They each hung up, and Lorna stood to look down the drive. T.J. was still talking to whoever was in the van. Lorna was about to walk down to see what was going on when the van made a U-turn and took a left on Callen Road.

“What was that all about?” she asked T.J. as he approached the house.

“Network news, Wilmington affiliate. I told them the farmhouse was off-limits. Not that that will do any good.”

“Regan’s coming up to spend the night,” she told him. “She suggested I call the police and have them send a car to keep an eye on things.”

“I was going to suggest the very same thing. I’m not comfortable with you being here alone. Some of these people will go to ridiculous lengths to get their story. It’s better if the police are around and you have someone in the house with you. Call them now.”

“I don’t think my request will be well received.”

His jaw tightened. “Too bad. That’s their job. Go on, give them a call while I’m still here.”

She went into the house to look up the number and realized that it was well past the dinner hour. She should offer to feed T.J. She dialed the number for the station and peered into the refrigerator while the line rang. Lots of vegetables… eggs… seltzer. Somehow, T.J. didn’t look like the type of man you’d invite for quiche and sparkling water.

“Callen Police.”

She knew the voice.

“Brad?”

“Yes?”

“Lorna Stiles.”

“Yes?”

“Brad, I’m having a problem here, with reporters coming to the house.”

“And what would you like me to do about it?”

“I would like you, acting on behalf of my local police department, to send a car over to patrol the property during the night, more than just the quick drive-by you’ve been doing.”

“Need protection from a few reporters, do you?” He laughed. “Maybe you should call your friends at the FBI.”

“And what do you suppose the feds would say if I told them my local police department refused me protection when I felt threatened?”

A long, unpleasant silence followed.

“I’ll send Bobby Markham over.” He paused, then asked, “Will there be anything else?’

“No, thank you very much. I appreciate it, Officer Walker. Be sure to thank Chief Walker for me.”

She hung up, and grinning, walked back outside.

“They’re sending a car,” she told T.J. “I’m ordering pizza. What’s your preference?”

11

“Lori?”

“Andrea?” Lorna glanced at the kitchen clock. “You’re up awfully early. What time is it out there, five-thirty?”

“I couldn’t sleep. The baby kept me awake all night so I got up”-Andrea’s words shot through the phone, gathering speed-“and came downstairs and turned on the TV…”

Uh-oh.

“… and what do I see but our house…” she took a breath, “… at least, it looks like our house, Lori. But back when I lived there, it was referred to as the ‘old Palmer farm.’ The house on the TV was being called ‘The Body Farm.’ ”

Andrea paused, then said, “Please tell me they’re talking about somebody else’s farm.”

“I wish I could.”

“Well, what the hell is going on out there?” Andrea sounded close to tears. “Where are all these bodies coming from?”

“I don’t know. And I haven’t seen the news today, so I don’t know what’s being said.”

“They’re saying four bodies have been found out in the fields.”

“It’s actually the old woods. The developer cut the trees down. I guess to the reporters it looks like part of the field. And I guess, technically, it is now.”

“Well, so much for finding a buyer. Who’s going to want to buy the property now that bodies are popping up all over the place?”

“Trust me, any one of the builders down here would love to get their hands on this much land. They won’t care. At least, they won’t after this blows over.”

“Well, won’t the police keep the property off-limits for a while?”

“For a while, maybe, while they search around to see if there’s anything else here, but that won’t last. Are you worried we won’t be able to find a buyer?”

“I’m more worried that we will.” Andrea sighed. “I don’t know if it’s the baby that’s making me nostalgic, or if it’s just a slightly delayed reaction to Mom’s death, but I find myself more and more wishing we didn’t have to sell. Even if we could just save the farmhouse and the barn, maybe that stretch along the road, down to the pond. That way we’d still own the family plot.”

Andrea was sniffling.

“Why can’t we do that, Lori? Why can’t we keep that much?” The sniffles turned to sobs. “Why do we have to sell it all?”

“We’d still have taxes, and maintenance on the house. We can’t leave it vacant indefinitely,” Lorna said as gently as she could.

“But we could come for a few weeks every summer, and the kids could see what life on the farm is like.”

“Does it make sense to hold on to it just for those two weeks when you bring your family on vacation?”

“Well, you could vacation there, too, and Robbie…”

“Andrea…”

“And Christmas. What about Christmas? We could all come back at Christmas. Mom would have liked that.”

“Yes, she would. But there’d be no ‘all,’ sweetie. Rob told me he’ll never come back.”

“I don’t know what’s up with that, Lorna.” Andrea was back to sniffling. She blew her nose away from the phone, then said, “He told me pretty much the same thing, last time I spoke with him. I asked him how he could feel that way about our home, and he said that my memories were apparently better than his, then he changed the subject.”

“He said he only wants his share of the proceeds of the sale. He’s out of work right now, and I guess he needs the money.”

“Why can’t we buy him out, you and me? Why can’t we just sell the fields and give him that?”

“Andi, honey, it doesn’t make sense. Someone has to live here. Someone has to take care of the place.”

“But Mr. Compton-”

“Mr. Compton did it for Mom. Mom’s gone now, and we can’t expect him to watch over this place forever.”

“But you could-”

“No, Andi, I can’t. I’m sorry, but I can’t. This isn’t my home anymore. I love it, every bit as much as you do, but like you, I’ve made a home elsewhere. Sooner or later, I’m going to have to get back to it.”

“Maybe I can talk to Robbie. Maybe I can bring him around.”

“Good luck.”

“I’ll let you know what he says.”

“You do that, sweetie.”

Lorna hung up the phone and blew out a long breath. Andrea was always sentimental when she was pregnant. Maybe her attachment to the farm would pass when the baby was born.

Maybe not.

Well, Lorna couldn’t dwell on that right now. Her houseguest was on her way down the steps, looking for coffee, no doubt. Lorna opened a cupboard and took down the sealed bag of ground coffee she’d bought at the supermarket earlier in the week, then found the coffee pot. She hadn’t bothered to make her own since she’d returned to Callen; buying it already made had seemed easier. Today would be a good day to start.

Lorna was filling the pot with water when Regan came into the room.

“Oh, yay. I was hoping there’d be coffee.” Regan smiled.

“Well, there will be, once I figure out how much coffee goes into this thing.” Lorna set the pot on the counter and searched through one of the nearby drawers for a pair of scissors to cut the top off the packet of coffee.

“My dad had one of those old percolating pots. He used a heaping tablespoon of coffee per every cup of water.”

“Works for me.” Lorna hunted for a measuring spoon and cup, then dumped the water out of the pot. “We’ll start over, though, because I have no idea how much water I put in there.”

“It looks like it’s going to be a gorgeous day.” Regan stood at the screen door.

“It is, much less humid than it’s been. Which is a relief. It’s been wicked hot here.”

“Can we take a tour of the farm?”