The Strangers on Montagu Street (Tradd Street)
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Psychic realtor Melanie Middleton returns-only to be greeted by a house full of lost souls.
Psychic realtor Melanie Middleton is still restoring her Charleston house and doesn't expect to have a new houseguest, a teen girl named Nola. But the girl didn't come alone, and the spirits that accompanied Nola don't seem willing to leave...
Julia’s house,” Nola said. “I think you’re right.” I glanced at my mother, who was delicately mopping her brow with a tissue she’d pulled from her purse. I was sweating like a horse but wasn’t about to admit it by asking whether she had another one. When we were still a block away, the hair on the back of my neck rose, an almost refreshing cold wave of fear racking my body. My mother stopped and I did, too, General Lee continuing to pull on the leash. “Do you feel that?” she asked. I nodded
noise from upstairs. Carefully, I replaced the cup in its saucer and sat back. “Mother, in case you haven’t noticed, Jack’s seeing Rebecca. Not me.” “Yes, well, we all know the words to that song ‘Love the One You’re With.’ If you ask me, she’s his second choice, because you’re too high-strung to let yourself go and see that the two of you were made for each other. Really, Mellie. It’s time you listened to your heart for a change.” I stared at her for a long moment. “Have you been speaking with
a little more style.” He smiled softly. “Why?” “I told you that I thought Nola hadn’t come alone—and your description of Bonnie matches that of a woman I’ve seen a few times. Since Bonnie’s guitar keeps finding its way into Nola’s bed or other strange places, I just wanted to make sure it was her doing it.” I shrugged. “Maybe the dollhouse spirits can keep Bonnie company.” Jack narrowed his eyes at me. “Do ghosts really do that? Make friends, I mean?” “I have no idea. I try not to hang around
top of the turret roof. I followed his gaze, stopping at the bottom of the window. “Pretty much. And neither one of us has any doubts this is the house.” “Me, neither. I’m thinking the paint used to be blue instead of gray, although I’m guessing the original color was yellow, like the dollhouse,” he said, stepping back to allow Nola and me to proceed ahead of him. We had to duck down to pass beneath the crape myrtle’s branches while simultaneously watching our step to make sure we didn’t get
conversation. I’d had them before, but I was always the bug under the magnifying glass, and Sophie was the one holding it. “Look, are you all right?” His eyes narrowed. “What do you mean? Do you think I’m sick or something?” I let the words fall out of my mouth before I could pull them back. “Are you drinking again?” He wore the expression of a man who’d just been punched in the gut. Hard. With measured precision, he said, “Why are you asking?” “You’re just . . . you’re not yourself. I know