I was in the bedroom, polishing a few fingerprints from a glass pane in one of the double French doors, when I heard Lori’s light voice.
“China? Are you here, China?”
“In the bedroom,” I called. “Come on back.”
A moment later, Lori was standing in the doorway. She was wearing blue pedal pushers and a white T-shirt with the words Keep Calm and Carry YARN in bright red letters. Her brown hair was loose around her shoulders, giving her a little-girl look.
“Uh-oh,” she said, staring wide-eyed at me through her tortoise-shell glasses. “What in the world happened to you?”
I had forgotten about the gauze bandage over my ear. I gave her the heavily edited version. “A deputy sheriff and I were repossessing a pair of stolen roosters when we ran into an armed farmer who thought he had to defend his pot crop.”
“Honest?” Her mouth fell open. “You’re kidding!”
“Nope. Swear to God. True story. But keep it under your hat. Charges pending.”
Lori shook her head, chuckling. “China, you lead an eventful life.”
“I left out the part where I returned fire,” I said helpfully.
“Oh, dear.” Lori sobered. “Nobody’s dead, I hope.”
“Nobody’s dead, just banged up a little. We got the roosters back, the pot farmer is headed for the county jail, and his half acre of marijuana will soon be a cloud of smoke.”
“A happy ending.”
“Mostly,” I agreed. “For the roosters, not so much.” I sighed. “Extra Crispy is okay, but he won’t be bringing home a blue ribbon.”
“That’s too bad. But Caitie entered two chickens, didn’t she? Maybe the other one will come through.” Lori looked around. “This is lovely!” she said. “I’ve been in the cottage, but never back here.” She went over to the bed to examine the log-cabin quilt, pieced in shades of browns and oranges. “What a stunning quilt! Who made it?”
“A friend,” I said. “It’s hand-pieced and hand-quilted.”
“It’s beautiful work,” she said admiringly. “And I love the crocheted lace on your pillow shams.”
I nodded. “Sometimes I think I could just move right in here myself. I wouldn’t have to drive to work, either. I could just walk across the garden.” And then I remembered. “I tried to text you a photo last night, but Ruby said you didn’t get it.”
Lori nodded. “My phone’s been out of commission. Big nuisance, really. But it’s working now. You can send the photo anytime.”
“Actually, I don’t need to send it,” I said. “Give me another minute to check out the bathroom and kitchen, then let’s go out to my car. I’ll show you the original.”
Ruby and I park our cars beside Big Red Mama (our shop van) in the graveled parking area just off the alley, at one end of the cottage. I had taken the carton of photos with me when I left the house this morning. Was it just this morning? I wondered, as Lori and I walked out to the car. It felt like a couple of centuries ago.
My Toyota was parked in the sun, so it was blistering hot when I unlocked the door. I took out the carton of photographs and rummaged through it until I found what I was looking for: the studio portrait of the baby in the christening dress and cap, posed in a parlor chair beside a small table with an open book and a crystal vase of white cabbage roses. It was the second photo to mysteriously appear on my bulletin board, and I still didn’t understand why.
“Here it is,” I said, handing it to her. “That dress reminded me of the christening dress your aunt gave you when you went to Waco a few days ago. That’s why I thought of sending the photo to you.”
Lori looked at it and blinked. “China,” she whispered. “China, I already have this photograph!”
“You already have it?” I frowned. “I thought you didn’t get my text.”
“I didn’t. But when Aunt Jo gave me my birth mother’s christening dress, she gave me several photographs. This—” She held it up. “This was one of them. She said that the dress and the photos had been in the family for generations, so I was assuming that the baby—it’s a little girl—could be one of my long-ago relatives.” She turned the photo over. It was blank. “The one I have has a date written on the back, though. I don’t remember the day, but it was June 1890.”
“You’re saying it’s the very same photo?” The hair was standing up on the back of my neck. “Are you sure?”
“Positive.” Her voice was awed. “What’s more, China, Aunt Jo gave me the dress that this baby is wearing! I’ve compared the two. The pattern on the lace panel on the front of the dress is distinctive. No mistake. They’re the same.” She bit her lip. “So I guess I have to ask—where did you find my family photo?”
“It was in the carton we took out of the storeroom.” I omitted the thing about the ghost posting it to the bulletin board. That would only confuse an already mystifying situation. “Do you have your photos with you? The ones your aunt gave you? I’m wondering if there are any other matches.”
Lori shook her head. “They’re at home.” She checked her phone. “Gosh, look at the time. I’ve got a class to teach.”
“Why don’t you come over to my house this evening and bring your stuff,” I suggested. “I would offer to come to you, but I don’t want to leave Caitie alone. We can spread out the photos and see what we have. Maybe we can come up with an explanation.”
Lori brightened. “I’d love to,” she said. “I’ll bring the christening dress, too, so you can compare it to the one in the photo.”
“Will eight be too late?” I asked. “I’m taking Caitie to the fairgrounds, and then I thought we’d go out for
