“Copycat,” I whispered.
He smiled at me, not understanding the reference. This couldn’t be the same uniform. There were many Confederate lieutenants in the Carolinas. I sniffed again, and though it was in excellent condition and well-kept, I could still smell the scent of the lieutenant who had come for Agatha Hollows at her cabin.
“Mrs. Twiggs, who donated these uniforms?”
She reached into her purse and retrieved a piece of paper. She ran her finger along the itemized list and then examined the uniform. “Most of the uniforms were donated by June. They’re boxes of them.”
“What about these three?”
She checked the list again. “Yes, these three were donated by June. She even has the provenance listed of all the uniforms. Their names and regiments.”
“Mrs. Twiggs, what’s the name of the lieutenant?”
Mrs. Twiggs ran her finger down the list, stopped, and then said, “There’s no name listed.”
As she spoke, I felt the cold draft. Pixel felt it too. Mrs. Twiggs would have felt it if she wasn’t so fixated on the matter at hand. Cats and even some dogs, only the smartest mind you, can sense ghosts. Ghosts, they disturb the air, leaving a vacuum behind them. That vacuum causes the temperature to drop. Whoever this ghost was, it was not making itself known to us. Pixel followed behind Mrs. Twiggs as she continued her inventory. He did not seem upset or scared but instead bore a quiet confidence. It was something different about him.
“Mrs. Twiggs, I have to go,” I said.
“Terra, do we need to leave?”
“Finish what you’re doing. Pixel, stay here. We’ll meet up at the Leaf & Page.” I ran out of the room, down the hall and out of the Biltmore, past the crowds of tourists lined up by the front entrance waiting for the next tour. I ran until I reached the Fillmore Hotel. The only way to find a ghost is to ask another ghost. The only ghost who would talk to me stood on guard at the entrance of the refurbished hotel. I waited for the patrons as they came and went, garbed in their finest. Bradley stood at attention like a beefeater. He gave me a sly wink. I had not seen him since early fall. As the last patron entered, he stooped down to be closer to me.
“Young miss, so good to see you. Isn’t she beautiful? What a fine job they did shining her up.”
“Bradley, she looks wonderful. I wondered if I could speak with you.”
“Young miss, I’m afraid it’s a while before dinner.”
“No, thank you. I’m fine. May we talk?” I had to be careful on how to approach the subject. Bradley didn’t know he was a ghost, and now that the Fillmore was reopened so many years since the fire, a lot of the ghosts that had haunted it had left. Bradley was one of the few remaining. The night of the fire Bradley had rescued many of the guests, only to succumb to the smoke himself.
“I do have time, young miss, I’m due for a break.”
We walked around to the alley. “Oh, before I forget. Lionel sends his greetings,” Bradley said, striking me dumbfounded. “He stopped by looking for you.”
“Bradley, has anyone else been looking for me?”
“Now that you mention it, a young man no more than a boy who had a very heavy Southern accent. He did not give his name. He said that if I were to see you I should tell you that you can find him at the Dark Corner. Of course, I have no idea what he meant. He seemed very nervous but pleasant. He seemed awfully young to be a soldier.”
“Thank you, Bradley.”
“Of course, young miss. I’ll give your regards to Lionel if we cross ways again.”
“Please do. Tell him how much I love and miss him.”
“He knows, young miss,” Bradley said as he stroked his pencil-thin mustache and winked.
Chapter 19
June Loblolly
The newest of the ladies’ homes, the Loblolly house was Mrs. Loblolly’s own version of San Simeon, built by her preserve empire. Reminiscent of her Viking ancestors, the brick fortress was surrounded by a wrought iron fence. At the top of the four-story home was a tower with a 360-degree viewing room designed to watch the sunset over the Blue Ridge Mountains. Mrs. Loblolly greeted us at the door, painted blue with yellow accents, a nod to her Swedish heritage. We walked in, wafting in the fragrance of the peonies, gardenias, and orchids that she had scattered around in her collection of crystal vases.
She was dressed simply in jeans and a cotton T-shirt. Around her neck, her gold necklace, a gift from her distant relative the Norse goddess Freya. We came for guidance. Freya guided Vikings to Valhalla; Mrs. Loblolly would guide us in a different direction.
“June, thank you for having us over,” Mrs. Twiggs said.
Abigail, Charlotte, Pixel, and Tracker all settled in the great room. As of late, Abigail and Charlotte were attached at the hip as the humans say. Whatever mischief they had gotten into on the motorcycle had bound them as fast friends. Pixel left the circle to smell the flowers. I could hear him sneezing from across the vast room. Mrs. Twiggs and I spoke in private with Mrs. Loblolly.
“June, I’ll get right to the point. Why did you recommend Mrs. Lund to the Biltmore?” Mrs. Twiggs asked.
“She contacted me a month or so ago about my great-great-grandfather, the colonel. She knew a lot about my family history and the Civil War. She told me she was a professor at the university and that she could help with the upcoming exhibit.” Mrs. Loblolly settled onto her white leather couch, crossing one leg over another.
“And she told you that she would prominently display your family heirlooms in the exhibit?” Mrs. Twiggs asked.
“Yes, she did. She had heard about the exhibit, and that’s what prompted her to call me. Obviously with my family being prominent Ashevillians. Beatrice, she had me fooled.”
I knew that feeling well. We all believe what we want to believe. I had believed that my dear Prudence was my friend, but she betrayed my sisters and me.
“I’ll be right back.” Mrs. Loblolly stepped out of the room and came back carrying the cinnamon buns we had been smelling since we walked in the door and placed them on the coffee table. From another room, we heard a vase smash, shattering onto the hardwood floor. Pixel scampered back into the room, jumping onto the table and toward the cinnamon buns.
“Me sorry,” Pixel said.
Abigail and Charlotte joined us. We ate in silence until the silence was broken.
“Charlotte, have you decided what you’re going to do with Emma’s estate?” Mrs. Loblolly asked.
“It’s not my decision,” Charlotte said.
“Have you consulted with the family’s attorney?” Mrs. Loblolly asked.
“Yes, all of my aunt’s estate except for a few personal items is being donated to the Biltmore Foundation.”
“What about you?”
“When she tracked me down, Miss Hartwell told me Aunt Emma left me a small inheritance. She also told me that my aunt had been looking for me for years ever since my folks died,” Charlotte said.
“Bless her heart,” Mrs. Twiggs said. “What a shame that you didn’t find each other.”
“How much longer will you be in town?” Mrs. Loblolly asked.
Charlotte glanced at Abigail, who smiled. “I don’t know. I like it here. I think I’ll stay for a while and see what happens. This place is pretty awesome.”
“Where are my manners? I should give you a tour.” Mrs. Loblolly stood up again.
Abigail jumped up. “I can show you around.”
I knew where Abigail would lead her, up to the viewing tower that was her favorite place when we visited Mrs. Loblolly. A tower made of glass with its 360-degree view. To the east were the Blue Ridge Mountains, then downtown Asheville, the Biltmore Estate, and the French Broad River. I was concerned that Abigail would tell our secret. I followed them up the spiral wood-and-steel staircase and listened in.