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

whimpered in Mrs. Houlihan’s arms. “He needs his walk, poor dear. He’s just been grieving something terrible for his master. Barely picked at his food bowl this morning. And he hasn’t been out for a walk since Mr. Nevin passed. I’ll let him out into the backyard a few times a day but I can’t walk him. I just can’t take the heat.”
    She held the dog out to me, and I stared at it in horror. I’d never willingly touched a dog in my life. “What do you want me to do with it?”
    “Take him for a walk. He’s yours now.”
    Sophie had crossed the foyer and was staring into the music room. “More water damage in here. You might need a new roof, Mel.”
    Mrs. Houlihan thrust the animal into my arms and the little beast barked again before licking my nose. “No, no, no. Nobody said anything about inheriting a dog, too.”
    The housekeeper tucked her chin into her neck, effectively hiding it from view in the folds of flesh. “Well, there ain’t nobody else who can take him. My husband is allergic or I would. He’s a really sweet thing. You two will get along just fine.”
    I stared at her with incomprehension while she pulled a leash out of her housecoat pocket and clipped it onto the dog’s collar. Not quite knowing what direction to move in, I watched as Sophie crossed the foyer under the keystone arch and climbed the main staircase, her hands brushing the curved mahogany banister. “This is an incredible house—such a perfect example of classic Charleston architecture. I just can’t believe this.” I followed her as she turned the corner of the stairs and continued upward to the upstairs hallway. I watched as she put her hand on the first doorknob she saw.
    Mrs. Houlihan, who had been following behind me, let out a gasp. “No, don’t open that. . . .”
    But Sophie had already pulled open the door, allowing the sound of a flock of rustling feathers to filter down to where I stood. Instead of closing the door and moving away from it like most normal people would have done, Sophie moved forward to the small set of wooden stairs behind the door and began climbing.
    I turned to the housekeeper. “Where is she going?”
    Mrs. Houlihan had already started the laborious struggle of moving her girth up the stairs. “That’s the attic, and we have a wee hole there where pigeons like to come in and roost. If the door’s left open, we’re bound to get—”
    Before she could finish, a plump gray-and-white pigeon flew out of the open door and past us down the stairs, and began flying erratically around the foyer. I took the steps two at a time but reached the attic door at the same time Sophie ran out, slamming it behind her.
    “You won’t believe the stuff in there! Luckily most of it is under tarps, because there’s a heck of a lot of pigeon poop over everything, but there’s all sorts of interesting things. There’s actually what looks like a full-sized stuffed buffalo, but also what appears to be more Hepplewhite and Sheraton pieces.”
    The pigeon swooped over our heads, and we ducked while General Lee barked frantically. Sophie held out what looked like a walking stick. “Look what I found.”
    I looked down at the smoothly carved cane, noticing the writing on the side. “What does it say?”
    Mrs. Houlihan surprised us by clearing her throat. “It says: ‘In the morning I walk on four legs, in the evening two legs and at night three. What am I?’ ” She looked at us expectantly, and when neither Sophie nor I responded, she said. “The answer is ‘man.’ Clever, isn’t it? The Vanderhorsts have always been known for their fondness of riddles.” She smiled warmly at the cane. “Mr. Vanderhorst’s grandfather gave that to him on the occasion of his graduation from law school. He sure did like it. He used to keep it in one of the guest bedrooms until the ceiling there sprung a leak, so he moved it to the attic. Not that the attic was much better, of course.”
    Sophie looked at me with