Page 62 of The Christmas Spirits on Tradd Street
Rebecca pressed her lips together, contemplating, her eyes moving from me to Jayne to Thomas, then back to me. “It’s a drawing. The design matches what he thought was some kind of drawing in Joseph Longo’s diary. It was one of a bunch of papers in a folder he’dborrowedfrom the archives. He didn’t realize it the first time he saw it, but when he saw the copy of the diary drawing again recently, he was pretty sure it was a match.”
“Where did he see it again?” Jayne asked.
Rebecca sucked in a deep breath. “Marc thought he’d accidentally thrown out a bunch of the notes he’d gathered at the archives to research his next book.” She looked at us to see if we knew that he’d gone to the archives only because he’d learned Jack was working on a new book.
We remained expressionless as she continued. “Anyway, the drawing and several other papers must have fallen behind his desk, because there they were when we had to move it when I decided he needed shiplap in his office. It’s all the rage now on that HGTV show—”
“Rebecca...” Jayne interrupted, and I saw her watching my parents and Jack resume their approach behind us.
“Anyway, he didn’t find anything he thought was important in those papers he’d borrowed from the archives, which is why he’dmisplacedthem, meaning to return them to the archives later, but when we found his own research papers behind his desk and he saw the diary drawing again, he had second thoughts. So he went back to the plantation to retrieve the box of papers from the archives and found it was missing.”
“What kind of drawing?” I asked.
Rebecca shrugged again. “It was weird—lots of scrolls and lines.”
“Can you show it to me?” I asked quickly, but Rebecca had alreadystepped back and was smiling and greeting my mother while keeping a wary eye on Jack.
“Rebecca,” Jack said. “Where’s your dog?”
“It’s so cold out that I felt Pucci would be more comfortable at home. It was so sweet of you to ask.”
“I wasn’t referring to Pucci,” Jack said with a smile that could rival glaciers.
Rebecca frowned. “I just don’t understand how the two men I’ve had the most meaningful relationships with don’t like each other. I’m convinced that if we spent more time together—the four of us—we’d be the best of friends.”
If her reminder that she and Jack had once dated hadn’t brought up my lunch, this last comment certainly would have. I was suddenly very glad that I hadn’t eaten anything yet, but the wine sloshed unhappily in my stomach.
Jack continued with his glacial smile, his eyes focused on the ceiling as if he were actually considering her suggestion. Finally, he said, “Or I could dip myself in oil and light myself on fire. I imagine the outcome would be the same in either case.”
Rebecca’s large eyes blinked slowly. Twice. “And what would that be?”
It was Jack’s turn to blink. “Reaching the same level of fun.”
Before she could think of anything else to say, Jack made a show of waving to someone across the room. “If you could excuse us, please? There’s someone I’d like Melanie and me to say hello to.” He smiled at the rest of the group. “We’ll be right back. And I’m sure Rebecca has a Christmas list of new sweaters and accessories for Pucci she needs to go buy, and we don’t want to keep her.”
Without waiting for a response, Jack took my hand and began leading me across the room, while I attempted to make eye contact with Rebecca to let her know that we weren’t done talking. I had the distinct impression that she was avoiding my gaze, focusing her attention on rebuttoning her coat.
I ran into Jack’s back when he stopped suddenly in front of an elegantolder couple. The gentleman, wearing a proper felt hat like men had worn in the fifties, was helping a platinum-haired woman with her coat. After gently settling it on her shoulders, he handed her a soft-hued silk scarf from his own coat pocket and she smiled up at him as she placed it over her head.
“Yvonne,” Jack said, and I did a double take, believing that Jack had been lying about seeing someone he knew so that he could get away from Rebecca.
“Yvonne?” I repeated, almost not recognizing her out of context. It was as if I expected her to be surrounded by thick and dusty reference volumes wherever she went.
“What a lovely surprise,” she said, accepting a kiss on her cheek from Jack and then me. Facing the man standing next to her, she said, “Allow me to introduce my beau, Harold Chalmers.” She glanced up at her date with sparkling eyes. “Harold, I’d like you to meet some of my dearest friends, Jack and Melanie Trenholm.”
I was too surprised to speak for a moment as I realized that I knew very little about Yvonne’s personal life. I looked up at the tall, elegant man, scrutinizing him more closely than was warranted, my curiosity winning out over my good manners. Harold Chalmers’s eyes were a warm brown, the hair beneath his hat a George Clooney salt-and-pepper. There were lines in the corners of his eyes indicating that he probably laughed a lot and spent a good deal of time in the sun.
I gave him my hand and he took it in a warm and firm clasp. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Chalmers.”
He chuckled, a low, deep rumble in this throat. “Please don’t make me feel older than I am. It’s Harold,” he said, squeezing my hand. “And may I call you Melanie? I feel as if I already know you after everything Yvonne’s told me about you. All good, I can assure you.”
Jack pressed the heel of his hand against his heart. “But what about us, Yvonne? I thought we had something special.”
Yvonne’s cheeks pinkened, making her eyes sparkle even more. She slapped at Jack’s arm with her gloves. “We do, Jack. But I think it’s best if we just admire each other from afar, don’t you?”
“That’s probably best,” Harold agreed. “I wouldn’t want to challenge you to a duel for the lady’s favor. They once did that a lot in Charleston. In lots of places, I imagine, but quite a lot nearby in Philadelphia Alley.”
I smiled and nodded, familiar with the thoroughfare. I’d made the mistake of going down the narrow bricked walkway only once and found myself watching in horror as two men dressed in eighteenth-century clothing stood back-to-back before pacing away from each other, pistols drawn.
