking. Even Detective Riley can’t find any connection.” Michael shook his head. “I wish we’d never found that stupid necklace.”
I began leading him from the dining room. “Yes, well, maybe this will run its course. Anyway, I’m sure we’ll be busy with the decorating tonight, so no time to speak of murder or supposed evidence, all right? We’ll be happy to drive Veronica home, so no need to stick around.”
A solid thud from behind me made me spin around in time to see an orange plop to the ground at Michael’s feet, a red splotch covering the spot where the fruit must have collided with his jaw.
His eyes were wide as he looked from me to the orange, then quickly turned to examine the room, as if expecting to see someone else.
“Sorry about that,” I said. “They’re supposed to be dried. A fresh one must have slipped into the box.” I pretended that that was the only thing weird about the flying fruit.
“How did you do that?” he asked, holding the orange and looking around the room.
“Magic,” I said with a lot of force, as if that might make him believe it. With a smile, I left the room, Michael’s footsteps hurrying after me, the scent of Adrienne’s perfume following close behind.
CHAPTER 6
My father picked up General Lee before reluctantly placing him inside my car and then sliding in next to him in the backseat. “Is this really necessary?” he asked, moving closer to the dog and giving him a firm scratch behind his ears.
“Yes,” Jayne said, buckling her seat belt next to me. “There are plenty of dogs looking for homes, and we don’t want to be part of the problem. Porgy and Bess are going in for their procedures next week, so this is good practice for all of us.”
By the time I pulled out onto the street, General Lee was panting heavily, his eyes wide with anxiety. I glanced accusingly in the rearview mirror at my father. “Did you tell him where we were going?”
“I might have mentioned it. Seemed like a man-to-man talk was necessary.”
I rolled my eyes. We were on the way to the mausoleum to meet Anthony, and since we were passing the veterinary clinic, Jayne had made an appointment to have General Lee neutered. When I’d inherited him, having never had a dog before and knowing nothing about dogs, I’d had no idea how old he was or that all of his equipment was intact until Porgy and Bess came along. Both Nola and Jayne had beenbadgering me ever since to get him “taken care of,” but every time I’d asked him about it, he’d seemed less than enthusiastic. The night before, Nola had made a special dessert in General Lee’s honor consisting of mixed nuts rolled into sugarless and vegan cookie dough and rounded into the shape of small balls. They were delicious. But maybe I was just desperate for a cookie.
I turned up the heat in the car, then opened a rear window a bit so General Lee could stick out his head, one of his favorite activities. But he ignored the beckoning window, remaining stoic and looking straight ahead like a soldier heading into battle.
When we dropped him off, I gave him a kiss on top of his head, then waited as the nurse led him away. I called after him, “Remember, sweet boy, that we have a playdate with Cindy Lou Who when this is all over!”
General Lee looked back once and gave a lowwoofbefore moving in front of the nurse toward the door, his tail and head held high. I was embarrassed to find I had tears in my eyes and quickly wiped them away before I returned to the car.
We headed south on Highway 17 over the Ashley River Bridge toward Highway 61. Although it wasn’t as scenic as the Ravenel Bridge over the Cooper, which allowed drivers to admire the skyline of the Holy City and the spires of the many churches that gave Charleston its nickname, I almost enjoyed the views of the Ashley and the marshes more. Most likely because I heard Sophie’s disparaging voice every time I spotted a cruise ship in the Port of Charleston as I crossed the Ravenel Bridge.
There was still a lot of mumbling among residents about the height of the cruise ships that docked there, overwhelming the historic buildings that crouched in their shadows like rabbits sighting a hawk. Sophie’s voice had taken up residence in my brain as my conscience, it seemed, as I also heard it when I searched for mass-produced wallpaper to replace the hand-painted strips in the dining room, or used an electric sander to take off stubborn paint on the nursery door.
As we turned off Highway 17, Jayne pointed at a billboard advertising visits to the USSYorktown, docked at Patriots Point in Mt. Pleasant.“Oh, look—an aircraft carrier,” Jayne said, tapping on the window. “Since Mother said she’s free all day to watch the children, maybe another day the three of us could...”
I looked at her in horror. I’d made the mistake of once joining Nola’s class on a tour of the ship, embarrassing myself by having to leave only fifteen minutes after boarding. I should have assumed that many of the men who’d served on the ship over its long history might never have left and might have been waiting all this time for someone to talk to.
Before I’d been politely escorted off the ship, Nola told me that I’d been singing ABBA’s “Take a Chance on Me” so loudly that no one could hear the tour guide. I hadn’t remembered that part, my attention focused on the crush of wounded men calling my name and moving toward me, and the sight of one man in uniform smiling, half of his face missing, telling me his name was John and he needed to get home to see his girl, Dolores. I remembered gasping for air, and breathing in the stench of unwashed bodies and fresh blood, and hearing my name being repeated over and over.
“No.” I shook my head to emphasize the word. I didn’t look at her, hoping my abrupt answer would be all she needed.
My father leaned forward from the backseat. “Probably not a good idea, Jayne. I mean, besides a cemetery or hospital, I’d pick an old aircraft carrier that’s seen wartime as being a pretty busy hotbed of paranormal activity, if such a thing existed. According to our conversations, that would make sense, right?”
Jayne sent him a warm smile. “You’re absolutely right. Thanks.”
I stole a peek at my father just to make sure this wasn’t a joke. I was happy he was finally beginning to listen to someone on a subject that had always been taboo with us. And I was even happier that Jayne had been completely accepted by him. But, like a tiny splinter stuck beneath the skin, his ease with listening to Jayne and trying to see her point of view bothered me. A small annoyance that could easily be brushed aside. Or left to fester. Or, my favorite, ignored long enough that it went away on its own. I deliberately focused my attention on the passing landscapeto distract myself from recalling all the times that strategy had failed dismally.
Autumn in the Lowcountry is not so much about the variable temperatures or the fact that we sometimes get four seasons in the space of a single week. Instead, the change of seasons is marked by a gradual shift in light and the leaching of colors from the tall sea grass and trees. Only the live oaks and southern magnolias clung to their greens, while all else faded to hazy golds and browns. New England’s claim to fame for its beautiful fall foliage was rightfully earned, but fall in the Lowcountry wore its own jeweled crown. It was one of the growing reasons why I loved calling this place my home. I’d probably love it a lot more if it wasn’t so full of restless spirits, but at least the scenery was nice.
Jayne read the directions Anthony had given me, although they’d been so simple I hadn’t really needed to write them down. Drive about ten miles on 61, then take a right on an unmarked road, then turn at the red arrow on a wooden marker.
