Page 6 of The Christmas Spirits on Tradd Street
“Mellie,” my mother said, her trim figure floating toward me in a sea of blue silk chiffon, looking much younger than her sixty-six years. She and Jack were the only two people allowed to call me Mellie. It had once grated on my nerves, which was why Jack had adopted it, but now I found it endearing. She kissed me on the cheek as my mother-in-law, the perpetually elegant owner of Trenholm Antiques, Amelia Trenholm, stood and greeted me with a warm smile.
The two women had been friends since childhood, both attending Ashley Hall, so it made sense that they’d be on the committee. What didn’t make sense was the way they had each taken hold of one of my arms as if they were afraid I might escape. I smelled cinnamon and coffee, and I wondered if they were trying to keep me from bolting toward the refreshments set up on a Chippendale mahogany sideboard.
All gazes were fixed on me as my mother began to speak. “Ladies, may I please have your attention? Now that my daughter is here, I thought we’d go ahead and get started with a major announcement.”
I gently tried to pull away, but the two women held me tight. I wondered if escaping would be worth the scene and the comments I’d hear for years.
My mother continued. “Melanie’s dear friend Dr. Sophie Wallen-Arasi, a professor of historic preservation at the college, couldn’t be with us today, but she has graciously volunteered both herself and her expertise, along with my daughter Melanie, to be in charge of the wreath-making workshop this year.”
She paused for the surprised gasps from the audience, mine being the loudest.
Mother continued. “She has also agreed to spearhead the decorations for the host homes for the dinner, promising to ensure that all materialsand methods for both the wreaths and the decorations will be authentic and period-specific to the Revolutionary War era, which is our theme for the progressive dinner this year. As you all know, the workshop was a major fund-raiser last year, and with these two talented ladies at the helm, we expect to double our proceeds.”
I turned to my mother to express my true feelings regarding historic wreath making but my words were drowned out by the round of applause. I’d never suspected that such slender and well-coiffed women could make that kind of noise.
The arrival of another latecomer turned everyone’s heads. My cousin Rebecca Longo wore her signature pink—pink dress, pink shoes, and pink eyeglasses frames. I was pretty sure she didn’t have a prescription inside the frames but was using them merely as a fashion statement. In her arms, and dressed in a coordinating pink dress, was her dog, Pucci. Pucci and General Lee had had a short-lived yet torrid affair that had resulted in a litter of puppies, two of which—Porgy and Bess—now belonged to Nola. They technically belonged to Jack and me, since they were a wedding gift, but when Nola was home they devoted their lives to following her around as if she’d bathed in beef broth and they never let her out of their sight. They even went into a mini mourning period each day when Nola left for school.
“Sorry I’m late,” Rebecca announced. “I had to cook three filets mignons before I found a temperature Pucci would eat. I’m exhausted and it’s barely ten o’clock!” With a heavy sigh she gracefully took a seat on one of the new sofas, smiling brightly at the women around her.
“Any alumnae could sign up for the committee,” Amelia said quietly, anticipating my question.
I sent a weak smile in Rebecca’s direction and she beamed back at me. I found some satisfaction in the pallor of her skin, caused by the sun shooting orange light through the stained glass and transforming Rebecca’s blond hair to rust.
My mother turned to me. “Why don’t you get seated so we can start going over the subcommittees and deciding who will head the entire fund-raiser?”
“I nominate Sophie,” I said through gritted teeth.
“Sadly, she never attended Ashley Hall,” my mother said, pushing me toward a settee.
I was already in front of it before I realized the other occupant was Veronica Farrell, and it was too late to change directions and find another seat without appearing rude. I liked Veronica and wouldn’t have minded sitting next to her. It was the spectral form of her sister standing behind her that made me want to sit anywhere except that corner of the room.
Amelia began walking around the room handing out sign-up forms. “Please write your name on the top of the page if you’re interested in being in charge of the fund-raiser. Then, at the bottom, please put your name beneath your three top choices of committees that you would like to participate in, and add an asterisk if you’d like to be the committee head. We already have two fabulous committee heads for wreath decorating, but I’m sure they would appreciate your help. And we expect everyone to sign up for at least two—even if you’re the chair of one.” Amelia smiled at me, her eyes focused on the middle of my forehead, as if she was afraid to meet my eyes and acknowledge that she’d been a part of my railroading. I was sure it was all my mother’s machinations, but I held Amelia guilty by association.
Veronica leaned over to me. “I’m going to sign up to be the decorating committee chair, so if you sign up for that committee, I’ll make sure you have the easier tasks. I know how busy you are.” She smiled and I smiled back, hoping she wasn’t being nice to me because she wasn’t done asking for my help.
“Thanks,” I said.
A strong whiff of Vanilla Musk wafted over us. Veronica’s head jerked up, so I knew she smelled it, too. I quickly looked down at the paper in my lap, pretending to study it.
“She’s here, isn’t she?” Veronica whispered. “Whenever I smell her perfume, I know she’s near.”
“Who’s here?” I asked, trying to sound uninterested.
Veronica simply stared at me, a look of reproach in her eyes. After a moment, she said, “You probably already know this, but your sister,Jayne, has been talking with Detective Riley to help with the reopened investigation into Adrienne’s murder. As a mother and a sister, I’m sure you understand why I’m doing this. I can’t accept not knowing what happened—not if there are other avenues out there to solving this crime.” She smiled softly. “I just wanted to tell you that because I didn’t want any awkwardness between us. Our daughters are good friends, and we’ll be seeing a lot of each other. I’d like us to be friends, too.”
“I’d like that, too,” I said, sensing the presence moving away, and resisted a huge sigh of relief. “So,” I said, eager to change the subject, “I guess I’ll sign up for the decorating committee, then. Although wouldn’t you think being in charge of the wreath-decorating workshop is punishment enough?”
Her laugh came out as a snort, bringing back memories of working together on a history project in college. I remembered I’d liked that about her, the fact that she could have such an ungracious laugh, but one that other people couldn’t help but smile at because it showed real joy and happiness. I remembered, too, envying her that laugh, because at that point in my life I hadn’t had a lot of reasons to laugh.
I tried to focus on the rest of the meeting, wondering how soon I would be free to mastermind a devious plot to get back at Sophie for volunteering me for the workshop. My mind wandered as I considered putting laminate over the wood floors in my dining room. Or giving her a litter of puppies.
My mother’s voice interrupted my reverie. “Anyone else want to volunteer to host one of the dinner courses?” She looked pointedly at me, but I pretended I hadn’t heard the question. She knew how a lot of activity in the house could sometimes cause the spirits to become restless. And there were two spirits I wasn’t eager to awaken.
Veronica raised her hand. “My house is a Victorian on Queen Street. I’d be happy to open it up for one of the courses.”
Amelia made a note on her clipboard, smiling her approval at Veronica. “Thank you. That gives us five houses. We just need one more house to host the main course. Perhaps one of the grander and restored homes.It would sell more tickets, and the more tickets we sell, the more money for Ashley Hall.”
There were murmurs of assent, and I could feel more than one set of eyes on me. I concentrated on recrossing my legs and straightening my skirt, trying not to be obvious as I scanned the side tables for where the coffee cake might be hidden, having already checked on the sideboard and seen only coffee cups and the tall coffee server. Veronica’s half-eaten piece sat on the coffee table in front of us, and it took all of my willpower to resist reaching over with my fingers and popping it in my mouth.
