Page 2 of The Christmas Spirits on Tradd Street
I squinted at the figure standing on the curb, regretting not putting in my contacts. I really didn’t need them all the time, and not wearing them when I ran saved me from seeing my reflection without makeup in the bathroom mirror this early in the morning.
“Good morning, Jayne,” I grumbled, making sure she was aware of how unhappy I was to be going for a run. Especially when I had a much better alternative waiting for me in my bedroom.
I was already starting to perspire at the thought of the four-mile jog in front of me. Despite its being early November, and although we’d been teased by Mother Nature with days chilly enough that we’d had to pull out our wool sweaters, the mercury had taken another surpriseleap, and both the temperature and the dew point had risen, as if summer was returning to torture us for a bit.
Even though Jayne had already jogged several blocks in the heat and humidity from her house on South Battery, she was barely sweating and her breath came slowly and evenly. We’d only recently discovered each other, our shared mother having been led to believe that her second daughter, born eight years after me, had died at birth. Jayne and I had grown close in the ensuing months, our bonding most likely accelerated by the fact that we shared the ability to communicate with the dead, a trait inherited from our mother.
“Which way do you want to go this morning?” she said, jogging in place and looking way too perky.
“Is back inside an option?”
She laughed as if I’d been joking, then began to jog toward East Bay.
I struggled to catch up, pulling alongside her as she ran down the middle of the street. Dodging traffic this time of day was easier than risking a turned ankle on the ancient uneven sidewalks. “Will Detective Riley be joining us this morning?” I panted.
Her cheeks flushed, and I was sure it wasn’t from exertion. “I don’t know. I haven’t spoken to him in a week.”
“Did you have a fight?”
“You could say that.” Her emotions seemed to fuel her steps, and she sprinted ahead. Only when she realized she’d left me behind did she slow down so I could catch up.
“What... happened?” I was finding it hard to breathe and talk at the same time, but I needed to know. I’d introduced Jayne to Detective Thomas Riley, and they’d been a couple ever since Jayne, our mother, and I had sent to the light several unsettled spirits who’d been inhabiting her house earlier in the year.
“I told him I wanted to go public with my abilities to help people communicate with loved ones. He said it was a bad idea because there are a lot of crazies out there who’d be knocking on my door.”
I looked at her askance. “Funny, he didn’t... seem to... have such qualms... when he asked me about some of his... unsolved cases.”I’d recently considered working with Detective Riley on a case involving a coed who’d gone missing from her College of Charleston dorm room in 1997.
“That’s because you’re working incognito. I want to advertise. And Mother said she’d be happy to work alongside me. She thinks you should also go public and work with us.” She sprinted ahead again, but this time I was sure it was because she didn’t want me to respond. Not that I could have since my lungs were nearly bursting.
I doggedly pursued her, turning left on East Bay and almost catching up as we neared Queen Street, dodging the fermenting restaurant garbage waiting for pickup on the sidewalk. My feet dragged, the humidity seeming to make my legs heavier, and my breath came in choking gasps. My stomach rumbled and I quickly did a mental recalculation of my route. In an effort at self-preservation, I took a left on Hasell, not even wondering how long it would take Jayne to notice I was missing. With my destination in mind, I jogged toward King Street and took a right, my steps much lighter now as I headed toward my just reward.
Catching the green light on Calhoun, I nearly sprinted across the street toward Glazed Gourmet Donuts, almost expecting Jayne to show up just as I reached the door and yank me away. Instead I was merely greeted by the heavenly scent of freshly made doughnuts and the delicious smell of coffee gently embracing me and inviting me inside. I stood in the entryway for a moment, inhaling deeply, until I heard a cough from behind me.
I turned to apologize for blocking the doorway but stopped with my mouth halfway open. Not because the tall, dark-haired man standing behind me was a contender forPeoplemagazine’s Sexiest Man Alive, or because he was smiling at me with more than just casual interest, his dark brown eyes lit with some inner amusement. Nor was it because he wore tight-fitting running clothes that accentuated his muscled chest and that he breathed slightly faster than the average pedestrian—although, like Jayne, he appeared to be barely perspiring. I stared at him because I’d seen him before. Not just that morning, not just in the doughnut shop, but around town several times in the past few weeks asI jogged down the streets of Charleston or ran errands or traveled to various house showings in the city.
It hadn’t struck me as odd until right at that moment, when we were standing only inches apart. Charleston was a small city, and it was inevitable that I’d run into the same person occasionally. But not every day. I blinked once, wondering what else about him captivated my attention, and realized what it was just as the door opened behind the man and Jayne appeared, looking flustered and not a little bit annoyed.
“I knew I’d find you here,” she said, walking past the man to stand in front of me and no doubt try to intimidate me. Which was hard to do considering we were the exact same height.
I looked at the man again. “Are you related to Marc Longo?” I asked, half hoping he’d say no. Marc was my cousin Rebecca’s husband, and Jack’s nemesis after having stolen Jack’s book idea. We were still trying to recover from the financial and professional setback it had caused Jack. Marc was also a boil on the behind of our collective well-being, as he was currently trying to get us to allow in our house on Tradd Street the filming of the movie based on the novel he’d stolen from Jack. Because he was that kind of insufferable jerk. The fact that I’d once dated him didn’t endear him to Jack, either.
“I am,” he said, a shadow briefly settling behind his eyes. He held out a slim hand to me. “I’m Anthony Longo, Marc’s younger brother. And you’re Melanie Middleton.”
“Melanie Trenholm now,” I corrected. I hesitated for a moment before placing my hand in his.
He grinned. “Don’t worry. The only things my older brother and I share are our last name and our parents.”
Turning to Jayne, he said, “And you two beautiful women must be related. Twins?”
I almost smiled at the compliment but didn’t. Because I was certain he already knew exactly who we were to each other. Being in the same family wasn’t the only thing Anthony Longo shared with his brother.
Jayne lifted her hand to shake. Her lips worked to form words, and before I could clamp my hand over her mouth, she said, “You have verydark hair. It’s brown.” She blinked rapidly before dropping her hand. “I mean... yes, you have hair. Well, it’s nice to meet you.” Her face flushed a dark red. Turning to me, she said, “I’m going to get us some coffee and doughnuts.”
“Sorry,” I said, watching her departing back. “My sister, Jayne, hasn’t had a lot of experience with the opposite sex. She seems to get tongue-tied when dealing with attractive men.”
He laughed, a deep, chest-rumbling sound. “I accept the compliment, then.”
I took a step back, as much to put distance between us as to allow a couple to enter the shop. I was reserving judgment, wanting to hate him on sight, but there was something likable about him. He was charming, like Marc, but without the smarmy self-love that Marc exuded from every pore. I met Anthony’s forthright gaze. “Have you been following me?”
