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an inevitable conclusion.
    I felt the icy wind blow against the back of my neck again, twisting its way around my torso as if I wore no coat at all. “Make it quick, okay?”
    Sophie nodded and met my eyes, understanding the reasons for my reluctance. But not enough to ignore the fact that I had a veritable treasure trove of history buried in my garden.
    â€œI got your voice mail, by the way,” she said. “I’ve got to take a group of my students to Pompian Hill Chapel of Ease tomorrow to do some grave cleaning and to repair a box tomb, but I can meet you at the Pinckney house on Thursday morning. Does eight o’clock work?”
    â€œIt does for me. I’ll check with my client and get back with you. She doesn’t want to go inside, but I think she should. She doesn’t like old houses.”
    Both Sophie and Meghan looked at me as if I’d said something blasphemous. “It happens,” I said.
    We said good-bye, and then Sophie left with Meghan and Skye. Rich stayed where he was, his hands on his hips, looking down into the pit, the bottom now blackened as the slanting sun scooped out the light. I was wary of what he was about to say. I’d learned in the years we’d been working together that he not only had a second sight but wasn’t fully aware of it.
    â€œI don’t want to scare you, Miz Trenholm. But there’s something not right about this. Something not right at all.”
    Ignoring his implication, I said, “I don’t like a hole in my garden, either, but we’ll have to live with it for a little while. Hopefully it won’t take too long.”
    I said good-bye, then walked toward the kitchen door, sensing a set of footsteps following me, and knowing they weren’t his.

    After feeding the twins and tucking them into their cribs for the night, I sat in the downstairs parlor flipping through the new MLS listings on my laptop and making spreadsheets for my new clients. Nola sat doing homework at the mahogany partner’s desk that Jack’s mother, Amelia, had found for her through her antiques business, Trenholm Antiques on King, while Jack finally took a shower. He’d claimed he hadn’t had time for grooming—or writing—while taking care of the babies. He’d looked so traumatized that I didn’t point out that if he’d followed my schedule that I’d helpfully written down for him, and tried to be more organized, he wouldn’t look as if he’d been wandering the wilderness for weeks.
    A fire crackled in the fireplace beneath the Adams mantel—Sophie’s pride and joy. It was a thing of beauty, but it still made my fingers hurt when I looked at it, as if they recalled all the hand-scraping with tinypieces of sandpaper Sophie had given me to remove about eighty layers of old paint from the intricate scrolls and loops. My manicurist had almost quit during that period, and if I hadn’t given her a generous gift certificate to my favorite boutique, the Finicky Filly, I would still be walking around with bloody stubs for fingers.
    I found myself sinking back into what felt alarmingly like domestic tranquility. But there was an uneasiness in the air, an energy that crept out of the walls like morning mist. The sense of unseen eyes watching me. I knew, without a doubt, that the lingering dead had managed to find me again, and that my newfound peace was about to end.
    The grandfather clock, where Confederate diamonds had once been hidden, chimed eight times, the sound deep and booming in the quiet house, almost obliterating the sound of what I imagined to be the house inhaling, as if in anticipation of something only it could see. General Lee and the puppies, curled into a furry ball at Nola’s feet, looked up at me right before a knock sounded on the front door.
    The frenzied movement of three dogs rushing toward the door and barking loudly accompanied me to the alcove, where a replacement