Shadows in Scarlet by Lillian Stewart Carl

T-shirted chest. James Grant's appearance had been a momentary novelty of time and reason, she told herself. Someday, way in the future, she'd have a good anecdote for historic preservation conferences: You know, I never believed in ghosts until....
    Funny, how disappointed she was.
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Chapter Five
    After a couple of weeks without air conditioning, walking into the cool interior of the Rockefeller Library raised gooseflesh on Amanda's arms and shoulders. Virginians in the eighteenth century hadn't suffered as badly from the heat as their modern-day descendants, she decided. They'd expected to sweat. It was knowing you didn't have to that caused some sort of temperature dissonance.
    Carrie was barricaded behind stacks of books, papers, magazines, and catalogs. Other publications crept ameba-like out from the main pile on the desk, across the floor, over a chair, and up the shelves. Family photos traced the progress of Carrie's sons from infancy to Little League. A scrawny pot of ivy sat on the windowsill next to a plaque reading, “A Tidy Desk is the Sign of an Empty Mind."
    "Hi!” Amanda said.
    Carrie looked up, over the top of her glasses. “Even if I didn't work at Melrose three days a week I still wouldn't get all this cleared away. It generates itself. Spores."
    "Hello? It's me!” Amanda raised her hands defensively.
    "Sorry. I'm on a guilt trip.” Carrie picked her way from behind the desk and hoisted a book the size of a small tabletop from where it leaned against the wall. “Old Ordnance Survey maps of Scotland. One mile to the inch. I found Dundreggan."
    Amanda helped Carrie get the book balanced and opened atop the desk. “I'm way out ahead of you—I found it on the Internet last night. Not that a computer grid is nearly as cool as an old map.” She inhaled the book's heady odor of paper and mildew. “I'm with Captain Picard on Star Trek, even with all the electronic stuff he likes to sit down with a book."
    "There it is,” said Carrie, pointing to the left-hand page. “Dundreggan House. Not a town but a building."
    "They're calling it a castle now, but then, it has to be over two hundred years old if Grant lived there.” Amanda's eye left the square marked “Dundreggan House” and moved over its surroundings. Not all the names on the double-page spread were weird: to the right of mouthfuls like “Invermoriston” and “Drumnadrochit” the length of Loch Ness lay like a thick serpent diagonally across the map.
    From beneath the book of maps Carrie pulled out a smaller book titled Chronicles of the Highland Clans. “How about this? Seats of Clan Grant: Castle Grant. Kinveachy. Dundreggan, foundations laid circa 1282. In possession of the Grants since the fifteenth century. Current owner Alexander, Lord Dundreggan.” She flipped to the copyright page. “As of 1981, at least."
    "Sweet,” Amanda told her. “I didn't get that far. I spent most of my time with the 71st Highlanders. But I figured Captain Grant would have a pedigree. Officers were automatically aristocrats."
    "They had to be. They had to buy their commissions. So what did you find out?"
    "According to the roll of the 71st Regiment of Foot, aka Fraser's Highlanders, there were two officers named Grant, Captain James of Dundreggan and Lieutenant Archibald of Drumullie."
    "Maybe you should say ‘leftenant', British-style."
    "I know you studied there, show-off. I'd sure like to go there sometime.” Reluctantly Amanda closed the book of maps. “I e-mailed the Public Records office in London for both men's military records and gave them your fax number. If you don't mind. Here you are behind on your own work, you shouldn't have to help me with mine."
    "It's not as though you were looking up the Maharajah of Bangalore, is it?” Carrie retorted. “Captain Grant—both Grants, I guess—had something to do with the history of Williamsburg. I can probably get an article for the magazine from this."
    You think?