“She was the governess in this house once,” Crumb said, warming to her tale. “A long time ago. A hundred years ago. More. In England. Miss J, Alice calls her. She was a lady, but a bad man dragged her down. Peter. She died. And now she walks.”

Andie looked at the light in the old woman’s eyes and thought, She really believes that. Or maybe she just wanted Andie to believe so she’d run away screaming. Maybe she’d hired somebody to stand on the other side of the pond. The woman in the dream would be harder to fake, but-

“It was that Peter’s fault.” Mrs. Crumb was positively animated now. “He was a hound, an evil man. There were lots of women. She was just the last. And the poor woman paid for it!”

“Mrs. Crumb-”

“Pregnant, you know.” Crumb shook her head sadly, playing to the balcony. “I’m not sure how she died. She doesn’t speak of it.”

“She talks to you.”

“No, but she’d sit with me. Before Alice came. Alice’s mother died when she was born, so they brought the poor babe here and that’s when she stopped sitting with me. She just takes care of Alice now. That’s all she wants, to look after Alice. She thinks Alice is her baby. Now Peter, he wants the house. Peter and Carter, they’re close.” She said the last with contempt.

Oh, dear God, Andie thought. Either Mrs. Crumb was completely nuts or there were ghosts stalking Alice and Carter. Andie wasn’t sure at this point which she’d prefer. “How do you know all this?”

“I know things,” Mrs. Crumb said, her eyes shifting away.

“Who told you this?”

Mrs. Crumb got up. “It you don’t want to believe me, fine.”

“Look.” Andie regrouped. “You believe this ghost exists. That… disturbs me.”

“You’ve seen them.” Crumb looked arch. “And Alice likes Miss J!”

“I think even Alice would draw the line at the undead.”

“That little girl has seen a lot of death. She knows there’s Something Else out there.”

Andie rubbed her forehead. “Okay. Forget Miss J and… uh, Peter. Did a nineteen-year-old girl ever die here? Beautiful, curly hair, liked to dance?”

Mrs. Crumb shivered for a moment and then leaned back looking calmer, saner. “A lot of people have died here. This house is over four hundred years old.”

“I keep dreaming about a nineteen-year-old-girl. At least she says she’s nineteen. She talked to me last night in a dream. I know she’s not real. Look, there’s something going on here, and I’m going to find out what it is, and if it turns out that this is some scam you’ve cooked up-”

Mrs. Crumb laughed, a much gayer sound than Andie had expected. “How would I give you bad dreams? Or make you see a woman at the pond?”

“Or the guy on the tower?” Andie said. “I thought it might be Bruce finally come to start work, but he was dressed funny.”

Mrs. Crumb smiled, the curve of her lips almost youthful. “Tower? Oh, that’s Peter. He thinks the house is his. He’s just looking out for his property-”

A loud screeching sound made Andie jump, and she looked around to see a teakettle on the stove, blowing steam.

Get a grip on yourself. The damn house is getting to you. “Mrs. Crumb, I don’t believe in ghosts.”

“Well, you’re the one who’s seeing them,” Mrs. Crumb said, and got up to take the kettle off the stove, moving with an oddly youthful grace. “You should have Mr. Archer come down here.” Mrs. Crumb took down a teacup and saucer. “He should be here if you’re worried. Can I make you some tea?”

“No, thank you,” Andie said, and thought, I need real information. The Grandville library wasn’t that far away. They might have a history of the house. Or a book on faking hauntings. Or exorcisms.

She left Mrs. Crumb smiling to herself and stirring her Earl-Grey-with-schnapps in the kitchen and went to get the kids.

They were talking in the library when she opened the door, their heads close together, both of them open and unguarded until they saw her. Then their faces shut down again.

“Come on. We’re going to spread the mulch on Alice’s butterfly garden and then go to the Grandville library,” she told them, and they looked at each other and then got up without argument and went to get their coats.

Alice’s Jessica doll had fallen when she’d stood up, and Andie went to pick it up and put it on the window seat. Its hair was disarranged as usual, and Andie tried to pat it back into its bun, straightening the three-tiered skirt gathered into the ribbon band-

Three tiers. The woman on the other side of the lake had been wearing a dress like that. And her hair had been like the doll’s, too.

I’m hallucinating, she thought. There wasn’t a woman over there, I hallucinated Alice’s doll. Alice was acting weird because I was trying to make her see a hallucination.

Except Alice had seen it first.

There are no such things as ghosts, she told herself, put the doll on the window seat, and went to help with the mulch.

Two hours in the Grandville library looking for “Archer House,” “Faked Hauntings,” and “Parapsychologists, Ohio” gave Andie nothing except a book called Ghostbusting: The Story of One Man’s Battle Against the Undead and a very old newspaper article about the insane Archer who’d brought the house back from England. She copied the article and checked out the book, and then took the kids home. She tried asking them a few general questions-“So, ghosts. What do you think?”-and they ignored her, so she tucked them into bed and then went to bed herself with the book. The author’s name was Boston Ulrich and he was from Cincinnati, which meant he was in the general vicinity, which was a plus, but two chapters in, she knew it was going to be no help because it was more about how smart Boston Ulrich was than it was about ghosts.

That made sense, she decided, because there were no such things as ghosts, so he hadn’t had anything else to write about. The woman across the lake was probably just looking at the house, and the man in the tower was probably checking the cable, and Mrs. Crumb hadn’t told her he was there so she could push the whole this-house-is-haunted bit. Or something. There were no ghosts. She put the book away and turned out the light and let herself drift to sleep. Maybe she’d dream about Will tonight. That would alleviate some guilt about all the hot North dreams. C’mon, Will, she thought but it was the ghost girl who showed up, smiling at her from the foot of the bed.

“Who are you?” Andie said, and the girl said, I’m you, and sat down on the edge of the bed.

She seemed more solid this time, as if she’d been eating better, whatever ghosts ate. More fleshed out and, although she still had a disconcerting translucency, the vertigo wasn’t nearly as bad. Andie frowned at her, trying to place what buried memory she’d dredged her up from.

Oh, stop it, the girl said, and settled in at the foot of the bed. Can’t you accept that I’m you? Everybody’s prettier and more interesting when they’re younger.

“Thank you. But no. You’re some weird memory. After my divorce, I used to dream about my husband all the time. One of my therapists said it was because I was trying to say a better good-bye. But I have absolutely no recollection of anybody like you.”

That’s because there’s nobody like me.

They need somebody like you, North had said. And there’s nobody else like you.

Tell me about the guy we marry, the girl said. North Archer.

“He’s a good man,” Andie said. “Just distant. The thing is, if you’re some buried memory, why would you be haunting my dreams now?” She stopped. “Haunting. Are you somebody else’s memory?”

Tell me three things about North Archer, and I’ll go away.

“I’ll trade,” Andie said. “Tell me three things about you, and I will.”