sold us the piece looked very uncomfortable even admitting that bad dreams had anything to do with her decision to part with the heirloom. Now that the box was no longer her problem, I was betting she’d revise her memories to conveniently forget all about the bad dreams. It’s amazing what people can ignore when the truth makes them too uncomfortable.
I went into the office and dialed the number Teag gave me. A woman answered on the third ring.
“Mrs. Hendricks? This is Cassidy Kincaide from Trifles and Folly, the store where you sold that marvelous Victorian heirloom. I have a couple of questions for you, if you don’t mind. Our customers love to have information about the pieces they purchase, and there’s a lady who wants to know more.” Technically, that was true, although I was the ‘lady’.
“You won’t give out my contact information, will you?” Mrs. Hendricks asked suspiciously. But when I assured her that we would keep her name confidential, she opened up, to my surprise.
“That necklace has been in my family for a long time,” Mrs. Hendricks said. She sounded like she might be in her sixties, with an accent that told me she had lived in or near Charleston all her life. “Thaddeus Anderson was engaged to marry my great, great-aunt Amelia. He died in the Battle of Rivers Bridge. He was just twenty-two years old.”
“Your family must have been very proud of him.”
“We are,” she replied in a mellifluous cadence I could have listened to all day. “Of course, he died before great-aunt Amelia married him, so there were no children. She never married. But Amelia lived into her nineties, and she kept a photograph of Thaddeus with her at all times. She was buried with that photograph.”
I frowned. “But not with the necklace?” That seemed strange, especially given Amelia’s life-long devotion, and the fact that a hair necklace wasn’t likely to be something anyone else would want.
Mrs. Hendricks chuckled. “Well now, you’d think so, wouldn’t you? And the stories vary as to why. One story says that the box with the necklace had been misplaced when Amelia went into the nursing home, and it wasn’t found until after she died. Another story says that they tried to bury her with it, but something kept thumping on the inside of the casket lid until the mortician removed that necklace. And the third story says that one of my great-uncles, a rather greedy man, thought the necklace might be valuable and refused to let them bury her with it. Take your pick.”
I was betting on story number two, although I didn’t tell her that. “How long ago did your great-aunt Amelia die?”
“She died in nineteen forty,” Mrs. Hendricks said.
“So the necklace has been in the family all these years since Amelia’s death. What led you to sell it now?”
Mrs. Hendricks was quiet for a moment, and I was afraid she was going to refuse to answer. “Some of great-aunt Amelia’s things came down to me through my mother,” she said. “Dishes and such. My parents have moved to Florida, and when they cleaned out their house, my mother gave me what she wanted me to have. That included a box of Amelia’s things, and in the box was the necklace. That was about a month ago.”
I waited, hoping she would go on. “I knew about the hair necklace because it’s a family story. But of course, something like that is very personal to the one who made it. Not like regular jewelry. No one else would ever wear it.” She paused again. “Frankly, it gave me the creeps,” she admitted with an embarrassed chuckle.
“Were there ever any ghost stories connected to the necklace?” I asked. “I’m sure someone is bound to ask.”
Mrs. Hendricks hesitated a little longer before she spoke. “When I found the necklace in that box, I didn’t like the way it made me feel,” she said. “It seemed unlucky. I try to create positive energy in my home. So I thought I would let someone else appreciate it, since my own children have no interest in that sort of thing.”
I had the feeling Mrs. Hendricks had said all she planned to say about the subject. “Thank you very much,” I said. “You’ve been generous with your time.”
“I hope it finds a good home,” she said, and paused. “But I do hope no one tries to wear it. It’s just… strange.”
I thanked her again and hung up. The necklace was indeed ‘strange’, but not