"It's Davey Ahearn, too," he said. "And Jim Haviland."

She scowled. "That's ridiculous."

"Is it?"

She saw he was serious. She had to laugh. "Andrew, Davey and my father are what they are. Get used to it. I have."

"You're sure?"

"Positive. They're a part of my life, and as much as I bitch and moan at times, I wouldn't have it any other way. But the men in my life might, because of crazy ideas-"

"Not so crazy," Andrew muttered.

"Fast-forward yourself thirty years. What kind of relationship do you think you'll have with Dolly?"

He didn't hesitate. "Whatever kind of relationship I want."

"Exactly. I rest my case." She ducked under his arm and went over and plopped down on the bed, noticing that Dolly's dandelions had already wilted. The violets were still in good shape. She smiled, and looked up at Andrew. He was aroused, clearly frustrated. "But point well taken about skeletons and Ike. And Dolly."

"Forget it. We can lock the damn door-"

But she shook her head, knowing what he wanted and thought was right. Knowing what she wanted. She licked her lips, deliberately sensual. "No, our first time…I don't want to hold back."

He stared at her a moment, then growled, "Hell," and left, shutting the door firmly but not loudly behind him.

She shot to her feet and ran to the window, breathing in the sea breeze, the smell of the ocean, the memories that seemed to hang over the rocks and sand.

"Oh, God, Mom."

It was the voice, not of a six-year-old, but of a woman almost the same age as her mother when she'd died. So young. How had she known so much? How had she been so wise? "Live well, Tess. Love well. That's what matters most."

She loved well, all right, she thought with a rush of sarcasm. She was hyperventilating, bursting with a turmoil of emotion that seemed to press against her chest, rob her of air.

Meet a man on Friday. Lie to him and argue with him about skeletons on Saturday and Sunday.

Fight with him on Monday. Fall in love with him on Tuesday.

Yeah, she loved well. She just wasn't smart about it. Never had been. Love made no sense to her whatsoever. There was no logic, no trusted instinct she could rely on for direction.

Just this feeling of panic. And yearning. And somewhere deep inside where she couldn't quite reach…an incongruous sense of calm.

She turned from the window, wishing she had her white-noise machine. She scanned a bookshelf, coming up with a frayed copy of Emma. That was something. Jane Austen on the bookshelves. It had to be a positive sign. A man didn't have to read Jane Austen himself, but having a book in the house signaled an open mind. An ability to compromise. An understanding of different tastes and sensibilities.

Then again, he hadn't renovated this room yet. He might come in here, throw out all the Jane Austen and put in how-to books on things like building your own gazebo.

For no reason at all, she smiled and opened to page one. At least, she thought, nobody'd be sneaking around stealing dead bodies out of old cellars in Emma.

Andrew gave up on sleep around 1:00 a.m.

He rolled out of bed and headed downstairs, noting the lights were out in the guest room. He checked on Dolly, fast asleep with about a million stuffed animals.

The lights were on in Harl's shop. Andrew walked out across the dark, dew-soaked lawn. He made sure Harl knew it was him coming, not anyone he'd require a baseball bat against.

They sat out on the Adirondack chairs in the dark. A half-moon and stars shone overhead, and they could hear the tide coming in. "You working on the rolltop?" Andrew asked.

Harl nodded. "I'm treating that thing like a museum piece. The people who own it don't care. They just want it to look good and not fall apart. They're going to use it for bill-paying." He looked over at Andrew, his white beard and white hair standing out against the darkness. "Tess Haviland keeping you awake?"

Andrew didn't answer.

"You need a woman raised in a bar that makes the best chowder in Boston and serves college students and working stiffs both. She's the kind of woman Joanna would have wanted for Dolly. She told me, you know. She said she wanted to be stronger, more self-reliant, for Dolly's sake." He stretched out his thick legs, this much talk more than Harley Beckett would ever consider easy. "Joanna couldn't make herself happy, never mind you."

"It wasn't her job to make me happy."

"That's part of the problem with you and women. I'm not saying I'm any expert."

"Good."

But Harl was on a roll. "You were always too independent for Joanna. She wanted more control over you. She was smart, and she was a damn good woman, but I think she figured she could control a mountain better than you. Tess is used to independent men. She can hold her own."

Andrew stared over at his cousin. "You've been doing a lot of thinking, Harl."

"Up yours, Thorne. You want to self-destruct, send this woman back to Boston, go ahead."

"Her relationship with Ike-"

"Maybe it was a real friendship. Ike never had friends, and not just because he was a pain in the ass. He was rich, he had a lot of energy, he could do things. People projected stuff onto him, fed off his optimism. I mean, he could home in on a person's weaknesses, and he was self-centered-but he was arrogant enough to think he had enough energy and charisma to go around."

Andrew settled back in the old Adirondack chair and gazed up at the shagbark hickory, the stars and moon shining through its branches, creating black silhouettes against the sky.

"I wonder if Ike had a premonition he'd need Tess to find him," Harl said.

"And that's why he gave her the carriage house? Not Ike."

"It could have been an unconscious premonition. They were friends, and he knew if something went wrong, Tess had just the kind of bulldog personality that'd get the truth out on the table, make everyone see what was what." Harl nodded, pleased with his theory. "I think about Jedidiah. Who knows what happened at the carriage house that day? Maybe the truth's never come out, justice has never been served."

"He had years to tell his story."

"Maybe his sense of honor stopped him. You know those nineteenth-century types."

"You could have a point."

"Or I could be full of shit. I need to get some sleep if I'm going to face six-year-olds tomorrow." He got heavily to his feet. "Forget what I said. I talked too much. Must be the ghosts."

He went back into his shop, but Andrew didn't move. He listened to the ocean and stared up at the hickory, the stars and the moon. For all he knew, Harl was right about everything. Joanna, Ike, Tess, Jedidiah. And the ghosts.