“How would you like to be the docent leading it?”

It was Michele’s turn to look startled. “Me? A docent?”

“The Historical Society is always looking for volunteers. Pete was working on the scripts before he died. It would probably be just a case of learning the material.”

“Me?” Michele said again, sounding incredulous.

Tricia nodded.

“I don’t know. It sounds like lovely fun, but I work evenings.”

“I happen to know that Nigela Ricita is eager to see these ghost walks take off. She feels it would keep the tourists in the village after sunset. That would be good for business for the Dog-Eared Page. Maybe the walks could even start here. It would be a great selling point.”

Michele nodded thoughtfully. “That it might. But I don’t know a thing about the local cemeteries.”

“As I said, Pete Renquist did extensive research on all of them. All it takes is a little memorization of facts and the ability to spin a good tale.”

“Well, I’m certainly good at that.” Michele looked thoughtful, and a smile played at her lips. “When would they need an answer?”

“The walks aren’t set to start until September, so you’ve got plenty of time to think it over.”

“I’d need to talk to Antonio Barbero and get his okay.”

The pub’s door opened, and who should walk in but Antonio himself, looking dapper in a three-piece suit with a crisp white shirt and a dark-striped tie.

“Are your ears burning?” Tricia asked, smiling.

He frowned at her. “I speak pretty good English, but I don’t know what that means.”

“It means we were just talking about you,” Michele explained dryly.

“I hope you were saying nice things.”

“Of course,” Tricia said. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to discuss a new linen vendor with Michele. And you are here because . . . ?”

“The Historical Society would like me to take Pete Renquist’s place giving the upcoming ghost walk tours,” Michele piped up.

“I told her I thought Nigela Ricita would think it’s a marvelous idea,” Tricia said enthusiastically.

Antonio looked uncomfortable. “Perhaps. Is this a decision you’ve already made?” he asked Michele.

She shook her head. “I’ve only known about it for five minutes, but it does sound rather fun. Do you think there’d be a problem with me helping out?”

“Probably not,” Antonio answered, but his tone wasn’t as convincing as his words. “We shall see.”

“Would this be at the Stoneham Rural Cemetery?” Michele asked Tricia.

She nodded. “And possibly the cemetery at St. Rita’s church.”

“I haven’t checked out that one, but there are some wonderful Victorian monuments in the Stoneham cemetery. I’ve visited a number of spectacular cemeteries in Western New York and Massachusetts. Some of them are like lovely old parks. In Victorian times, people would go there for picnic lunches.”

“Sounds terribly morbid to me,” Antonio said, his discomfort evident. “But you are right. My employer is eager to encourage the tourist trade to remain in Stoneham after the sun goes down. I will mention it to her the next time we speak.”

“Thank you,” Tricia and Michele said at the same time.

“I don’t want to interfere with your linen conference, but do you have a few minutes?” Tricia asked Antonio.

“I always have time for you, dear Tricia. That is, unless Ginny calls to say the baby is on its way.”

“It won’t take more than a couple of minutes,” she said.

“I have things to do in back,” Michele said, and left the area, giving them some privacy.

Tricia picked up her foam take-out box and glass of ginger ale and led the way to a booth at the side of the pub, slipping into it with Antonio following.

They looked at each other for a long moment before Tricia said, “I know.”

Antonio stared at her, looking confused.

“I’m a bit disappointed that you never told me,” Tricia said.

“Told you?” he hedged.

“That Angelica is Nigela Ricita and your stepmother.”

Antonio’s eyes widened and he swallowed, yet he didn’t confirm or deny what she’d said. Perhaps he thought she was baiting him.

“This isn’t a trick. I figured it out and confronted her about it last night. I take it she hasn’t spoken to you since.”

Antonio wouldn’t look her in the eye. “No.”

That seemed odd. She’d have to ask Angelica about it later.

Finally, he looked up at her, looking sheepish. “I wanted to tell you. I’ve wanted to tell Ginny, but Angelica has been very specific about her wishes.”

“I can understand that. The more people who know, the more likely it is that everyone in the village will find out—and for some reason she doesn’t want that to happen.”

“For myself, I don’t see the problem, but I must respect her wishes. She has been very good to me over the years. Not just these past few years—since I was a child. When my mother was sick and dying, Angelica paid for the hospital and the doctors. She did not have to do that, but it is her nature to help where she can.”

“It’s a bitter truth, but until recently, I didn’t know that.” More poignant, Tricia might not have even believed it.

“Are you angry with her?” Antonio asked.

“I should be, but I suppose I understand. And I am very happy about one thing.”

“And that is?” he asked.

“Well, we’re kind of like family now. Angelica and you and Ginny and . . . now me. And the baby, of course.”

Antonio beamed. “Our bambino could not have a finer aunt in you. But for now, it must be our secret, no?”

Tricia nodded and sighed. “Yes.”

“Now that you know, I hope that Angelica will finally let my wife in on the secret.”

“It’s got to come from her, don’t you think?”

He nodded. “And if Angelica warns me in advance, I will remove all breakables from the room. My sweet wife will not be pleased.”

“No, I don’t suppose she will. I wonder if I should be present, too. Maybe I can help soften the blow.”

“I agree. Now to decide on the timing. I would like it to happen before the bambino arrives.”

“I’m having dinner with Angelica tonight. I’ll push her to do it soon—perhaps tomorrow.”

Antonio nodded. “Perhaps we can all have dinner at the inn. It’s a neutral location, no? We can use the private dining room.”

Tricia blinked. “There’s a private dining room?”

“Of course. It can be very romantic—but I will have a table for four put in there before we meet.”

“Good idea.” She smiled and realized that her former admiration for Antonio now caused her to feel something entirely new: affection. “Angelica loves you as if you were her own son.”

“I love her, too. My mother is gone. I am a lucky man to have had two mothers.”

Tricia felt a sudden twinge of jealousy. Neither she nor Angelica would have biological children, but Angelica had the next best thing, and what a rarity it seemed to be to have a stepchild who actually loved his stepmother.

“Well, either Angelica or I will be in touch about dinner. I just hope that things will work out.”

“Oh, gee, I hope so,” Antonio said, although he didn’t sound all that optimistic.

Tricia stood and moved into the aisle. Antonio did likewise. Tricia leaned forward and gave him a hug and was happy that he reciprocated in kind. “I never had a nephew before. It feels rather nice.”

“I never had an aunt before, either.”

Tricia’s grin widened. “I’d better let you get back to work. Angelica—I mean, Nigela Ricita—is a hard taskmaster.”

“She is, but she’s also fair and well compensates her employees,” he reminded her.

“So I’ve heard,” Tricia said. She picked up the foam container, headed for the door, and gave a wave.

Outside, Tricia looked both left and right, glad to see so many tourists crowding the sidewalk. But then she caught sight of one of the hanging baskets of flowers and stopped dead. Like those in the park, the one before her was devoid of blossoms. She looked ahead, and every basket on the block was a mass of green—but no colorful flowers.