The Attic on Queen Street (Tradd Street #7)

“Yeah. The stuff of nightmares,” I repeated. Or worse. I couldn’t imagine what sort of hangers-on would accompany a single postmortem photograph, much less an entire roomful. “Why do you believe I might want to go see that? I have enough trauma in my life right now, don’t you think?”

“I get it. But these particular photographs were chosen because their subjects were Charlestonians. In many cases, the photographs were donated along with the personal effects of the deceased, and they are being displayed together. But I thought of you because several of the subjects are holding charm strings and at least one has a Frozen Charlotte doll.”

I glanced at Meghan, whose attention was buried in a file she’d extracted from the cabinet. Returning to Sophie, I said, “If the girl who owned our Frozen Charlotte was a burn victim, surely there wouldn’t be a photograph, right?” I shuddered at the thought.

“Who knows? The Victorians certainly did stranger things than photograph burn victims. But not all of the items are postmortem photographs. Besides, you’re not even sure she died in the fire of 1861.”

“Oh, I’m sure,” I said, glancing down at the Frozen Charlotte, the intense smell of smoke nearly overwhelming.

Sophie let out an exasperated sigh. “Aren’t you trying to find the identity of a teenage girl who may or may not have been buried in your backyard around 1861? You know that her first name started with an E and may or may not have been Evangeline, so at least that’s a start. I know it’s a long shot, but as you told me yourself, even Yvonne has reached a dead end looking for her.” She grinned. “No pun intended. Like I said, it’s a long shot, but what have you got to lose?”

“My mind?”

“You have three kids, Melanie. I can’t imagine you have much of a brain left. I have only one child and I feel as if I’m only functioning with half a brain most days.”

I heard a laugh from Meghan behind me, quickly disguised as a cough.

“Fine. I’ll go. I’ll find someone to go with me, because I’m not doing it alone.”

Sophie picked up the Frozen Charlotte coffin and placed it in a desk drawer, then turned a key. “I’ll burn some sage, too, to get rid of any toxic or negative energy.”

Meghan and I shared a glance.

“Okay,” I said. “Whatever you think will work. It reminds me a little of the Edison Doll we found in Jayne’s house—remember?”

Sophie’s eyes widened. “Oh, yes. I’m still having nightmares. This doll in her coffin is like a cuddly teddy bear compared to that.” She shuddered. “I should have saged it, but I hadn’t yet learned how to smudge properly then.”

She picked up the newspaper that the coffin had been sitting on, and handed it to me. It had been folded to highlight a three-columned article. “I almost forgot—have you seen today’s paper?”

“Not yet.” I took the paper, skimming the headline. haints or hoax? My eyes fell to the next line. Do evil spirits threaten the living in a bid to guard a legendary diamond? Death toll is two so far—but could there be more? I knew the byline would read Suzy Dorf without having to see it.

I scanned the rest of the short article—mostly a promotional blurb about the continuation of her popular Sunday series about the old houses, families, and legends of Charleston. It mentioned several other reputedly haunted structures in the historic district, including the Old Exchange Building and Poogan’s Porch restaurant, so I wouldn’t feel singled out.

“I’m guessing Jack hasn’t seen it yet or he would have called me by now.” I checked my phone to be sure, but there were no missed calls, voice mails, or texts. I felt a twinge of nervousness, but not because I thought he’d be upset at the negative publicity that might put us in breach of contract. I was more nervous that he might not be. Our recent conversation and his apathy regarding this same possibility had been niggling at my brain ever since, but for reasons I hadn’t been able to put my finger on. Yet.

I returned the paper to Sophie’s desk and glanced at my watch, then double-checked the time on my iPhone. “I should be going. I’m meeting Thomas and Veronica at Martha Lou’s Kitchen, and I told Jayne I’d swing by and pick her up first.”

“I’ve heard they’re offering cholesterol-lowering drugs with every entrée and a blood-pressure cuff at every table.” Sophie crossed her arms, although I was pretty sure I remembered having lunch with her at Martha Lou’s before she went all vegan and healthy on me.

“Very funny. It’s not like I go there every day, and sometimes a person just needs some of Martha Lou’s fried chicken and corn bread. I love her collard greens, but she serves those only on Wednesday, so I guess I’ll have the baked macaroni as my vegetable.”

Meghan looked up from the folder she’d been reading. “Excuse me, Mrs. Trenholm. But you do know that baked macaroni isn’t a vegetable, right?”

Sophie leaned her elbows on her desk, in what might have been an attempt to look menacing but failed completely because of the plastic barrettes in her hair. “Melanie thinks that because it’s listed with the actual vegetable sides, it’s a vegetable. Please don’t try to argue with her. It’s pointless. She and I have been arguing that exact point for over a decade. Although she apparently does know something, because she makes her children eat real vegetables. Even organic ones. But that could just be because I threatened to call family services.”

Meghan’s brows rose as she looked from Sophie to me and then back again, but she wisely remained silent.

I slung the straps of my bag over my shoulder, prepared to leave, but another gnawing thought tickled my brain. “One more thing, Meghan. Since you mentioned that you’d once dated Beau Ryan, I wanted to ask you something.”

She looked wary. “Sure?”

“Beau told us that his parents disappeared during Hurricane Katrina looking for his baby sister. Did he ever tell you the circumstances?”