The Sign in the Smoke (Nancy Drew Diaries #12)(46)

George madly snapped photos until we’d passed the last house, when I stepped back on the gas. “I was hoping we’d get to see that!” she said excitedly. “Did you guys know that Charleston is the oldest city in South Carolina? People often call it the Holy City because of how many churches there are here.”

“I guess that makes it a really good place for a wedding,” I said, stopping at a red light.

“And because it has such a long history,” George added, “it’s famous for having a lot of ghosts! Even the place where we’re staying is supposedly haunted.”

I raised my eyebrow at this and craned my head to look at George. “Did a lot of web surfing on the plane, did you?”

George smirked and held up her hands in surrender. “Guilty as charged, Sherlock,” she said. “Another baffling mystery: solved!”

I chuckled as we continued driving through the picturesque streets of historic Charleston. George loves to tease, but the truth is, to me, mystery solving is anything but a joke. Back home in River Heights, I’ve gotten somewhat of a reputation as an amateur detective—and over the years I’ve learned that trouble has a way of finding me, no matter where I go.

“There it is!” Bess said, and pointed toward a stately white building up ahead. “The Grey Fox Inn!”

I pulled the convertible into the curving driveway that led to the inn’s entrance, and stopped the car to take in our surroundings. The building had two stories, with wide, columned patios wrapping around the entire first floor. The grounds were taken up with lush, sculptured gardens, dotted with stone bird fountains and overlooked by huge, moss-covered trees.

“It’s absolutely stunning,” I breathed.

“I just hope they have Wi-Fi,” George said, jumping out of the car.

As we were pulling our bags from the trunk, a blue sedan came up the driveway and stopped behind us. A petite brunette popped out of the backseat and squinted at us through black-framed glasses. “Bess!” the young woman said. “Oh, I’m so glad you’re here!”

Bess smiled widely and ran over to embrace her. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world!” Bess took the girl by the hand and pulled her toward us. “I want you to meet my very best friends, Nancy Drew and George Fayne—George is my cousin from the other side of the family back in River Heights. Girls, this is my cousin Charlotte Goodwin—the bride-to-be!”

I reached out my hand to Charlotte, who grasped it firmly, looking me straight in the eye. It was strange—given my two friends, I would have thought Charlotte to be one of George’s relations rather than Bess’s. Her dark brown hair was cut in a no-nonsense, chin-length bob, and she wore no jewelry aside from the sparkling diamond on her ring finger. Her somber maroon turtleneck and black pants seemed completely at odds with the light and summery city all around us. “Thank you for coming all this way,” Charlotte said seriously. “I know it’s a long trip from River Heights.”

“The pleasure is ours,” I replied. “Thank you for inviting us to your big day.” I cocked my head as a sweet scent reached my nostrils. “Huh,” I said. “What is that smell?”

“Oh,” Charlotte’s cheeks reddened. “It must be this perfume I’m wearing. It’s too strong, isn’t it? I hardly ever wear the stuff. I can wash it off if you—”

“No, not at all!” I interrupted. “I was just going to say how nice it was.” After her initial delight at seeing Bess faded, I noticed that Charlotte seemed anxious and pale. Was something wrong?

Bess must have noticed too. “You doing okay, Charlotte?” she asked, stepping closer to her cousin.

Charlotte looked startled by the question. “Me? Oh—of course. Why wouldn’t I be?” She paused and wrapped her arms around herself, as if she were chilled even as the blazing sun beat down on our heads. “I just . . . I guess you can never really be prepared for something like a wedding,” she continued in a low voice. “It’s so stressful! Getting all these different people together, hoping they’ll get along. And there’ll always be something that you didn’t plan for—”

“Charlotte!” a voice called from the blue sedan. “Where do you want all these gift bags?”

“I’ll be right there!” Charlotte replied. She turned back to us, all business once again. “Some of the other bridesmaids are helping me get everything out of the car,” she said. “But you guys go ahead and check in with the front desk; I’ll see you inside. Your rooms should all be ready.” She started to step away, but then stopped and turned back to us. “Oh! I almost forgot.” She reached into the tote she was carrying and pulled out three gift bags. “These contain maps of the area, with restaurants and other attractions clearly marked, as well as some miscellaneous toiletries, in case you forgot anything at home. I included a few historical pamphlets for light reading as well.” She handed a bag to each of us, gave a sharp nod, and turned to help her friends unload the car.

“Wow,” I said, peeking into the meticulously packed bag as she left. “You were right, Bess. She is organized.”

“This is classic Charlotte,” Bess replied with a wave of her hand. “She’s always been a very serious person, even when she was a little girl. She’s pursuing a PhD in history, you know. That’s what brought her to Charleston in the first place—and how she ended up meeting her fiancé, Parker. To be honest, I was surprised to hear that she was getting married. She never seemed like the kind of girl who was interested in romance!”