The House on Tradd Street (48 page)

“No,” I said. “Let me do it.”

He didn’t argue and handed me the stone. I knelt in the grass beside the box, steadying it with my left hand while I brought the rock up above it with my right. It took me three tries before the metal lock pulled away from the wood.

Jack picked up the box and examined my handiwork. “Hell hath no fury, I guess.”

I sent him a warning look. Again exercising good sense, Jack bent to the task of removing the remnants of the lock from the wood before handing the box back to me. “I think you should do the honors.”

“Thank you,” I said. While he held the box, I slowly opened the lid and peered inside.

“Well?” asked Jack impatiently.

“Oh,” I said. “I certainly didn’t expect this.” I put the box down so we could examine the contents together.

“This is a surprise,” said Jack as he reached in and took out a small revolver and began to examine it. “It’s a Remington derringer,” he said, checking the two barrels. “It can only hold two single rounds and both barrels are empty.” Our eyes met for a moment considering the implications before I reached in and pulled out an envelope identical to the one from the other humidor.

“Go ahead and open it,” Jack urged.

Nevin’s name was scrawled on the front of the envelope in the same handwriting as the first one, but this time I didn’t hesitate to open it. The letter was three pages of neat script, and I cleared my throat before beginning to read.

 
I slowly folded the letter and placed it inside the envelope. “Poor Louisa,” I said, fighting back tears. “And poor Nevin. She died saving his life, yet he grew up believing she’d abandoned him. How very sad.”

Jack placed his arm around my shoulder, and I let him because I needed a place to hide my tears. “But at least we know the truth now. And we can let the rest of the world know. That should make us both feel better.” I nodded, knowing he was right, but I couldn’t quite stop seeing the forlorn look on Mr. Vanderhorst’s face as I said goodbye to him in the doorway of his house. An unsettled feeling lingered, as if we weren’t completely finished with the story of Louisa and Nevin.

Jack rubbed my back. “There’s still so much that needs to be answered. Like where were Louisa and Joseph buried? And where are the rest of the diamonds—assuming any are left?”

I pulled away, rubbing my eyes and staring everywhere but at Jack. There was one last object in the box, and he reached inside and pulled out a faded red velvet pouch closed at the top with a gold drawstring, a fringed tassel that had long lost its gold coloring dangling from the string. A tingling sensation erupted down my back, and I shivered. I remembered my mother once telling me that the feeling was similar to what ghosts felt when somebody walked on their grave, and I shivered again, trying to focus on Jack. He loosened up the top of the pouch, and I felt compelled to hold out my hand, the palm turned upward in a small cup. He tilted the small bag over my hand, and we watched in surprise as a large, seemingly flawless diamond slipped effortlessly into my hand.

T
he sun hit the brilliant-cut stone, prisms of light exploding from the gem like a shout of freedom. “Well, that answers part of your question,” I said, my fingers closing over the diamond as if still wanting to guard Robert Vanderhorst’s secret.

“Sort of. But we’re still missing three diamonds. We know about three others: Louisa’s necklace that was sold and gambled away, we have this one here, and I would bet Marc Longo’s Italian suit collection that a third diamond was sold to finance Susannah Barnsley’s abrupt departure from Charleston.”

My jaw twitched at the mention of Marc’s name. “So those three remaining diamonds were either sold long ago, or they’re still hidden where Robert put them.”

“Exactly.”

I looked down at the diamond in my hand. “But at least we know that Louisa and Joseph are dead, and that Louisa didn’t abandon her son. You have no idea how relieved I am to say that.”

Jack gave me a half smile. “I have a pretty good idea.” He opened the pouch, and I reluctantly slipped the diamond inside it.

“I wish I knew where Louisa is buried. I think we need to find that out before she can rest in peace.”

Jack nodded. “We’ll need to work harder on those ciphers.” He replaced the pouch and the gun into the box, but I kept the letter with me, not yet ready to part with it. We walked back up the shallow embankment and got into the car.

Jack started the engine. “We’ll have to stop at a Wal-mart or something so we’ll have a suitcase to check on the plane. We won’t be able to bring the gun in our carry-ons, and I don’t want to have to explain that diamond.”

“We can’t check that—what if it’s stolen?”

Jack pulled out onto the highway. “It won’t be. We’ll buy a Dora the Explorer bag so it looks like it belongs to a child, and some clothes to wrap around it. Trust me—no one will touch it.”

“Really?” I asked, still feeling uneasy.

“Really,” he assured me. “Have I ever led you wrong?”

I wasn’t sure if he was referring to my lack of judgment where Marc was concerned, so I just looked away without answering. “Who’s Dora the Explorer?”

“Just a cartoon character who’s popular with the preschool crowd these days—a little more educational than the Scooby-Doo cartoons we used to watch.”

“I never watched Scooby-Doo, remember? And how do you know about Dora the Explorer?”

Jack shrugged. “Sometimes I watch Yvonne’s grandkids when she’s doing research for me.”

I couldn’t reconcile the playboy image I had of Jack with that of him sitting on the floor with little children, so I turned the conversation back to where it had begun. “I’m thinking the whole break in Robert and Gus’s relationship was manufactured to distract the Longos from looking closer at Gus and his associates for answers.”

“Good deduction, Dr. Watson,” Jack said, his trademark killer grin on his face. “You know, we work so well together, we should do this again.”

I sent him what I hoped was a scathing look of disbelief. “I think I would almost rather slice off an appendage with a pocket knife and without anesthesia than suffer through the agony of these last months again.”

He looked genuinely hurt. “Was it really all that bad?”

I thought back to all that had happened since we’d first met, and knew that I couldn’t honestly say that it had been. If I were to be completely up front with him, I would have to tell him that I hadn’t laughed as much in my whole life as I had in the last few months, and that seeing my hard work on the restoration of the house come to fruition had been one of the big highlights of my life so far. Even being forced to face my ghosts had been an illuminating experience, and most likely something that wouldn’t have happened if I hadn’t met Jack Trenholm. I smiled to myself. Either I’d had a rather sheltered life, or I really had been enjoying life for the first time—and I had Jack to thank for most of it. But then again, he had lied to me, and if I didn’t think too hard about it, I could also blame him for me being so determined to go after Marc Longo. So I hedged my answer.