The House on Tradd Street Read Online Free PDF Page A

Drayton spoke first. “Ms. Middleton, I apologize for bringing you in here on a Saturday. But this situation is highly . . . irregular, and I didn’t think it in anybody’s best interests to wait until Monday.”
    “This situation?” I clamped down hard on my teeth to keep them from chattering.
    “Yes. You see, Mr. Vanderhorst, God rest his soul, was not only an old client of this firm—he was also a dear friend.”
    I looked back at him without speaking, not comprehending at all and trying hard not to look like a deer caught in the headlights.
    Mr. Drayton cleared his throat and spoke again. “I understand that you went to see Mr. Vanderhorst two days ago to discuss listing Mr. Vanderhorst’s house—is that correct?”
    I nodded, feeling like a child sitting at her father’s kitchen table and getting ready to be scolded.
    “Did he give you any indication that he was willing to sell his house?”
    “To be honest, I don’t think the thought ever crossed his mind. I had no idea why he even brought me out there. I figured he was just lonely and wanted company.” I looked down at my hands, remembering the china plate and how it had belonged to his mother. “He seemed to be a really nice man.”
    “Do you remember what you did talk about?”
    I thought about the woman with the swing in the garden and how Mr. Vanderhorst had known she was there, too. I said, “He mentioned that his father and my grandfather were close friends and had attended Harvard Law School together. I believe he also mentioned that my grandfather had been the best man at his father’s wedding.”
    Both men suddenly glanced at each other as if in understanding. I uncrossed my ankles and raised my hands to clutch the sides of the conference table. “What’s this about? Did he decide to give me the listing anyway?”
    Jonathan Drayton spoke this time. “Do you like old houses, Melanie?”
    The second time in two days somebody has asked me that. I felt a bubble of laughter form at the back of my throat, but I clamped it down, afraid it would turn into a primal scream. “No. Actually, no. To be honest, I’ve always thought they were a huge waste of money and space.”
    Mr. Drayton leaned toward me. “But didn’t your mother grow up in the Prioleau house on Legare Street?”
    “Yes, but . . .”
    “And didn’t she sell it after your grandmother died and after your mother left your father?”
    “Yes, but . . .”
    “Didn’t that cause resentment in you? That you had somehow missed out on your entitlement?”
    “Entitlement? What . . . ?” I stood, my chair scraping the carpet, suddenly feeling as if I’d been transported into some kind of fun house of mirrors. “What is going on here? I have no idea why getting this listing has anything to do with my mother or her house.”
    Mr. Drayton plastered what I assumed was supposed to be a calming smile on his face. “I’m sorry, Ms. Middleton. Please sit down. I do apologize for what must seem like the third degree, but I’m still in shock at the sudden passing of my friend, and I do want to make sure everything is clear. After you hear the reason why we brought you in this morning, you’ll understand why we wanted to make sure that there was no coercion on your part.”
    “Coercion?” I nearly laughed. “Despite my reputation in the business, I’m not in the habit of twisting the arms of potential clients, especially the elderly, if that’s what you’re thinking.” I glowered at him as I lowered myself into my seat again and looked at the two men expectantly. “So, do I have the listing?”
    There was some throat clearing and glances between the two men before Jonathan Drayton spoke. “Not exactly. It would appear that Mr. Vanderhorst has left his house and entire estate to you.”
    I leaned forward, sure that if I listened closely enough I could hear the theme from The Twilight Zone being piped into the suddenly claustrophobic office. “No.”
    “Actually, yes.”
    “This