But it’s August!” said Carmen into the phone, putting down her book. “August! It’s almost sunny outside! I have sandals on! Ice- cream vans patrol the land! I put sunblock on last week and almost needed it! How can I possibly get my head round what you’re asking me?” “I’m just saying,” her mother’s soft voice came again, and Car-men sighed. They had the same tussle every year. “It’s just useful to know early, that’s all. And of course Sofia . . .” Carmen screwed up her face. “Yes, she’s popping out yet an-other sprog and overpopulating the world, blah blah blah, I know.” “Carmen June Hogan. Be nice.” “Come on, Mum. She’s already got three. She’s just being greedy. Anyway, I don’t know what I might be doing at Christmas. I might be going away.” Who with?” Her mother sounded skeptical. “I could meet someone between now and Christmas! And he could whisk me off to Barbados! Or LA!” Her mother smiled. “So you’re not coming home for Christmas because you’ll be in LA.” “I could be in LA.” Carmen couldn’t, she thought, be the only person in the world who was both nearly thirty and who still turned into a stroppy…

Hoping to escape the mother-­daughter conflict that was about to escalate to a new level, Emma hurried outside. Pausing on the snow-­covered path to the driveway, she allowed fat snowflakes to fall on her, even catching a couple with her tongue. Snow couldn’t hurt you. She looked all around, taking in the other large homes, beautifully blanketed in snow, and the mountains behind them. This place was truly magical! As she walked up the driveway, she spotted what looked like a caretaker’s cottage and slowly approached it. Hopefully the ol’ grump wasn’t as bad as Gillian had described. Holding her breath, she tentatively knocked on the door, expecting a gray, grisly old man to answer. To her surprise, a younger man opened the door. Dressed in jeans and a plaid flannel shirt, he stared at her with a puzzled expression. She suddenly wondered if she’d knocked on the wrong door. She smiled stiffly. “Sorry to bother you. I—I was looking for the caretaker, and I thought this was the right—” “Yeah, yeah.” He studied her with a furrowed brow. “This is, uh, the caretaker’s cottage.” She blinked. “Oh, so . . . are you the caretaker?” For some reason this guy didn’t…

Jen: What inspired you to write The Christmas Spirits on Tradd Street, the 6th book in The Tradd Street series? Karen: My contract!  When I wrote book #4 in the series, RETURN TO TRADD STREET, I knew there were so many stories left to tell, and so much more growth that Melanie had to attain that it seemed there should be more books in the series.  My publisher asked for three more, and I said yes. In order for the story to ring true with readers, how much research was needed? That’s hard to quantify as I’ve been “researching” Charleston for nearly twenty years.  From my first visit, I’ve been intrigued and fascinated by the city–the architecture, history and its natural beauty–and have been eagerly exploring the Holy City ever since as often as I can.  Melanie Trenholm’s relationship with her parents, sister, and husband is in a constant state of motion. In what ways is she evolving in this latest installment?   It’s been a long road for self-sufficient Melanie (and it’s not over) to become more trusting.  Because she was abandoned by her mother at age six, and raised by an alcoholic father, she had to become self-sufficient very…