“I think I’ll join you,” Michele said.

Shawn, the bartender, who’d cocked an ear in their direction, nodded and turned to make their drinks.

“What have you got there?” Tricia asked, tapping a finger on one of the printed pages spread across the bar.

Michele frowned. “Janet over at the Historical Society has given me copies of all of Pete’s notes on the ghost walks.”

“And?” Tricia prompted.

“I don’t understand some of the references.”

Tricia thought back to Pete’s last words. They hadn’t made sense, either. Michele handed her one of the papers. Tricia looked at the words and frowned. Cemetery real estate. What did that mean? Probably cemetery plots. And for which cemetery? As far as Tricia knew, the two Pete had been dealing with were both still accepting—she almost winced—clients. Were all the cemeteries in the area doing the same?

“Which is the oldest cemetery in town?” she asked Michele.

“The Stoneham Rural Cemetery—although it’s hardy rural anymore, but I suppose when it was established in 1838, it was.”

“Had Pete found any ghoulish stories to share?”

“I wouldn’t say ghoulish, more historical. But there are a few recent murder victims”—Tricia could name several of them—“as well as murderers buried there. But I don’t suppose it would go over well to talk about those souls, although it would be easy to fabricate something about those long gone to give the visitors a shiver or two.”

“Yes, I suppose it would.”

Shawn delivered their steaming coffees in tall glass mugs topped with blasts of whipped cream. Michele raised hers in salute. Tricia did likewise and took a sip. Lovely. Tricia’s gaze returned to the papers scattered across the bar, her expression pensive.

“You don’t like talking about this, do you?” Michele asked quietly.

“Are you kidding? I’ve been reading murder mysteries most of my life. But I have to admit, I’m not really sure how I feel about ghosts.”

“Oh, I believe in them completely. With so many of the houses in England being centuries old, it would be strange not to run into a ghost or two during a lifetime.” She laughed. “Mine, not theirs.”

Tricia nodded toward the papers. “Surely there’s enough material for you to work with to come up with a twenty- or thirty-minute talk.”

“Oh, I’m sure there is. I’ve even been practicing my patter on Shawn.”

“And what does he think?” Tricia asked, taking another sip of her coffee.

Michele eyed the thirtysomething hunk, who was listening as he dried the glasses he’d just washed. “He’s bored. Not at all a receptive audience.” She turned back to Tricia. “Perhaps you’d be willing to help me with my presentation?”

“I’d enjoy it.”

“Lovely. Shall we start later this week? The talks are due to begin less than a month from now.”

“I’ve got nothing else on my calendar,” Tricia said, and it was true. Except for dinners with Angelica, she had nothing scheduled and would probably make no long-term plans until she had a timeline for returning to her home and reopening her store.

“Brilliant,” Michele said.

They spent the next half hour in pleasant conversation as first one, then the other couple finished their drinks and waved good night.

“Looks like I’m closing down the bar tonight,” Tricia said, taking the last sip of her tepid Irish coffee. It was then she realized she hadn’t brought her purse or any money with her. “Oh, dear. I can’t pay for my drink. I feel like a piker.”

“Don’t worry, love, it’s on the house,” Michele said.

“Thank you,” Tricia said, and donned her jacket against the chilly August night air. It was almost midnight and time to meet Angelica. “Good night,” she called as she left the bar.

She found her sister sitting in her car in the municipal parking lot with the engine running and little Sarge in the passenger seat, riding shotgun. Angelica hit the control and the power window rolled down.

“Am I late?” Tricia asked.

“No, I’m early,” Angelica said. She closed the window, shut off the engine, and joined her sister.

Tricia opened her car’s trunk and withdrew one of the bags. “I had hoped to find petunias, but they were in short supply. I don’t know all that much about flowers, but at least I know that roses would not be appropriate in a hanging basket.”

“Thank goodness for that,” Angelica said, but as she pawed through the rest of the flowers in the bag, her frown deepened. “A lot of these are tropical flowers.”

“I know, but they’re colorful and pretty—or at least they will be ten feet off the ground.”

“Maybe I should alert Russ Smith to the vandalism and ask him to write a short article for the Stoneham Weekly News. Maybe if I offer a reward to find the culprits, it might squash the impending outrage.”

“Outrage is rather a strong term when it comes to the merchants’ reaction to fake flowers, but I think you’re right.” Tricia withdrew a plastic stem that sprouted four red carnations. “I brought a pair of wire cutters.” She took them out of her jacket pocket. “We can cut these off and stuff them into the dirt in the baskets.”

Angelica sighed. “Oh, dear. I guess we should have cut and sorted them earlier this evening. It’s going to take all night for us to get this done.”

“Then we’d better get started.”

They decided to empty all the bags and sort and cut the flowers there in the parking lot under Tricia’s car’s trunk light. Angelica chose a palette of colors for the baskets before retrieving Sarge. She wore the end of the leash like a bracelet over her left wrist and grabbed a big flashlight and several of the bags, leaving Tricia to struggle with the ladder.

The whole project had sounded like a lark, but Tricia had never done any flower arranging, and after far too many unhelpful suggestions from Angelica, it soon became apparent that her efforts weren’t going to cut it, and she knew that unless Angelica did the arrangements herself, she wouldn’t be satisfied. “Ange, you’re going to have to conquer your fears and climb this ladder.”

“Oh, but I can’t!” she cried, suddenly panicked.

“Yes, you can,” Tricia said firmly. “You’re Nigela Ricita. You have accomplished the impossible,” she bluffed. “You have two successful businesses in your own name and you’re a published author who single-handedly transformed the Chamber of Commerce in a mere eight months. And you can climb this ladder and make beautiful floral arrangements to spread happiness and cheer throughout the whole village.”

Talk about laying it on thick!

Angelica’s eyes brimmed with tears, and she swallowed. “Well, I guess I could try,” she said, her voice trembling. “Will you lean against my legs so I don’t fall?”

“Yes, I will,” Tricia said patiently.

Angelica blinked away her tears and straightened, taking a deep, steadying breath before handing off the leash. Slowly, she approached the ladder, grasped it, and carefully placed her right foot on the first rung.

“You can do it,” Tricia encouraged her.

“Yes, I can,” Angelica said, swallowed and pulled herself up. It took another minute or two for her to force herself up the next two steps. “Okay,” she said at last. “Hand me a couple of the flowers.”

It wasn’t as easy a task as it sounded, since Tricia had to juggle the leash, the bags, and the flashlight, and after fumbling for nearly a minute, she hefted a bag in Angelica direction. “Take this. I can’t do it all.”

Angelica snorted an impatient breath and snatched the bag from Tricia’s grasp. Tricia aimed the flashlight in the general direction of the basket. Soon, Angelica became absorbed in the work, and Tricia could feel the tension in her sister’s legs subside.

After several minutes, Angelica called, “Well, what do you think?”

Tricia squinted up at the basket. “Looks a lot better than what I could have done.”