The House on Tradd Street (22 page)

I groaned aloud. “Jack, we’ve had this conversation already, and I told you no. I don’t need you or anybody else in the house with me. The alarm guy will fix the alarm, and that’ll be that.”

They both stared at me silently.

“You could have been seriously hurt, Melanie.” Sophie’s warm brown eyes radiated concern.

“But I wasn’t. I handled the situation just fine.”

“Right. Until the next time when the guy is smart enough to bring a gun.” Jack’s hand had closed into a fist, and I remembered what I’d discovered on the Internet about his time in the military. I wouldn’t mention it unless he did—just in case he accused me of Googling him again—but it did make me think twice about turning him down. Still, the thought of sleeping under the same roof with him, albeit in separate bedrooms, sounded like a completely bad idea.

I felt my foot shaking in agitation under the table as I searched for any reason I could come up with. “But what would Mrs. Houlihan think?”

Sophie snorted. “You’re what, thirty-nine?”

I glared at her but she ignored me. She knew how I hated advertising my age, especially in front of somebody I suspected might be a year or two younger than me. She poked Jack on the arm with her fork. “And you’re how old?”

“Thirty-five,” he said, grinning at me.

She sat back. “Well, then, I’d say that you both classify as adults and therefore can make your own sleeping arrangements with impunity.”

I pulled my wallet from my purse and placed a ten on the counter. “Great argument, Sophie. You almost have me convinced.”

Jack leaned back on his stool and smiled, a look of smug confidence on his face. “Don’t worry, Soph. I’m not taking no for an answer. Whether Mellie wants to admit it, we would all feel better with me in the house at night. Besides, I need to finish taking pictures of the clock.”

I smiled patiently. “Look, I think everybody is losing sight of the fact that it’s my house, which means I should be the one consulted about everything—including who’s going to be sleeping there.”

Sophie didn’t bother smiling back. “Melanie, we’re your friends. We’re here to save you from making mistakes. Do I need to remind you about your picture in the paper? Please recall that I told you before you had your hair done that a perm would be a bad idea.”

I looked away, too embarrassed to admit she was right.

“Besides, this project is way too big for you, and we want to help. And we won’t forget that you’re in charge. Will we, Jack?” She turned to face Jack, who shook his head somberly.

I threw my hands up. “Fine, fine, fine. Whatever. Just try to give me my space, and if I find the toilet seat left up just once, you’re out of there.”

Jack winked and extended his hand. “You drive a hard bargain, ma’am, but I think I can live with that.”

I narrowed my eyes as we shook hands. “Me, too,” I said. “And I hope I don’t live to regret this.” I looked at my watch. “I’ve got to run to the office now.” I stood and faced Jack again. “Speaking about needing my space, I’d appreciate it if you would clear out before seven. I have a date tonight, and I don’t think it would look great if you were there when he showed up.”

“A date?” Sophie and Jack spoke simultaneously but with matching tones of surprise.

“Yes, a date,” I said, annoyed. “Don’t expect me to start wearing stockings that bag around my ankles and spritz myself with moth spray just because I own an old house now. I’m entitled to a social life, you know.”

“Absolutely,” said Sophie. “I’m just . . . surprised. You haven’t mentioned anybody, so it’s a bit sudden.”

“And speaking of dates,” I said, desperate to change the subject, “what was that going on between you and Chad? I figured you two would be picking out china together by now.”

Her face blanched a little. “I have no idea why you’d be thinking that. I can’t imagine that we’d have anything in common.”

Jack tried to keep a straight face. “Sophie, I haven’t known you that long, but I have to say that you and Mr. Arasi do seem to be a good match. I mean, he rides a bike and teaches yoga. I also heard him say the word ‘organic.’ Need I say more?”

Sophie looked up at the ceiling and took a deep breath, then blew it out slowly through puffed-out cheeks. “Okay. You want to know why? It’s not that we don’t have anything in common.” She paused for a moment, looking at each of us. “That first time I saw him in yoga class, he told us that he’s a Capricorn.” When neither of us said anything, she elaborated. “And I’m a Gemini.” She looked at each of us again, as if she didn’t need to explain further.

Jack took the bait. “Okay. So what’s the problem?”

Sophie looked like the mayor of Pisa who’d just been told by the architect of his tower that it was supposed to lean. “ ‘What’s the problem’?” She slapped her hand on her forehead. “Those are only the two most incompatible signs of the zodiac. Getting together with him would be the greatest disaster of my life.”

I could tell that Jack was trying to keep a straight face. “The greatest disaster?”

Sophie had the good sense to look sheepish. “Well, maybe not the greatest. That would be the time my grandmother took me shopping at Lilly Pulitzer. But still, it would be horrible. We’d end up hating each other. Or worse.”

I wasn’t going to speculate on what “worse” could mean. I was too busy wondering how such a talented, educated woman could not only be the world’s worst dresser, but also believe in all of that zodiac crap. Then again, who was I to question her? I was the one who saw dead people.

Besides, I had more practical concerns to worry about. “Would it be okay with you if Chad helps out with the restoration work? He’s volunteered and it would be very hard to tell him no.”

Sophie looked miserable. “I guess I can’t stop you, but please try not to schedule us at the same time, okay?” I nodded and she narrowed her eyes. “And, by the way, your change of subject has not made me forget about your date tonight. So spill the beans—who is it?”

I took a deep breath of resignation. “Oh, that. Yes, well, it’s actually a client. He came in to see me yesterday about real estate and ended up asking me to dinner.”

“Anybody we would know?” asked Jack with studied nonchalance.

“No, I’m pretty sure you wouldn’t.”

Sophie’s eyes widened. “Is this the guy who’s been calling your office and not leaving a number or last name?”

I sent her a warning look but it was too late. Jack looked at me. “Marc Longo? You’re going to dinner with Marc Longo?”

I sat back down, figuring this might take a while. “Yes, as a matter of fact, I am. He seems like a really nice guy. Dresses well, too.” I looked pointedly at Jack’s jeans and ubiquitous oxford cloth shirt with rolled-up sleeves.

His eyes were serious. “Mellie, remember how I told you that there are no coincidences? Don’t you find it odd that this Marc Longo, a direct descendant of Joseph Longo, has suddenly appeared on your doorstep, asking you for a date?”

Bristling, I sat up straight. “It wasn’t like that. He wants me to show him some houses. That’s all. And we ran out of time in our meeting, so he invited me to continue our conversation over dinner. It was all very innocent.”

“So, he didn’t mention the Tradd Street house at all.” Jack crossed his arms over his chest.

I contemplated lying just to wipe the smugness off his face, but figured he’d find out eventually. “Actually, he did. He was interested in buying it until I told him that it wouldn’t be available for another year. He had seen the article in the paper and remembered the connection between his family and the Vanderhorsts, and thought maybe that house would make a great first residential real estate investment.”

“I bet he did. So whose idea was it to look for more houses after you told him yours wasn’t available?”

“His,” I said. “But what does it matter? I’m sure that whatever happened to Louisa and Joseph isn’t on the top of Marc’s list of important things to find out. And I’m sorry if you think that a guy has to have ulterior motives to ask me out on a date.”

I could feel Sophie next to me straining to keep her mouth shut. Jack surprised me by leaning forward and taking my hands in his. He used what I could only describe as his bedroom voice when he spoke. “I could never think that, Melanie.”

My eyes flew to his at his use of my full name. Irritated by the way my hands and arms were tingling, I yanked them back and cleared my throat. “Well, it doesn’t sound that way to me.”

He frowned, as if weighing what his next words should be. Finally, he said, “I’m just asking that you be cautious. From what I’ve learned, Marc Longo isn’t somebody you should be messing with.”

“I’m not ‘messing’ with him. I’m just having a business dinner with him.”

“Where? Magnolia’s?”

I frowned at his accuracy. “Certainly not Blackbeard’s. He has better taste than that.”

He surprised me by laughing. “Yeah, well, at least I wasn’t as obvious as Magnolia’s. The guy must be desperate to get on your good side if he’s taking you there for a first date, and I’d like to find out why. Maybe you should wear a wire.”

I stood abruptly. “I think I’ve heard enough. I’m leaving.”

Sophie swiveled in her seat and waved her hand at me. “Don’t forget to sign up for my haunted Halloween walking tour. The sign-ups went online this morning.”

I closed my eyes, remembering the disaster of the previous year’s fund-raiser. “You won’t need me, Soph. You’ll have no problem filling your tour without packing the audience with your friends.”

Her eyes sparkled. “Yes, well, but you always add that special touch.”

I sent her a warning glance.

Jack’s gaze moved from my face to Sophie’s. “Am I invited, too? Sounds right up my alley. You have no idea how much I like a good ghost story.” This last comment was directed at me.

“Do what you want,” I said to him as I turned to walk away. “But Sophie moves fast, and you might trip over your ego trying to catch up.”

I waved and left quickly before Jack could respond and before I was forced to explain my need to have a dinner date with a good-looking, successful man, regardless of his motives. I was supposed to be a confident, self-made, successful woman, not the kind of person who rarely had a date and usually tripped over her own tongue when speaking to a member of the opposite sex on a topic that didn’t involve mortgages or real estate appraisals. I felt like the plain girl being asked to the prom by the captain of the football team, and I wasn’t about to let Jack Trenholm spoil my fun.

 
When I was about four years old, I got a phone call from my grandmother Middleton. I picked up the phone in the hallway when it rang, knowing before it rang that it was for me, and she began speaking as soon as I brought the receiver to my ear. She told me how much she loved me and how special I was, and how I should never worry about what other people might think. I must have fallen asleep listening to her, because the next thing I remembered was my daddy picking me off the floor and carrying me to my room.

I told him that I was talking to Grandma on the phone, and he got very angry with me. I didn’t know it then, but my grandma had been dead for less than forty-eight hours, and my daddy had been wondering how to tell me when he found me on the floor with the phone cradled next to me. I suppose that was when I first began to understand that I was different, that not everybody saw people who weren’t really there, and that it made other children avoid me on the playground. By the time I was six, the only person I ever told was my mother. And then she was gone, and there was nobody else but me.

I slid the black dress over my head, then fastened my grandmother Middleton’s pearls around my neck, just as I had done for my “date” with Jack. But this time, I knew where we were going, and my black dress, pearls, and French chignon would not be out of place.

The doorbell rang just as I was adjusting the straps on my shoes, and I listened as Mrs. Houlihan’s heavy tread slowly made its way to the front door. I waited a few moments to hear her greeting, and when nothing happened I cracked the door a little bit to listen. Mrs. Houlihan’s grunts filled the downstairs foyer, so I gave up on making my date wait ten minutes and ventured out of my room, peering over the banister as I walked down the stairs.

Mrs. Houlihan was gripping the door handle with both hands and had one knee on the doorframe as she grunted and pulled on the door to open it.

“What’s wrong with the door?” I asked as I approached.

Her forehead glistened with sweat. “I don’t know, Miss Melanie. But the door’s stuck. I’ve checked to make sure it’s unlocked but I just can’t open it.”

An impatient jab on the doorbell sounded again. “Just a minute,” I called out. I motioned Mrs. Houlihan aside, and after double-checking that everything was unlocked, I turned the handle and pulled. The smooth brass doorknob twisted in my hand but it might as well have been attached to a wall.

“Can I help you with that, ladies?”

I turned with a start and found Jack approaching us in bare feet. His shirt was untucked, and his hair looked like he’d just woken up. “Where did you come from?”

He grinned. “I was taking a nap in my room. Had a late night last night, and I intend to take another stab at the attic tonight, so I figured I should grab some sleep while I could.”

I was angry that he’d ignored my request to stay away from the house tonight when my date arrived, but too eager to get the door opened to say anything. “The door won’t open—can you give it a shot?”

Mrs. Houlihan and I stepped back as Jack grasped the door handle and turned it, the door opening smoothly toward him. Mrs. Houlihan and I stood speechless, staring at each other and then at the irate Marc Longo on the other side of the door.

Jack held out his hand. “Hi, there. I’m Jack Trenholm. And you must be Matt.”

Marc hesitated just for a moment before taking Jack’s hand. “Actually, it’s Marc. And I’m here to see Melanie. . . .” He looked behind Jack’s shoulder.