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and unsolved mysteries. It was a profitable combination.
    Drea made a face. “We’ve been booked solid with conventions and tourists. But if the news people keep talking up those murders, I’m afraid visitors will stop coming out at night.”
    I frowned. “You mean the homeless men?” Charleston’s temperate climate attracted tourists, conventioneers and retirees, as well as some folks who were down on their luck.
    She nodded. “The body they found makes two so far,” she said, and shivered. “I don’t know why anyone would do something like that; robbery certainly isn’t the motive.” She dropped her voice. “The police aren’t saying, but there’s a rumor that both of the dead men were torn apart.”
    “Ugh,” I replied. Her description pinged a warning in my mind. That kind of killing could be mundane, but the brutality of it made magic suspect as well. “Anything else?”
    Drea browsed the shelves where Teag had put out new stock. “Actually, yes. Valerie took a tour past Gardenia Landing two nights ago, and she got a little more than she bargained for.”
    “Oh?” I asked. “Spill.”
    Drea grinned. “It was one of the late night ghost tours. You know what they’re like.”
    I did. Charleston is a marvelously atmospheric city, and even more so after dark in the Historic District.
    Ghost tour guests ride in a horse-drawn carriage listening to Valerie spin tales of murder, mayhem and unrequited love, all ending in death – the more gruesome, the better.
    “Valerie was filling them in on all the duels and suicides and star-crossed trysts and it all went well until they came to Gardenia Landing.”
    “And?”
    “When they came up in front of the B&B, she noticed that the shadows near the building seemed strange. At first, she thought that maybe someone was hiding there, so she made sure she kept the carriage in the light.” She shook her head. “She swears that she saw men come out of the darkness toward the carriage, but there were only shadows – no real people.”
    “Did anyone else see them?”
    “Just one guest, and it turns out that person has seen ghosts before.” Drea said with a ‘how about that’ expression. “Valerie said she left as fast as she could, and was afraid to look back.”
    “Wow,” I replied. “Has Valerie ever had anything like that happen on her other tours?”
    Drea shook her head. “Not with Gardenia Landing. She’s had enough encounters with strange things down by the Old Jail that she won’t do a late night tour there unless Mrs. Teller rides along.” Mrs. Teller was well-known in Charleston as a sweetgrass basket weaver and also as a ‘root’ woman, someone with powerful magic.
    “The shadows Valerie saw seemed to glide rather than walk,” Drea added. “And they vanished in plain sight.” She met my gaze. “And you know how hot it was last night? Valerie said that the street felt colder than a winter night.”
    Valerie, like many Charlestonians, felt rather possessive about our neighborhood ghosts. After all, they were part of the lore that brought crowds of tourists to the Holy City season after season. But more than that, Charleston’s many ghosts were the warp and the woof of the city’s history, and their tragic stories felt like family heirlooms, handed down from generation to generation. I had never known her to make up a story about a sighting.
    “How did the guest react?” I asked.
    Drea chuckled. “She felt like she got a bonus, and left a big tip.”
    “How’s Valerie?”
    “Once she got over the jitters, she called that spook hunting group she goes out with and told them all about it. They were all excited, so she’s right as rain.” Drea glanced at her cell phone. “Oops! I need to get back to the office.”
    We said goodbye, after promising to get together for lunch later in the week. I was about to go back to my workroom when the sleigh bells rang and Trinket Ellison walked in. She looked a little nervous, and glanced