The House on Tradd Street (34 page)

I marched back in, noticing that my father was watching me closely. “What? What are you talking about? I’ve never heard of secret diamonds, and they sure as hell aren’t here—we would have found them by now. And if this is your way of getting me to stop seeing Marc, forget it. Maybe if you told me he was the king of England you’d have a better chance of me believing you.”

Jack stalked across the room toward me. “Dammit, Mellie—would you just listen for five minutes? There is enough of a paper trail that shows that when President Jefferson Davis escaped from Richmond with the Confederate treasury, the diamonds were with him. They made it as far south as Washington, Georgia, before Jefferson ordered the treasure be divided and sent separate ways.”

“So what?” I answered but even I could hear the uncertainty in my voice.

Jack continued, looking steadily at me as if to gauge my reaction. “A large portion of the gold was hidden in the false bottom of a wagon and given to a trusted cavalry officer, who would take the gold to his hometown, Charleston. The cavalry officer, John Nevin Vanderhorst, arrived in Charleston without the gold or the wagon, saying he’d been attacked by thieves who had stolen the wagon. Nothing was ever mentioned about the rumored diamonds, and Vanderhorst was killed in battle shortly afterward.”

Jack passed his hands through his hair, and when he looked at me, his face was ragged and I was glad, because I had begun to feel that the worst part of what he wanted to tell me was yet to come.

“I really think you need to sit down for this, Mellie.”

My dad approached and moved the chair closer to me, his presence jarring because I’d forgotten he was there. His absence from my life was expected, and his being there was oddly comforting until I realized that he was somehow privy to what Jack was about to say.

“No,” I said combatively. I had stopped crying at the age of seven and wasn’t about to start now. I figured being belligerent, stubborn, and combative just might help me mask the tears I felt vying for my attention somewhere in the back of my throat.

Jack slid his chair closer to where I stood. “Then you’ll have to forgive me for sitting in a lady’s presence, but I need to.”

I didn’t say anything else, so he continued. “The legend holds that Vanderhorst hid the diamonds either at his plantation, Magnolia Ridge, or in his Charleston town house. Despite numerous searches for the rumored diamonds, one hundred forty-two years later, they have never been found, and most historians refuse to recognize their very existence.”

The silence in the room was punctuated by the ticking of the large clock, as if reminding us of its presence. I kept my voice calm, surprising myself. “But you know differently.”

“Yes, I do.”

I stared at him expectantly.

He coughed. “I discovered I had a gift with breaking codes when I was in the military. It became kind of a hobby for me to hunt for ciphers and see if I could solve them. I accompanied my parents to an estate auction in Washington, Georgia, and while I was there, I visited the museum where the trunk that supposedly held a portion of the Confederate gold was kept. And right there, carved around the bottom of the trunk so that it looked like part of the design, and in front of anybody actually paying attention, was an old Atbash substitution cipher. It was supposedly used by the Knights Templar and replaces the first letter of the Hebrew alphabet for the last and so on. Not very difficult if you know what you’re looking at. Otherwise, it looks like a fancy border used to decorate a trunk. Which is why I think it had gone undetected for all of these years.”

“And what did the cipher say?” My voice cracked and I coughed to hide it.

He watched me closely as he answered. “I don’t remember it verbatim, but translated loosely it said something like ‘A fortune in gold for our hero’s souls; their widows shed tears of glittering ice.’ ”

“ ‘Glittering ice,’ ” I repeated, my voice mocking. “No such thing as coincidences, right?”

He simply returned my gaze, his expression flat.

“And you think that’s enough evidence to prove that the diamonds were real and part of the treasury?”

“I’m positive. After I saw the trunk, I took a trip to the University of Texas at Austin, where they have a large collection of Davis’s papers. I found a letter he wrote to General Lee before Davis fled from Richmond, stating how he had the means to support Confederate widows regardless of the outcome of the war. I was pretty sure what he was implying, and that I had discovered the validation needed to prove that the diamonds existed.” He paused and shoved his hands in his pockets, reminding me of the photo on the back cover of his last book, and I had a fleeting thought that the pose wasn’t meant to be arrogant or self-assured; it was simply the man I thought I had come to know hiding behind the author. If I hadn’t hated him so much at that moment, I might have found it endearing.

Jack continued. “And that’s when I decided what my next book would be about.”

I unclenched my jaw. “Because you needed something really big to resurrect your career. To make up for the fiasco of your previous book. The book that made you an object of public ridicule and caused your publisher to not renew your contract.”

Jack’s jaw shifted. “Yeah. Something like that.”

“And Colonel Vanderhorst’s town house. Where was it?”

He leaned over in his chair, his forearms resting on his knees, and when he looked up, he looked as miserable as I felt. “Here. At Fifty-five Tradd Street.”

I nodded, then kept nodding like a dashboard bobblehead, not seeing anything or thinking any coherent thoughts. The idea of Marc possibly deceiving me registered like a leaf falling on a lake in comparison to the feeling that was now taking over—a feeling that reminded me of walking into my mother’s closet and finding all of her clothes gone.

“So when we first met and you told me about the book you were working on, it had nothing to do with Louisa and Joseph Longo. That was just a convenient story for you to gain access to my house.”

He nodded, his face completely serious for the first time since I’d met him. “Yes, although at the time I was pretty sure that the two mysteries surrounding your house might be related. I still do. I think the disappearance of Louisa and Joseph is connected to the diamonds somehow.”

“So you’ve been lying to me since the day we met.” My voice shook, and I hoped he thought it was from anger instead of those damned tears in my throat that wouldn’t leave me alone.

He stood and began walking toward me, but my father stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for it to get this far. What I’d heard of your reputation . . . well, I wasn’t sure you’d give me carte blanche to scour your new house for a bunch of priceless diamonds. I figured a more personal connection to Mr. Vanderhorst would soften you up, make it easier for me. I planned on just getting the information I needed and then leaving. Even if I discovered the diamonds, I would have given them to you. I just needed them as proof that I’d found them.”

I turned away, not able to look at him anymore. “When I showed you Mr. Vanderhorst’s letter, you must have jumped up and down at how easy I had made it for you.” I stopped for a moment, chewing on my lip and listening to the gentle tick of the clock. “I would have given you access, anyway, you know. If you’d told me why solving this mystery was so important to you, I would have understood. You didn’t have to lie at all.”

“I know that now, Mellie. But I didn’t know you then. And this was so all important to my career that I acted like an asshole and didn’t stop to think how it might affect you. I figured I’d be in and out so fast that you wouldn’t even care.”

I threw back my head and laughed, except it wasn’t a real laugh. It sounded more like a hurt bird or a disappointed child. A thought niggled at the back of my brain, and I turned to face him. “That bet you had with your mother—the one you lost. That was about this, wasn’t it?”

He nodded, and if I’d had any emotion left at all, I suppose I would have admired his honesty. “She told me to be straight with you right from the start, but I didn’t listen. I promised her that I would tell you right away—just as soon as I figured out how receptive you’d be.” He stopped, as if unsure how to continue.

“So what was the bet?”

“That I’d wait so long to tell you the truth that eventually I couldn’t.”

My crossed arms were pressed so tightly against me that they were starting to tingle from loss of circulation. “But why not? After you got to know me, why not tell me?”

A light flickered in his eyes for a moment and then was gone. “Because I ended up liking you too much to let you know that I’d lied to you. Because I was afraid that you would hate me and throw me out on my ear. And because I knew that losing your friendship would be worse than losing my book contract.”

I bit down hard on my lip, concentrating on the pain so I couldn’t think about the implications of what he’d just said. With a fortifying breath, I said, “Well, guess what. You were right. I do hate you right now.” I faced my father. “So you knew all along? I’m the only one who’s been kept in the dark?”

“No, Melanie. Jack just told me—out of concern for you because of this Marc Longo fellow. I even tried to persuade Jack to let me tell you that I was the one who found out about the diamonds. But he wanted you to know the truth.”

“And Sophie and Chad?” I asked.

“Nobody else,” Jack said quietly. “Except for Marc Longo.” He took a step toward me, then stopped. “Mellie, I’m sorry. I know that sounds inadequate, but it’s true. But regardless of how much you might hate me right now, you need to listen to me about Marc. He’s desperate and could be dangerous. I don’t think you should be alone with him. Remember the vandalism and the break-in when you were here? Even the phone calls. I wouldn’t be surprised if he were responsible. He’s desperate, Mellie. And desperate men have been known to do desperate things.”

I ignored him, my mind busy replaying the events of the last few months since Jack had come into my life. “So your insistence about the alarm system wasn’t about your concern for me at all, was it? It was about these mythical diamonds that may or may not exist. And your idea to move in here was to protect them—not me.”

His jaw clenched. “You’re wrong, but I don’t expect that you would believe me now.”

“No, I wouldn’t.”

My father stepped forward. “Melanie, there’s more. And this is probably a rotten time to tell you, but it’s all related and might help you figure out what to do next.”

My reputation as a hard-ass in the real estate business, while not duplicated in my personal life, was well earned. I blocked out any emotion that didn’t involve getting my own way or sealing the deal and faced my father with a hopefully calm demeanor. “What?”

“I’ve spent the last two days crunching numbers, using Sophie’s predictions of expected costs for the work that still needs to be done.”

I felt my calm demeanor slip slightly. “And?”

He swallowed but didn’t break eye contact. “It . . . uh . . . well, it looks like we’re going to run out of money before all of the work is completed.”

“How is that possible?” My voice wavered slightly, but I didn’t shout.

“Simple, really. The roof replacement took up more than twice what the budget allowed because we originally thought we’d only have to replace part of it and patch others, and the foundation repair, while essential to the rest of the restoration, was completely unexpected. And Sophie’s methods”—he shrugged—“well, there’s no doubt she knows what she’s doing and everything is first-class, but the money is flying out faster than either one of us expected.”

The French toast and coffee I’d consumed for breakfast threatened to come back up. “So what are you saying, exactly?”

“That we need those diamonds. If they’re found on this property, they will belong to you. So if anybody finds them, it will need to be us.”

I waved my hands in front of me, as if I could erase everything that had been said. The lies, the diamonds, the shortage of money—all these thoughts ricocheted around my head like a ball in a pinball machine. I was either going to throw up or cry, either option as equally humiliating as the other. “I can’t deal with this now, Dad. I just can’t. When Chad and Sophie get here, tell them that they’re getting a day off. We’ll sit down and talk with Sophie later but not now. I’ll let you know.” I turned around for the last time, pausing again in the doorway with my back to them. “Jack, I want you packed and out of here within the hour. And I don’t ever want to see you again.”

“Mellie, stop. Please listen. You could be in danger. Your house has already been broken into twice, remember? Please. It’s not about the book anymore. Or my career. It’s you I’m concerned about now.”

I didn’t stop to listen to any more. I made it to the bottom step before I paused. “Just leave. Please. I don’t want to hear anything else you have to say.” I made it up one step before I paused once more. “And stop calling me Mellie,” I called out before running up the stairs, careful to hold in my stupid tears until I’d made it to the safety of my bedroom.

 
I nearly tripped over one of Louisa’s albums as I entered the room, barely catching my balance by grabbing on to the armoire. The album lay neatly on the floor, faceup and open. Ignoring it, I slid down the door until I’d reached the floor, using the heels of my hands to stanch my tears. Eventually I stopped and even managed to open my eyes. Something empty and pulsing inside my chest interrupted my breathing as I sat staring at the open album.

Both pages were filled with amateur photographs of a growing Nevin. In one, I recognized the piazza, where Nevin sat on a rocking chair, his index finger pointed at the invisible photographer, his face creased with laughter. It was slightly blurred, as if the subject had failed at sitting still for the picture, but the spirit of the child had been captured perfectly.