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That shed should be locked.”
    “Has Willowbank changed that much?”
    “Used to be we knew everybody. Not now. Lots of new people building around the lake. Kids cut through here on their way into town. They figure everything is public property.” He slapped his gloves against his leg again, then shifted his gaze from the shed to her. “You need some help?”
    “Help?”
    “You didn’t look so good a minute ago. You need help getting back to the house?”
    “Thanks, but I’m all right. I was just . . . reminiscing. This garden used to be one of my favorite places.”
    Another chin nod. “Sorry about your husband, Deedee. Or I guess I should call you Mrs. Graye now.”
    “No, Delaney’s fine. And I appreciate your sympathy, Edgar.”
    The creases in his cheek tightened in Edgar’s version of a smile. “It’s good you came home, Delaney. We missed you.”
    Oh, God. Were those tears starting again?
    Before she could embarrass herself, he pulled on his gloves and turned toward the driveway. “Watch out you don’t step on any broken glass when you’re wandering around. I picked up more’n half a case of empties last week. Kids,” he muttered, moving away. “Some of ’em need a good swift kick.”
    She waited until he had left, then returned her gaze to the back fence. Not that she expected to see anyone. Not again. Not unless she summoned him, and she wasn’t about to do that. She’d gotten carried away with the reminiscences, that was all. As if to prove it to herself, she left the shelter of the oak tree and crossed the lawn, walking directly through the spot where she’d seen Max.
    Nothing was there. No mist or shimmers in the air, no warmth other than the sunshine. Good. She continued until she reached the gate.
    Like the fence, it was only as high as her waist and would present more of a nuisance than an obstacle to an adult, but it had been an effective barrier for a toddler. Her grandparents had always been adamant about keeping this gate closed. With the woods so close and the pond only a short walk down the path, their concern had been understandable. Helen would want it closed now, too, with those children of her guests running around.
    Yet this morning the gate was unlatched, as if someone had passed through in a hurry and hadn’t bothered to close it completely. Someone flesh and blood, like whoever had been in the garden shed.
    Or someone with no substance at all, like a figment of an overactive imagination . . .
    Delaney grasped the top of the iron gate and yanked it toward her. The latch clicked with satisfying finality. She returned to the house without looking back.
    The kitchen was empty when she stepped inside. Judging by the silence in the dining room, breakfast was over. A tray full of dirty dishes rested on the counter, so evidently Phoebe hadn’t yet arrived. She wondered briefly where her grandmother was, but then she heard a thump from the direction of the front of the house, followed by a pair of shrieking giggles like those she’d heard in the garden.
    Those girls must be continuing their game of tag inside, which explained what Helen was doing. She would be running after them, trying to minimize the damage, but the children would be able to see through her scolding. Delaney certainly had. She wouldn’t be surprised if the girls had already discovered the banister. She left her hat on the coat tree, found a pair of rubber gloves under the sink, and started on the dishes.
    Though it had been years since she’d needed to do any housework, she welcomed the chore. Regardless of what Helen said, Delaney intended to help as much as she could, for as long as she was here. Besides wanting to ease her grandmother’s workload, she did need to keep busy, or she would likely go nuts for real.
    That was one of the few things she and Stanford had disagreed about. She’d been a successful real estate agent when she’d met him. He hadn’t been able to understand why she didn’t want to