Return to Tradd Street
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Facing her future as a single mother, psychic Realtor Melanie Middleton is determined to be strong and leave her past with writer Jack Trenholm behind her. But history has a tendency of catching up with Melanie, whether she likes it or not.…
Melanie is only going through the motions of living since refusing Jack’s marriage proposal. She misses him desperately, but her broken heart is the least of her problems. Despite an insistence that she can raise their child alone, Melanie is completely unprepared for motherhood, and she struggles to complete renovations on her house on Tradd Street before the baby arrives.
When Melanie is roused one night by the sound of a ghostly infant crying, she chooses to ignore it. She simply does not have the energy to deal with one more crisis. That is, until the remains of a newborn buried in an old christening gown are found hidden in the foundation of her house.
As the hauntings on Tradd Street slowly become more violent, Melanie decides to find out what caused the baby’s untimely death, uncovering the love, loss, and betrayal that color the house’s history—and threaten her claim of ownership. But can she seek Jack’s help without risking her heart? For in revealing the secrets of the past, Melanie also awakens the malevolent presence that has tried to keep the truth hidden for decades.…
of each cradle, as drained as if I’d just given birth again. “Thank you, Louisa,” I said to the room, my thoughts jumbled. Louisa was protecting something precious, something Camille thought was hers. And somehow Jack, I, and the children were caught in the middle of a struggle I neither understood nor knew how to end. CHAPTER 30 Jack and I sat outside in the garden, listening to the fall and splash of the fountain as the children slept like tiny flower buds in their double pram. It
I pulled out my iPhone and a folded piece of paper. “I Googled Dr. Wise’s office last night and plugged the address into my phone’s GPS, and also made a MapQuest printout just in case.” “Of course you did,” Jack said, taking the paper from me and glancing at it. “And you’re sure Dr. Wise is the best?” I tried very hard not to roll my eyes. “My regular gynecologist recommended her because she specializes in high-risk pregnancies.” He turned to me with alarm. “High-risk?” This
mind,” I said, glad the cooler fall weather had given me a reason to wear pants that covered my ankles. Even Yvonne would have had to agree that they belonged in a zoo and not on any woman, pregnant or otherwise. We followed her to our usual table, where a large metal file box rested next to a thick book filled with archived documents in plastic sleeves. Jack and I stood on either side of Yvonne as she removed a file folder from the box and placed it on the table in front of us. “I’ve
wear when being christened. Which, at first glance, tells us that the baby wasn’t simply discarded. The fact that the child was buried in the gown tells us that he or she was either baptized before burial, or the child was important enough to be buried in it.” The wailing grew loud enough that I thought that the others might hear it, but I’d learned long ago that this blessing or curse or whatever you wanted to call it was reserved for very few. My mother stood, and everyone else stood,
whether she would fight the Gilberts if their claims turned out to be legitimate was, “The Gilberts and I both want the truth.” But what the truth might be remains to be seen. I looked up at Sophie, resisting the impulse to shred the entire newspaper. “I’m not sure who I should kill first—the journalist or Jack.” Sophie steadied me with her professor look. “Did she write anything in the article that wasn’t true?” “No, but . . .” “And did Jack say anything that wasn’t true?”