The Wedding Dress(89)

“I want to know about Colby Ludlow.” Tim walked the perimeter of the library. The adjacent walls on his left were shelves, each one loaded with leather and gilded books.

On his right, the wall was a gallery of photos. In the center was a picture of Emily in her wedding gown. He stopped and stared.

Charlotte. How had he missed it? The resemblance . . .

“She’s lovely, isn’t she?” Cleo said. “That’s Emily at the time of her wedding in 1912. She was twenty-two.”

“She’s beautiful.” Clear, serene eyes held steady for the photographer. Her dark hair was piled in a high pompadour and crowned with a lacy veil.

“The story goes she didn’t want to wear this wedding dress. She thought it was too bulky and heavy.”

“But she wore it anyway.” This was not the dress Charlotte found in the trunk. Not with the high collar and tight sleeves. Emily’s hands were folded on her lap and a large diamond solitaire adorned her left ring finger. On her right hand she wore an oval stone set in diamonds. He leaned closer, wishing the image were in color.

“You were asking about Colby?” Cleo walked down the line of pictures and portraits, pointing to one near the end. “This is Colby Ludlow, Daniel and Emily’s grandson. Emily’s son, Daniel Canton Ludlow, was his father. He died at Normandy when Colby was a kid.”

“Do you know about this picture?” Tim passed Cleo the shot of Phoebe Malone with Professor Ludlow’s Geniuses.

“Professor Ludlow. Yes, indeed . . . Colby was tenured at University of Alabama, Birmingham.” Cleo flipped the picture over. “Back in the eighties he took a sabbatical, but I didn’t realize he’d worked at Florida State.”

“Is that him? In the middle?”

“It is. Where did you get this?” Cleo crossed the picture gallery to a framed piece near the end. “This is Colby on his fiftieth birthday.” She held up the four-by-six Tim found in the shoe box. “It’s him. About the same age, I’d say. He has those Canton eyes.” She handed Tim the picture. “Where’d you get this again?”

“From a box. It belonged to Phoebe Malone. Do you know that name?”

“Should I?”

“Her daughter is Charlotte Malone.”

“The bridal boutique owner? Your ex-fiancée?”

“One and the same.” Tim pointed to Phoebe in the picture. “That’s her mother.”

“Okay.” She laughed. “How does Phoebe Malone being Charlotte’s mother connect her to Colby Ludlow?”

“I wonder if . . .” Tim hesitated. Cleo didn’t seem up for crazy today. “Did you know Charlotte found a wedding dress in the trunk she bought from your auction?”

“Interesting . . .” Cleo walked around behind her desk. “Is this your way of asking me where the trunk came from, Tim? We get items from all over the south for the auction. But we do keep an inventory list.” Cleo worked the mouse, leaning down to view the monitor. She typed something and scanned the screen. She frowned and took a seat. “I’m not finding a trunk of any kind sold at the spring auction. Are you sure?”

“Charlotte bought it here. Was mad about it because she didn’t want or need an ugly old trunk. The lock was welded shut and we had to saw it open.”

Cleo straightened, her expression pinched. “You say she found a wedding dress inside?”

“Yeah, a pretty nice one. The auctioneer told her it was made in 1912.” Tim perched on the upholstered chair across from Cleo. “She’s since learned about two other women who wore the dress.”

“Oh my . . . it can’t be . . .” Up and in motion, Cleo tugged a set of keys from her slacks pocket, opened a narrow closet, disappeared inside, and came out with a picture frame in hand. “Is this the dress?”

Beneath the glass was an old newspaper print, grainy and faded, of Emily on the back of a horse, clinging to a dark-haired man. She laughed with her head back, mouth wide, joy spilling out of her. Tim nearly felt her emotion vibrating against his ribs.

She was wearing the dress. The vibration around his heart faded when a gut check warned him to keep quiet. He’d said enough. Maybe too much?

“Tim, tell me. Is this the dress?” Cleo tapped the picture. “It’s satin and silk with pearls around the waist. The skirt is layered with swags. There’s a V cut at the hem in front.”

“I’m an architect, not a seamstress.” Tim stood, backing up. “Thanks for your help, Cleo. I need to get going.”

“Not so fast, buddy. Why are you asking about the Ludlows all of a sudden? Wondering about a trunk sold at the auction? You’re hiding something.” Cleo circled him, blocking the door. “Emily Canton was supposed to marry Phillip Saltonstall, of Saltonstall Industries.”

“I know the Saltonstalls,” Tim said.

“But on their wedding day, she changed her mind, and instead of marrying Phillip, she ran out of the church, hopped on a horse with Daniel Ludlow, and married him later that day. Unfortunately, all we have is this picture.” She offered up the grainy newspaper image. “When she was alive, Emily claimed she didn’t know what happened to this dress. Oddly enough, we don’t have the dress she’s wearing in that wedding picture either. But what estate wants a portrait of the matron’s wedding wearing the wrong gown?” Cleo stared at Tim. “Know what I mean?”