The House on Tradd Street (37 page)

It took me a while to insert consonants and translate nasal vowels to understand what she was saying. I froze. “What? It’s this Saturday?”

“It’s always the third Saturday in October, Melanie—you know that. I was calling to see if you wanted to meet me for drinks beforehand.”

I stared at the gorgeous turquoise silk nightgown draped across my arms. “Um, well, I, uh, I’ve made other plans.”

There was a dead silence on the other end—not counting the labored breathing through a clogged nose—and I started to get nervous. The last time I’d backed out of Sophie’s haunted walking tour, she had added my name to the mailing list of every used-clothing boutique in the state of South Carolina, in addition to putting me on the short list as a potential speaker for the national vegan conference.

“You pomised you’d be there.” Her accusation was followed by more sniffles.

“I’m sorry, Soph. I forgot. And I’ve made plans to go away for the weekend.”

“With Marc Longo?” Even with all of Sophie’s congestion, her reproachment came through quite clearly.

“Yes, as a matter of fact. With Marc.”

“After all that Jack told you?”

As much as I wished Jack would disappear from my life, it was abundantly clear that my friend had no such desire. “Jack told you about the supposed diamonds?”

“He did, Melanie. And a little more about Marc Longo. I think you’re being incredibly stupid if you don’t listen to him.”

“I did. I listened as Jack told me himself that he’s been lying to me since the moment we first spoke on the telephone.”

“And how do you know that Marc isn’t?”

I sighed, trying not to remember how many times I’d asked myself the same question. “Because I asked him. And he told me no.” That wasn’t exactly true, but basically that was what Marc’s response had boiled down to. Not to mention the look in his eyes, which was definitely nothing but sincere.

“Right.” I listened as she pulled the receiver away from her and then blew her nose. “And you believed him but not Jack. That’s very interesting psychology, Melanie. Maybe we should schedule another meditation session so that we can analyze this further.”

I grabbed a handful of silk panties from the bin by the register and tossed them on the counter next to the nightgown. “I don’t need to be analyzed. I just need to be left alone and allowed to make my own decisions.”

“Like deciding to blow off your best friend. The one who came to your aid regardless of her own workload when you told her you needed a little help with an old house you’d inherited.”

Ouch.
She was playing the guilt card now—something she didn’t do often but at least, in this case, was fully justified. I held up my hand to the salesgirl, who was starting to fold the nightgown in soft pink tissue paper.
Wait,
I mouthed to her. Talking into my phone again, I said, “Is this going to be one of those times where you sign me up for a nude-beach vacation or to model at one of your friends’ all-plastic fashion shows if I don’t show up?”

“Possibly.” There was no hint of a smile in Sophie’s voice.

I sighed heavily. “Fine. What time do I need to be there?”

She gave me the details, and I hung up. I thanked the salesgirl and told her that I had changed my mind. I then gave one last lingering look at the turquoise silk nightgown before heading out the door. My only hope was that this year Sophie would heed my advice about dressing more conservatively. On her yearly Halloween walks, she pretended to be a psychic who could channel dead spirits, and I took it as a personal affront when she’d dress as a witch or something with fangs. Seeing as how she’d coerced me into giving up a weekend away to attend her faux haunted walk, the least she could do would be to dress like a real psychic and follow my fashion example.

 
The large group of people clustered like grapes around the gates of St. Philip’s cemetery stared openmouthed at the black-robed hooded creature carrying a scythe and wearing a tour guide license around her neck. When the figure took a step forward, and I saw the striped stockings and Birkenstocks, I knew it was Sophie.

She’d taken me to dinner first and given me a ride into town, but she’d dropped me off on King Street to do some shopping while she got ready, so I hadn’t had a chance to see her costume yet. Before letting her drive away, I reiterated what I’d said about dressing appropriately, but I was still worried. And with good reason, apparently.

At least she wasn’t dressed as a witch or sporting fangs, but I thought the scythe was taking it a little too far.

Other groups stood nearby, but Sophie had commandeered the best spot closest to the grave of Sue Howard Hardy and the site of the city’s most talked-about ghost sighting. Supposedly Mrs. Hardy spent a lot of time bent over her child’s grave, grieving for a stillborn baby delivered more than one hundred years ago. I knew differently, of course, having spoken with the grieving woman once while out walking with my mother when I was a little girl. My mother had pulled me away from the arm reaching through the gate before the pale white fingers could grasp my coat sleeve. It wasn’t until later that night, after my mother had tucked me into bed, that I realized my mother could see her, too.

Sophie acknowledged me with a lifting of her scythe, and I rolled my eyes while keeping my distance from the gates in case anything within wanted to get my attention. I looked around at a few of the other tour groups, feeling justified when I noticed that most of the guides were not in costume. Sophie had tried to explain that dressing up attracted more people to her group, which meant she raised more money for the college, but I wasn’t completely convinced. I told her that telling accurate stories would probably be more of an incentive to attending her tour instead of one of her competitor’s, but she’d remained doubtful.

Sophie began to speak. “It was here at this spot in nineteen eighty-seven that an amateur photographer took the picture that has made this cemetery the focus of many paranormal investigations. Unbeknownst to the photographer, a former resident of Charleston, Mrs. Sue Howard Hardy, dead of heartbreak over a century before, sat keening over the grave of her stillborn baby. He was very surprised to find the image when he developed his film.” Sophie’s voice, while still more nasal than usual, took on a tremulous tone, and I almost laughed out loud.

“It almost sounds like she knows what’s she’s talking about, doesn’t it?”

I turned around to defend my friend, then froze. I jerked away when I saw Jack, bumping into a large lady in a Salty Dog T-shirt behind me. “Jack—what are you doing here?”

“Same as you. Supporting the College of Charleston, as well as learning something new about my city.”

I looked up into his sparkling blue eyes and had to admit to myself that he looked good. Not good enough for me to ever forgive him or allow him anywhere near me, but still good enough to admire from afar. Very afar. “Good for you, Jack. But while you’re listening, please try not to stand anywhere near me. I don’t want to see you again, remember?”

I started to make my way to the outside edge of the crowd, but Jack put a hand on my arm. “You haven’t returned any of my calls.”

“And you’re surprised by that?” I tried to tug my arm away, but he held fast. I could tell that the woman in the T-shirt was paying more attention to us now than to Sophie, so I stopped struggling.

“No,” he said, lowering his voice. “But I am surprised that you’re not giving me a chance to redeem myself.” He dropped my arm, then leaned toward me, his face almost touching mine. “I thought we were friends.”

“I thought we were, too,” I said, stepping back. “And there’s nothing you can do to redeem yourself in my eyes, so just go away and leave me alone.”

I turned around and began to make my way through the crowd gathering around Sophie, who was now waxing poetic about the spectral spirits that roamed the streets of Charleston at night, completely unaware of the pirate with the noose pulled tight around his neck hanging from the tree behind her inside the cemetery’s fence.

Jack followed doggedly behind me. “I can find the diamonds for you. Think about what that would mean. At the very least you’d be able to finish the restoration on your house.”

I stopped at the edge of the crowd and faced him. “It’s not my house. It never was—not really. And all it’s meant to me has been an endless round of frustration. So I’m through. Through with the house and through with you. Just please leave me alone.” I turned around to face Sophie, showing my back to Jack and pretending to concentrate on what Sophie was saying.

He kept his voice low, the perfect pitch to hear him over the sound of Sophie speaking. “What about Louisa and Nevin? You’re going to abandon them along with the house? Because I think you know as well as I do that Louisa loved her son. That something horrible would have had to happen to her to make her leave him. And that for some reason a smear campaign was set up in the media to make it look like she ran off with Joseph Longo. But you and I both know that’s not true, don’t we? Remember that photograph in the frame that keeps getting thrown across the room? It’s Louisa and Nevin doing that—and don’t you dare try to deny it. You and I both know there’s something not normal in that house. And that Louisa and Nevin want the truth to be known.” Jack tugged on my arm until I faced him. “They need you to help them tell the truth.”

“What do you know about the truth?” I yelled, noticing all the heads turning in my direction at the same time I realized that Sophie had just asked the crowd if anybody had ever had a supernatural experience.

Sophie lifted her cowled head and looked in my direction. “The young lady in the back. Did you have an experience you would like to share?”

I looked at her in horror, seeing the pirate again who was now swinging in the night wind. I could hear the creak of rope against tree bark, reminding me of a child on an old wooden swing. “Um, no.” I coughed. “Not really.”

“Are you sure?” Sophie was frowning hard at me, shifting her eyes like a signal that I was supposed to recognize.

“I’m sure.” I watched as several pirates appeared and began to cut down their buddy from the tree, using long, glinting swords.

Sophie persisted. “Because it seemed like you had something to say earlier.”

I gave an inward groan. “Fine. All right. I once got a phone call from my grandmother.”

The big lady in the T-shirt scowled. “That’s not a paranormal experience.”

I turned to her and looked into her eyes. “My grandmother had been dead for over twenty years.”

The lady stepped back as I heard several snickers in the audience as well as a few remarks like “It was probably a prank call.” I looked at Sophie and shrugged.

The crowd turned en masse and followed Sophie down Church Street, to the corner where it intersected Queen Street and stopped in front of the venerable and supposedly haunted Dock Street Theater, currently undergoing a massive renovation. I felt Jack walking silently beside me, but I didn’t turn to acknowledge him.

As soon as the crowd had settled around Sophie, she began to speak. “A woman in a dark red dress slowly floats through the halls and along the outside balcony of this building’s second floor, and has been seen by night managers, as well as theatergoers.”

Something brushed against me, and I jerked toward Jack to tell him again to leave me alone. But Jack was staring straight ahead, listening attentively to Sophie, and completely unaware of the woman who stood behind him resting her head on his back. With a translucent finger, she smoothed an errant wave of black hair off of his ear. Jack reached up as if to shoo away an annoying bug, then stopped with his hand suspended in midair and instead let his hand cup the space where the woman’s hand had been. Then, almost as if he were unaware of what he was doing, he tilted his head as a lover might do to hear the quiet whisper of his beloved.

I heard her voice inside my head, although her lips didn’t move. And though her eyes were closed, I knew her words were meant for me.
Tell him. Tell him I love him. Tell him that my love for him gave me no choice but to leave. Tell him what you know.
Her eyes opened then, but behind the lids was only empty space. And then she was gone.

I felt a soft tug on my sweater, and I looked down to see a chubby boy around eight years old.

“I saw her, too.”

“Who?” I asked nervously.

He looked at me with eyes that were older than he was. “You know.” He leaned forward and whispered, “I’m not supposed to talk about it, but I figured if you saw it, too, then I’ll know that I’m not really crazy.”

My heart broke a little bit as I remembered me at his age being chased on the playground all because I said that Mary Lou Watkins had spent the night with me at my house when everybody knew she’d been killed in a car crash. “You’re not crazy,” I said to the boy. “And if you’re lucky, you might grow out of it.”

“You didn’t.” He looked at me accusingly.

“No, I didn’t. But a lot of kids do.”

“I hope I don’t,” he said, then gave me a small smile before rejoining his mother.

“Who was that?” Jack asked, turning around.

I shrugged. “Just a boy. He thought he’d lost his mother.”

Jack frowned, learning forward to look closely into my face. “You look like you’ve just seen a ghost.”

With my nerves still raw from the encounter, I barked out a laugh, causing the group to turn around and look at me again. Sophie turned toward me, and I had a fleeting thought that if she asked me to tell another true experience I would throw up.

“I’ve got to go. Tell Sophie she did a great job, and I’ll call her tomorrow.” I didn’t stop to think how I’d get a ride home.

“I’ll come, too. We’ve got to resolve this thing between us, Melanie. We can’t just leave everything as it stands.”

“Yes, we can,” I said, surprised to find my hands and voice still shaking. I began to walk off down Church Street toward Broad, thinking I’d call Nancy for a ride.