Read Online The House on Tradd Street by Karen White - Free Book Online Page B

antibacterial wipes. The walls were covered with neon beer signs and an assortment of dried alligator heads, one of which seemed to be peering at me with interest. A crowd of men at the bar gave a loud cheer and raised beer bottles in an apparent toast to one of their group who was seated and hidden from view.
    I made a point to smile as we made small talk, and I perused the menu, looking for something safe to eat. When the waitress returned to take our order, I selected a blackened chicken sandwich with a side of rice.
    Jack looked surprised. “Don’t you like shrimp?”
    “Yes, I do, but . . .”
    He waved his hand at me. “You’ve got to get them, then.” He looked up at the waitress. “A bucket for two, please, with red potatoes and corn bread—extra butter.”
    I looked at him with irritation but kept my thoughts to myself for now, remembering what Nancy had said about making myself more approachable—although when I saw her again, I’d have to ask her to what depths I should be prepared to sink to before I could claim success.
    I sipped on my sweet tea while he drank a Coke, and I was trying to remember if I’d brought my dental floss when he spoke.
    “So, how did you know Nevin Vanderhorst?”
    “Excuse me?”
    “He left his house to you, didn’t he? I was just wondering how you knew him.”
    Charleston might like to think of itself as a big city, but it was really nothing more than a big small town where everybody liked to gossip over the back fence with the rate of exchange faster than e-mail.
    “I didn’t. I went to visit him to talk about allowing me to list his house when he retired to an assisted-living facility, and the next thing I knew, he’d died and left his house to me.”
    He nodded slowly, his eyes narrowed. “Well, that’s a first for me. I’ve researched stories where people left their earthly possessions to their cat or dog and even a guinea pig, but never to a complete stranger.” He grinned that grin again. “So, when do you move in?”
    The already fragile image of my dream date shattered completely, and I leaned back in my chair, trying not to think about my wasted expensive dress or all the blank spaces on my calendar. “You didn’t really ask me out to talk about real estate, did you?”
    He at least managed to look sheepish. “Well, sort of. Your new house on Tradd is real estate, isn’t it?”
    “It’s not my house—I haven’t agreed to anything yet.” I studied his face and the way his shoulders filled out his shirt so nicely, and already regretted what I was going to say. But the humiliation of my own foolish wishes fueled my hurt pride.
    I slid my chair back. “Look, I don’t think this is going to work. Call Mr. Vanderhorst’s lawyer if you want to know anything about the house. I’ll call a taxi.”
    He grabbed my hand and held on before I could stand. “I’m sorry. I should have been straight with you. But you have something of a tough-girl reputation, you know, and I figured the only way I’d get you to talk with me would be to approach you in a more social setting.” He smiled broadly. “Seriously, I really am sorry. And you know, after seeing your picture in your newspaper ads, I didn’t think it would be much of a hardship.”
    My wounded ego refused to take the bait. “I’m not a biscuit, so don’t try to butter me up. Good night.”
    I tried to pull away but he held tight. “Please. We’re already here. Let’s go ahead and eat and chat a bit. I might even be able to get all the information I need so that you’ll never have to see my face again.”
    The waitress returned with our bucket of shrimp and red potatoes and two plastic bibs. My mouth started to water. “I don’t know. . . .”
    He must have sensed my hesitation because he tilted the bucket so I could see the succulent boiled shrimp and smell the Lowcountry spices. I caught his gaze. Surely one evening in his company wouldn’t be the worst way to pass the time.
    I settled