“I’m warning you, Trix.” Dee Dee pointed her finger in my direction. “This is something we don’t need to get mixed up in.” She emitted a most un-lady like burp. “Excuse me,” she said as she covered her mouth with her napkin – a little late.

“Harv’s given me a job to accomplish, and as a reporter I must do my duty,” I said bravely, not mentioning the urgency added by the stack of unpaid bills on my kitchen counter at home.

“Oh, please, bury the martyr. You know you can’t resist an adventure.” Dee Dee’s observation touched closer to the truth than I wanted to admit, but I had her duped for now. I’d never shared my childhood experience and the underlying fears it had embedded deep within. I continued with the farce.

“Well, it’s a good thing I decided to follow through with our little adventure we experienced in Dahlonega.” This past fall, Dee Dee had tagged along while I worked on an assignment about Gold Rush Days. During our stay she became a person of interest in a murder case. I had no intention of letting my best friend in the whole world take the rap for a homicide she didn’t commit.

We decided to investigate on our own, and before the case was over we helped nab the real killers. But not before I injured my bad knee. The damaged joint required surgery, and now I walk with a little limp. I still need my cane for long treks. The surgeon explained a total replacement awaited me in the near future. More bills.

I looked across the table at Dee Dee, rubbed the offending joint, and emitted an awful groan, akin to a woman in labor.

“You win!” Dee Dee acquiesced. She donned a bemused smile.

With bellies full, we strolled back to the museum. I played the hurt knee card and walked slower than necessary, in hopes of postponing the inevitable. Doc and Penny helped us take our bags inside and showed us several available rooms we might choose to settle down in for the night.

The elevator opened into the lobby, directly in front of the visitor’s desk. A stained-glass sign above the desk was etched with the word “Marietta” in red. The dimly lit room and the musty smell of the old museum elicited thoughts of a ghost filled building. It didn’t help put me at ease.

To the right of the elevator a little gift shop overflowed with historic books and memorabilia. The first room Doc showed us was the Andrews’ Raider’s room. This room contained artifacts from the Civil War, also referred to as the War Between the States by southerners. He explained that James Andrews was a northern spy who stole the General, one of the South’s trains. The incident was referred to as The Great Locomotive Chase. The whole gang was eventually caught, and Andrews was hanged. I’d heard the story before, but enjoyed listening to Doc’s interpretation. Dee Dee and I eyed each other, and silently agreed this was not the room we wanted to sleep in.

We continued the tour through the music area, the fifties-era kitchen, and the quilt room. We chose the quilt room, with its beautiful creations hung on racks along the wall. Cozy and reassuring.

Doc showed us how to operate the security system, then he and Penny bade us goodbye. Dee Dee, her face a shade paler than a white camellia, stalled the couple by asking them numerous benign questions. I didn’t blame her. When they left, we’d be alone. Well, except for any nighttime visitors.

While we set up our make shift camp, I studied the quilts. I couldn’t even appreciate the tiny hand stitching in the antique hangings, while I imagined the ghosts of their crafters, peering at me from behind a rack.

Dee Dee, positioned on the floor, pulled out various snacks from her purse, which, more often than not, resembled a small carry on case.

“Come on Dee Dee.” I unfolded our sleeping bags and rolled them out. “Doc told us to make ourselves at home in the kitchenette. An expedition will be fun. We can snoop on the way.”

Dee Dee wasn’t taking the bait, so I threw out another morsel. “Isn’t this great? How often in a lifetime do you get a chance to spend the night in a museum and have free rein to roam as you please?” My pep talk wasn’t doing much to convince me either.

“Well, never is far too many times for me,” Dee Dee said.

“Aw, you’re a party pooper. Come on.” I grabbed her arm and encouraged her to get up. “You’ll agree with me later. When the cows come home, you’ll be glad you didn’t miss out on the fun.”

If Dee Dee only knew the battle that raged in my mind, maybe we could comfort each other. Why couldn’t I tell her about the fear that threatened to expose my facade of courage? We had shared so many things over the past year since I had moved back home to be close to Mama and Nana. Why couldn’t I share this?

“Yeah, sure.” Her enthusiasm was underwhelming.

We snooped around in earnest – or rather I did. Dee Dee stuck to me like a tick on a hound dog.

As we crept down the hallway, I imagined courageous pioneers who had walked before us on the highly polished floors. Artifacts covered the walls. Each chamber was designated a different era or given a certain theme, such as the room where Andrews’ Raiders had spent the night. I wondered if the ethereal spirits had dared bother them, and eyed a bayonet.

We hurried back to the cozy quilt room, where Dee Dee proceeded to rummage through her snacks. I eyed them with longing. She laughed, “Now who’s your best friend?”

“Why, you, of course.” I gave her a big hug. Yes, we joked, but I told the truth. We weren’t friends merely because she possessed all the food. Over the past year, after my divorce, no one supported me more than Dee Dee. I’ve strived to be as supportive in return. Gary, her husband of twenty years, had died of a sudden heart attack less than two years ago.

“I need to go to the bathroom,” she said. This used to be a nuisance for her, but I’d finally convinced her to visit her doctor. Now, like the leaky pipe ladies in the television ads, Dee Dee wore a patch invented for those who needed a little extra help. The change was nothing short of a miracle.

“You remember where the restroom is, right? The women’s is down the hall and to the left of the elevator.”

“If you think I’m going by myself, you’re not thinking clearly. No way am I traveling anywhere in this mausoleum without you.” She stood and waited for me. “Need a hand?” I raised mine; she grabbed and gave a good pull.

The dim hallway was a little disconcerting. We’d turned on a few lamps along the way, and shadows decorated the walls and floors. I sensed a chill in the air. But only in pockets that seemed to make no sense in relation to the air ducts.

I led the way. Dee Dee followed so close, I felt her hot breath on my neck. We slinked down the hall, through the 1950’s kitchen exhibit. Next, we entered the music room. I wouldn’t have been surprised if the piano or organ had played anonymously, like in “The Ghost and Mr. Chicken.”

I stopped quicker than a Southern girl could say, “Well, bless her heart.”

Dee Dee bumped into me. “Trix, what on earth are you doing?”

Mouth flapping open, I couldn’t bring myself to tell her about the cool breeze that ruffled my hair and the little shiver of fear that ran down my spine.

CHAPTER TWO

Avent high above the bathroom door was the cool breeze culprit. “Uh, sorry Dee Dee, thought I felt a cool front moving in.” I pointed to the airway above the bathroom door. “Let’s hurry up and hightail it back to our room.”

I didn’t linger, brushing my teeth and making sure this was the last time I’d need to visit the facilities until morning.

Safely back in the quilt room, Dee Dee glanced at her watch. “It’s still kind of early. What are we going to do now?”

I straightened the pallets. “We could tell ghost stories.”