“Thank you for fixing the air conditioning. The new unit is working like a charm, and I slept great last night.”

Bette smiled at me warmly through perfectly applied lipstick. She had a soft, ivory complexion and even whiter teeth. She was attractive, and I imagined she had been striking in her prime. “That’s no problem, no problem at all. This isn’t the old days. We can’t sleep without air conditioning in Mobile. I don’t know if it’s gotten hotter or if we’re just spoiled now. I remember when the only AC around here was at the library. I sure spent quite a few summers reading ridiculous love stories when I was young.” She wasted no time serving me generous helpings of everything. “I know you have to get going soon, but I’m just dying to know how the restoration is coming along. My sisters and I, at the Historical Society, that is, are all atwitter about the commotion. I heard the grounds are looking better and better.”

I nodded, unable to resist digging my fork into the fluffy French toast. “I wish I could give you the inside scoop on the remodeling, but Matthews has made it pretty clear that I have to keep quiet about the details.” I felt genuinely sad about keeping all the excitement to myself, but I couldn’t break the confidentiality clause in my contract.

She patted my hands; hers was soft and cool. “I don’t want you to get into trouble. That Hollis Matthews is a strange bird, isn’t he? Okay, okay, I’ll tell the ladies they will just have to wait.” She sipped on her coffee. I loved her coffee cups, fine white china with a gold rim. I appreciated that she brought out the good dishes for me.

Maybe I was just missing having a friend to talk to, but I felt like I could trust Bette. I blurted out, “I can tell you something, though, something we found that wasn’t in the house…” I whispered, “We found the old Cottonwood mausoleum.”

She set her cup and saucer down with a clink. “No…oh my goodness. That is something, isn’t it? I bet it was hidden under all those vines and bushes right there on the property. There’s no telling what you will find on that land.” Her hand flew to her chest. “Oh, I wish I could see it!”

I remembered the pictures on my phone, so I dug it out of my purse and tapped the screen. “Here. I have a few pictures right here.” I did not think it wrong to share with her the details I knew about the cemetery—that was public knowledge. Besides, I hoped that Bette might know something about Calpurnia, so I had to ask. “Ashland was telling me about that missing heiress, Calpurnia—the one who disappeared before the Civil War. Have you ever heard of her?”

Bette dug a pair of reading glasses out of a nearby drawer and was peering at the pictures attentively. She looked at me with wide eyes. “Oh, yes, most everyone in Mobile knows about her. But I imagine Ashland could tell you all about that. His mother was obsessed with finding Calpurnia Cottonwood. The late Mrs. Stuart was a very intelligent woman, something of a scholar before she married Mr. Stuart. But in the end, it became a kind of obsession with her. Some people say that the Cottonwood girl ran off with a military man. But I don’t know, they didn’t really do that sort of thing in those days. Others say that one of the slaves probably killed her and buried her on the plantation.”