She made it to her town house in just under five hours, which was a record. Plenty of time to change and to prepare for the meeting.

She parked in her garage and went through the door that led to the kitchen. She’d never been quite so aware of how still an unoccupied house could feel. It was as if all the energy had left with her last Sunday. She walked from room to room, each one marred by the memory of her mother’s pain. She opened the guest room closet and looked at the clothes. Her mother’s shoes were still on the floor next to the chair she’d last sat in; the last book she’d started reading was still on the bedside table. Lorna sat on the side of the bed and held her face in her hands.

“I miss you, Mom. I hate it that you’re not here anymore.” She spoke the words out loud, as if her mother could hear. “I hate that you had to die.”

She stared at the closet’s contents. Mary Beth had wanted her clothes to go to Goodwill or the Salvation Army. “Whichever is most convenient for you, sweetie. Either would be fine.”

“It’s not fine. It’s never going to be fine,” Lorna had replied.

“Well, I just hate the thought of clothes hanging here, when someone else could be wearing them,” Mary Beth had said softly. “Would it make it easier for you if I were to write things out, things I’d like you to do after, rather than discuss it with you?”

“Whatever is best for you, Mom,” Lorna had said, regretting the show of anger.

“No, honey. I’ve already accepted what is. You’re still fighting it. I need to do whatever is best for you now. Whatever will make it easiest for you when I’m gone.”

“I’ll never accept it. Nothing could make it easier. I don’t want you to die.”

“Well, nobody wants to die. But when you know how short the time is, you can’t cheat yourself out of what little you have left by pretending that things are other than what they are.” Mary Beth had struggled to sit. “I hate it, too, sweetie, but that’s what is. I don’t want to leave my children. I don’t want to leave my friends or the places I love. But the choice isn’t mine.” She had reached for Lorna’s hand and held it. “If I use my energy fighting against it, I lose what strength I have to enjoy what I still have. Understand?”

Lorna had nodded, unable to speak. Her mother had been so much braver than she had been.

She got up and left the room, closing the door behind her. It hurt to be here, more than she’d expected. If anything, she’d have expected to have felt the loss more at the farmhouse, where her mother had lived for most of her life, rather than here, in these small rooms where Mary Beth had lived for less than two years.

The message light was blinking on the answering machine, and Lorna paused to listen. The only one of the seven messages she listened to more than once was the message from Jack Corey. She’d dated Jack for six months before she brought her mother out to stay with her, but he wasn’t inclined to continue the relationship once she had Mary Beth’s illness to contend with. She’d barely seen him over the past year and a half.

“Hey, Lorna. Jack here. Say, just heard about your mother. So sorry, I know how close you were.” After what she thought he’d have imagined to be a respectful pause, he continued, “So, I just thought I’d give you a call and see if you were free for dinner one night next week, maybe we can pick up where we-”

She hit the Delete button.

What a colossal ass. Whatever had she seen in him?

She went into her bedroom and took another quick shower, tried to tame her unruly hair, then pulled on a dark blue skirt and a white cotton shirt, dark heels, and a red belt. She found earrings and put on simple makeup, then left for her meeting. She closed the door of the town house behind her and headed off to meet with Larry Myers to give him the bad news.

“Ugh.” Lorna shivered and took a sip of wine. “Remind me again why I dated Jack Corey in the first place.”

“Tall, good-looking, successful tax attorney.” Bonnie Jacobs rested her arms on the edge of the table and grinned. “And considering that the pickin’s out here in the badlands of western Pennsylvania are so damned slim, it must have seemed like a good idea at the time.”

“I should have saved the message to play it for you. You could hear the swagger in his voice. I’m sure he must think I’ve been praying he’d call.”

“Does this mean you’re not going to call him back?”

Lorna rolled her eyes, and her friend laughed.

“I’m sure I’ll hear about it in the coffee shop someday soon,” Bonnie said. “You seem to have forgotten, I work in the same building. Sooner or later, he’s bound to corner me.”

“Well, if he does, tell him I won’t be around for a while, I have family business to take care of. Tell him I’m…” Lorna swirled the wine around in the glass, then grinned. “Tell him I’m starting a winery.”

Bonnie laughed. “A winery? Where did that come from?”

“It just popped out,” Lorna said, taking a sip of her wine. “But there are the vestiges of an old vineyard on the farm. My great-uncle started it sixty years ago but it’s fallen into ruin.”

“The vines are all still there and everything?”

“A few random plants may have survived, but for the most part, I think the weeds choked them out. Most of the trellises are still standing, but there are trees and all sorts of things springing up among them. It probably would be really difficult to clear it all out. Not that I have any interest in doing that.” She grinned again. “But it does make a fun story for Jack.”

“Consider it told.” Bonnie stabbed at her salad and asked, “So, can you tell me what the hell is going on down there in Southern Bumfuck, for Christ’s sake? It seems as if every time I turn on the news, there’s another body being dug up.”

“There have been four at last count. And I’ll be damned if I know where they came from. It’s pretty horrific. Those remains have been there for years.”

“Well, it’s a farm, right? How come the tractors didn’t plow them up before this?”

“Until that parcel of land was sold off to a developer, it was all wooded. So it was never plowed. It’s only been recently, when they took out the trees to start building the houses, that the graves were discovered.”

“God, that is creepy.” Bonnie shook her blond head. “How are you making out with your plans to sell it?”

“I’m not.”

“You’re not selling?”

“I’m not making out well right now, but yes, I’m still planning on selling. Things have been so hectic this week. Plus, there are other factors involved right now.”

“Like what?”

“Like the police-and as of yesterday, the FBI-are investigating multiple murders and could probably block the sale of the property while the investigation is ongoing. I know they’re still looking for other graves. And like the fact that we’re not likely to get as good a price for it at the moment, since there’s so much notoriety attached to the farm. I’m afraid if we put it on the market right now, we’ll attract the curious and the morbid, but no serious buyers.” Lorna leaned back to permit the waitress to serve her entrée.

“You really think real estate developers care about that sort of thing?” Bonnie snorted.

“We-my sister and I-were hoping to not have to sell to a developer. We’d hate to see the family home be demolished and replaced with a row of town houses.”

“Maybe you should put it on the market and see what happens. You never know who might be interested. Though I suppose there are fewer and fewer people going into farming today.”

“True enough, though you’d be amazed at how many working farms there are in the area.”

“A good thing.” Bonnie speared a piece of yellow summer squash with her fork and held it up. “Someone has to feed us. I for one am happy someone is still in the business of raising veggies.”