Free The House on Tradd Street by Karen White

back into my seat. “Well, since you’ve gone through all this trouble already, I guess we could chat. I have to say, though, that I know next to nothing about the house, except that it’s falling apart and I want nothing to do with it. I’m supposed to make a decision by tomorrow as to whether I’ll take it. I can’t say I’m anywhere near making a decision.”
    He leaned forward on his elbows. “Fair enough. But let me tell you this much. I’ve been working with an idea for my next book. In nineteen thirty, there was a lot of intrigue surrounding your house, you know. A devoted wife and mother supposedly ran off with another man, leaving behind her eight-year-old son, and then there’re the rumors about her husband’s bootlegging business and speculation as to what really happened to his wife. I was hoping that maybe Mr. Vanderhorst told you something about it that might jump start my research.” He smiled that smile again and I would be lying if I said I was immune. “I promise I won’t make it painful. You might even find that you’re having a good time while I’m squeezing you for information.”
    I eyed a Mississippi mud pie being brought to the table next to us. “All right. But you only have”—I checked my watch—“two hours and nineteen minutes. I’m in bed by nine thirty every night.”
    “Deal. We’ll talk while we eat. Give me your plate.” He filled my plate while I fastened the bib around my neck. “Have you ever heard of Joseph Longo?”
    “Vaguely. Should I know him?” I eyed the plate of bright-eyed bottom crawlers, smelling the spicy seasonings, and began to peel the shells off the meat. I didn’t care what I looked like while doing it since I was no longer officially on a date and, therefore, had no more need to be approachable.
    “If you knew anything about the history of your house, you would. He was behind most of the organized crime that took place in the city during Prohibition—prostitution, liquor, gambling—whatever. He was also infatuated with the renowned beauty Louisa Gibbes of Charleston.”
    “Okay. So what does this have to do with my house?”
    He looked at me with amusement. “ ‘My’ house, huh?”
    I slathered butter on a slab of corn bread. “You know what I meant.”
    He just nodded and picked up a large shrimp. “Well, Miss Louisa Gibbes was engaged to Robert Vanderhorst, father of the late Nevin Vanderhorst.”
    I waited for him to drain his beer bottle before continuing.
    “According to my research, Joseph didn’t stop pursuing the fair Miss Louisa even after she was married although everybody believed her to be very much in love with her husband. Seems like the man couldn’t take no for an answer.”
    “Typical male behavior.”
    Jack raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment. “Anyway, Louisa had a son and seemed very content with her life. At least until her son was around eight years old. Not long after the stock market crash of ’twenty-nine, she disappeared, abandoning her only child. And so did Joseph Longo. Rumors speculated that they had run off together.”
    Right after the stock market crash, she disappeared, abandoning her only child. Suddenly, I had no appetite. “Did they ever find her?”
    Jack cracked open a shrimp shell and held it up to his mouth. “Nope. No trace of her or Mr. Longo. They’ve been missing for over seventy years and nobody’s ever seen or heard from them.”
    I took a long drink from my sweet tea, trying to swallow the powdery taste of loss and abandonment that always seemed to linger in the back of my throat. I placed my hands flat on the linoleum to still them. “I don’t think her son ever believed that she deserted him.”
    “What makes you say that?”
    “Mr. Vanderhorst left me a letter. In it he said that his mother had loved the house as much as she loved him, but that most people didn’t believe that since she had abandoned both of them.” I closed my eyes for a moment, seeing the bold