h, God,” Flynn groaned, sitting up in her bed. “You again?”

The room was golden. Aunt Esther was sitting in the corner, rocking on her phantom rocking chair, not caring that the real one was backward and her face was passing back and forth through the wooden slats that supported the headrest. Flynn made a mental note to turn it back around in the morning; this was infinitely creepier than the first time.

Esther set the purple afghan in her lap and looked at Flynn. “I’ve come to a decision.”

Flynn closed her eyes, inhaled deeply, and tried to alter her dream through sheer force of will.

Okay. Sunny beach. A drink with an umbrella, delivered by a faceless yet handsome man wearing only a wink and a smile.

“Ahem.”

Lady, stop screwing up my concentration. Okay. Ocean breezes. Warm sand. Fully loaded drink. Faceless Yet Handsome wearing a wink and a smile... and a mysterious tattoo right above his—

“Ahem.”

Flynn opened her eyes. “You don’t like me very much, do you? Because you know this is just mean, right?”

Esther picked up her afghan and continued knitting. “It’s not a matter of whether I like you or not. It would appear we’re stuck with each other. And it occurs to me that the white light of which you speak so fondly may not be available to me until we figure out whatever it is we’re supposed to be doing.” She raised her eyes to Flynn’s, yanked out a loop of yarn, and wrapped it militantly around the tip of the needle.

“What we’re supposed to be doing? We are not supposed to be doing anything. I’m supposed to be sleeping, and you’re supposed to be dead.” She sniffed. “And why does this place always smell like peppermint? Is that like a special ghost thing? I’ve had the windows wide open for two days—”

Esther stopped rocking and focused her ghostly eyes on Flynn. “I need you to do something for me.”

“Do exorcisms only work on demons? Couldn’t a good priest just”—she wiggled her fingers toward the apparition—“cast you out?”

Esther rolled her eyes. “You really are a prickly little thing, aren’t you?”

“Sometimes. Maybe.” Flynn swallowed. “Can you blame me? You’re really creeping me out.”

Esther sighed. “I can see how you’re Elizabeth’s granddaughter. Same contentious nature.”

“Gee, I wonder if I’d be less contentious on a full night’s sleep. Let’s try it, shall we?”

Whoosh. Suddenly Flynn wasn’t in her bed anymore. She was in the corner of the Rose Banquet Room, watching herself staring down at Tucker from behind the podium. Tucker was standing in the aisle, smirking up at her with that smirky little smirk. After throwing her up there like a piece of raw meat in front of a pack of wolves, he had the nerve to stand in that aisle and come to her defense with that smirk?

Whatever.

“So it’s safe to say you’re impressed, right?” His words were soft and fuzzy, echoing through her memory.

She watched her own face, looking stricken and confused and very much not like she owned the place. “Yes.”

Tucker was still locking eyes with Flynn’s podium self, and this time, she saw something she hadn’t seen in the moment, when her whole being had been focused on the fantasy visual of throttling his neck.

This time, she saw what might possibly be a hint of regret.

“Well,” he said, “considering you haven’t even been here for twenty-four hours yet, I think that’s pretty much all we can ask.”

Then his eyes drifted over to the corner, connecting with Flynn’s dream self. The rest of the room faded, but Tucker stayed still, watching her from where he stood.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his lips not moving.

Another whoosh, and Flynn shot up in her bed. The room was dark and empty. No fuzziness. No orange glow. No dead aunt.

Well. That was a good start.

Flynn leaned forward and put her face in her hands. This whole thing was a big mistake. Obviously, her mental state was taking serious hits from coming here, and she wasn’t even doing a good job. Her lunch date had been poisoned, she’d completely hosed the staff meeting, and the one person she’d trusted had betrayed her. After her public humiliation, she’d retreated back to the cottage, unpacked the boxes from Freya (exactly how many clothes did Freya think she’d need, anyway?), and curled up on the bed like a scared little girl.

Add to all that the fact that her subconscious was torturing her in the form of a dead aunt she’d never met, and Flynn felt secure in her assessment that things were not going well.

She tossed her legs over the side of the bed, grabbed her jeans up off the floor, and stuck her feet in. Camisole, sweater, sneakers, and she was ready to get out of that creepy cottage. She wished she’d had the presence of mind to ask Annabelle for a room, but in her rush to escape, she’d forgotten.

Tomorrow, she was getting a room. Maybe her subconscious would settle down in a different environment. Maybe she’d dream about being haunted by George Washington, or Eleanor Roosevelt.

Pretty much anyone would be an improvement on Esther.

She stepped outside, and the chilled air woke her up immediately. The moon was full, and a light mist lay over the ground. The faint scent of roses hit her, and she turned toward the back of the courtyard. Pebbles crunched under her feet as she followed the path, the dappled moonlight giving her just enough illumination to keep her from tripping over the three stone steps that led through an archway covered with roses, and then...

“Oh, wow,” she breathed as she took it all in.

It was beautiful. The garden was laid out in a circle, with pebbled paths cutting through the rosebushes like spokes on a wheel, all leading to the gazebo in the center. Flynn wandered down the first spoke, sniffing the roses as she went. She didn’t know anything about roses, but she could tell that each bush had a different variety. Some were red, some pink, some yellow. Some blossoms were huge, petals wide open to the world, and others were dainty little bulbs. They all had their own take on the basic scent of rose, some smelling more fruity, others going the more traditional floral route. By the time she’d wandered through all the pebbled lanes and found her way back to the gazebo, the creepy feeling she’d had in the cottage was gone, replaced with a flush of excitement. She sat down on the gazebo bench and inhaled deeply, closing her eyes. The fragrance that surrounded her was more soothing than any bubble bath she’d ever taken, and the moonlight was making the place seem magical, and hers alone.

Maybe nature’s not always a bad thing, she thought as she leaned over to lie down on the gazebo bench. She closed her eyes and took in another deep breath, feeling snug in her big sweater and comfortable in her skin.

And then her mind went blissfully blank.

“Um. Flynn?”

There was a nudge at Flynn’s shoulder and her eyes shot open. Sunlight was breaking through the roof of the gazebo, and she sat up.

“Are you okay?” Annabelle asked, sitting down next to her, putting her hand on Flynn’s shoulder. “A guest told me there was a homeless woman sleeping in the gazebo and I thought it would be crazy Jeanne, but...” Annabelle looked at her with concern. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Flynn said, allowing a little yawn. How had she slept out there all night and not even noticed? The wooden benches were comfortable, but they were still wooden benches. “I just... was having trouble sleeping, so I went for a walk and...” She sighed and rubbed her hands over her face. “I must have fallen asleep.”

“Oh. Okay.” Annabelle nodded, her face the picture of support. “It’s beautiful out here, isn’t it?”

“Yes. It is.” Flynn rubbed at her eyes. “Um, what time is it?”

“Eight-fifteen.”

“Wow.” Flynn smiled at Annabelle. “You’re here early.”

Annabelle smiled. “I try to get here about seven or so, you know, so I can get a jump on the bookkeeping before things get too busy.”

“So, you’re the bookkeeper, the concierge... everything? Isn’t that a bit much for one person?”

Annabelle shook her head, curls bouncing around her grinning face. “Oh, no. Not for me. I like to keep busy.”

“Okay.” Flynn stretched. “Okay, then. Hey, I’m gonna go take a shower, and I’ll see you in the office in about an hour. You think you can get me up to speed on this place?”

“Sure, but there really isn’t that much for you to do. Esther left most of it to me. You know, she was elderly and everything.”

Flynn stood up, expecting her back to be bothering her from the hard wooden bench, but she actually felt better rested than she had in a long time. “Well, I’m not. You’ve got a big load on your shoulders, Annabelle, and you shouldn’t have to do it all alone. I’m not trying to impose on your territory. I just want to see how things work so that I can...”

She trailed off. She wasn’t sure exactly what it was she was supposed to be doing, but she needed to do something while she was here besides fight with her dead aunt. Getting involved in the day-to-day seemed like as good a place to start as any.

Annabelle nodded, then nibbled her lip. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah. I’m fine.”

“Because if you’re having trouble sleeping, you could maybe try some of that Tylenol PM. I was having a bit of insomnia this spring, and I’ll tell you, one of those at night, and you’re out like a light.”

Flynn shrugged, wondering how Tylenol PM would stand up to dead Aunt Esther. She gave it comparable odds to an Olsen twin going up against Godzilla, but smiled anyway.

“Maybe I’ll give it a try,” she said. “Thanks, Annabelle.”

Annabelle nodded, turned, and bounced her way back toward the inn. Flynn wrapped her arms around herself and followed the path back to the cottage, taking the time to sniff a few roses along the way.

The Poughkeepsie dive where Jake had set up his appointment with Rhonda Bacon was dark and smelled vaguely like feet and peanuts. Jake stared down into his drink, which he hadn’t touched. It was barely noon, and if the clientele in this place were any indication, drinking during the day was the gateway to a sad, sad place. But in his experience, people tended to let their guard down more around people they perceived to be weaker than themselves, and he was going to have to be pretty damn pathetic for a mousy girl like Rhonda to perceive herself as the stronger person.

He checked his watch. It was barely noon. He took a small sip of scotch. Yep. Just the right amount of pathetic.

“Mr. Tucker?”

He’d caught Rhonda coming into the bar in the mirror, but he started at his name for effect, anyway.

“Ms. Bacon,” he said coolly, motioning to the seat next to him. “Thanks for coming all the way out here to meet me. Shiny’s a small town. Didn’t want to take the chance of anyone seeing us.” Which was true enough.

“Oh. Yes. Of course.” Rhonda sat down, tucking her skirt nervously around her knees. She was an odd duck, Rhonda. She was maybe thirty-five years old, but dressed like she had one foot in the grave and the other behind a librarian’s desk. She had thick glasses and seriously kinked brown hair that, if red, would be eerily reminiscent of Bozo the Clown. She wore a matching sweater set with a long gray wool skirt and a pair of Keds, and she had a squirrelly look in her eyes that gave away the fact that she’d been working for a total dickhead for the past five years.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” Rhonda said. “There was traffic.” She pushed her glasses up on her nose and gave a tentative wave to the bartender, who passed by her like she was invisible. Jake waved his hand, and the bartender nodded and gave a just a minute motion with his hand.

“So, you gonna tell me what your message was about, or am I going to be forced to make small talk?” Jake twirled his glass lightly under his fingers. “Because if that’s the case, I’m gonna need another one of these.”

Rhonda squirmed in her seat. “I just wanted you to know that you were right,” she said quietly, then lowered her voice even further. “I think Mr. Chase has been taking money from somewhere. You know.” The whisper got hoarse. “Embezzling.”

Jake worked up a look of mild surprise. “And I would care about that because... why?”

Rhonda’s eyes widened a bit. “Because...” She shifted on her seat. “Because he’s breaking the law.”

“In which case, it’s my understanding that the appropriate thing to do is go to the police.”

“I can’t go to the police,” she said.

He angled his head to look at her. “Why not?”

She sighed. “It’s complicated.”

“Breaking the law tends to get that way.”

“I was in Mr. Chase’s office last week, and I noticed that the safe door was open a crack. I was surprised, because it’s not like Mr. Chase to ever leave the safe open, so I went to shut it and I saw a laptop. The thing is, Mr. Chase? He does all his work at the office, on his tower computer. I’ve never seen him with a laptop before. So then I...” She wrung her hands and glanced downward. “I did something I’m not very proud of. I snooped.”

“Really? I gotta admit, I hadn’t pegged you for the type, Rhonda.”

She continued, staring off into the distance, talking as if Jake wasn’t even there. “I don’t know why I did it. It’s just that I handle all the books, and Mr. Chase isn’t the kind of man to take work home, so I just wondered what it was for. I found some... accounts. A subsidiary company I’ve never heard of. Transactions that just don’t make sense.” She turned her eyes on Jake. “You know Mr. Chase is the president of the Historical Preservation Society.” She lowered her voice, leaned sideways toward Jake, and talked out of the side of her mouth. “I think Mr. Chase has been siphoning money from those funds. You know. The government restoration grants?”

Jake leaned to his side, too. When in Rome. “You think he’s embezzling? Or you know? Do you have evidence?”

Rhonda straightened up. “That’s just it. Mr. Chase came back in so I shut the laptop and put it back in the safe. I don’t think he knew what I was doing. But I don’t have the combination to the safe, so I can’t get back in there.”

Jake stared at her. “And again, I’m failing to see where I fit in here.”

She paused, waged an obvious internal war, and then continued. “There was a large cash withdrawal from the account about six months ago.”

The bartender wandered over and put a napkin down in front of Rhonda.

“A seltzer with lime, please,” Rhonda said, so quietly that the bartender had to ask her to repeat it. Jake waited to speak again until she had her drink, partially because the silence would put her on edge, and partially because he was too stunned at his dumb luck.

“Six months ago, huh?”

She smoothed her hands over her skirt nervously. “The withdrawal is dated March twenty-sixth.”

March 26. The week after the evidence went missing and Jake’s life went to hell. Right about the time that Elaine Placie ran off. Well, hellooooo kitty.

“So, what exactly are you saying, Rhonda?”

Rhonda took a sip through the tiny stirring straw. “I’m saying that there’s something strange going on. And after connecting some of the dots, I thought that maybe you might want to know about it.”

Interesting. Jake shook his head. “I just realized you never answered my question before. If you think your boss is such a bad guy, why not just go straight to the police?”

Rhonda held his eye for a long moment, then her lower lip started to tremble and silent tears slid down her cheeks. Jake reached forward, grabbed a fresh napkin off the pile behind the bar, and handed it to her. She dabbed at her face and took a deep breath.

“I know he’s not perfect,” she said. “Trust me, I know that better than anyone.”

Jake stared at her for a while, his brain momentarily resisting the obvious because it was just too weird.

“You’re in love with him,” he said, trying to keep the surprise out of his voice. Although he guessed, on some plane, it made sense. Mousy librarian type + handsome albeit slimy boss = seriously sick love connection.

Actually, he was surprised he hadn’t thought of it before.

Rhonda sighed heavily and her eyes grew moist again. “He’s going to need someone standing beside him when all this comes out. If I go to the police, I can’t be that person. But I can’t know about all of this, either, and not do anything.” She turned pleading eyes on Jake. “I know it’ll be hard on him, but his only chance of ever being a truly good man—the man I know he can be—is if all this comes out. He’ll spend a little time in jail, and when he gets out, I’ll be there, waiting. He can start over. We can start over.” For the first time in his memory, Jake saw Rhonda Bacon smile. Hell, she wasn’t just smiling; she was glowing from within.

Okay, this chick has watched way too many Lifetime movies-of-the-week.

“So,” Jake said, twirling his glass slowly on its napkin. “You came to me so I could take him down, leaving you free and clear to pick up his broken pieces. Am I getting that right?”

Rhonda nodded.

Jake shook his head. “I’m gonna need more. You’ve gotta give me account numbers, dates, something solid to go on.”

“I can’t,” Rhonda said. “I mean, I won’t. I’ll give you a nudge in the right direction, but I won’t betray him any more than that. You’re a police officer, Mr. Tucker, surely you can—”

“Correction.” He lifted his glass and met her eyes, allowing his anger to show through. “I was a police officer, until your boss had me taken out of the game. What I am now is a bartender who likes to mind his own damn business.”

Rhonda pushed her drink away and clutched her bag primly in her hands. She stared at a point on the wall behind Jake for a while, then sighed and stepped up off the bar stool. Just as Jake thought she was about to leave, she put her hand on his shoulder.

“It’s not fair, what he did to you, Mr. Tucker,” she said. “Hiring that woman to distract you while he took that evidence. I know it might be hard to understand how I could love a man like Gordon, a man who steals and lies and doesn’t have a strong sense of morality. I know it must look... strange... to you. But the thing is, when you love someone, nothing makes sense. If you decide not to follow up on this, that will just have to be your choice. I’ll know that I did what I could to help Gordon, and if he and I are not meant to be, then...” She sniffed. “Then I’ll just have to accept that, I guess.”

Jake looked up at her. It wasn’t hard to pick out liars. They didn’t make eye contact, they tended to look up and to the left, they fidgeted. What was hard was when someone didn’t do any of those things, like Rhonda Bacon. It didn’t necessarily mean they were telling the truth; it could just mean they’re sociopaths. With those people, you had to go on pure gut instinct alone, and Jake’s gut said Rhonda Bacon was telling the truth. Somehow, despite natural law and common sense and the fact that Gordon Chase was way below her, she really loved him, and she really thought the only way she could have him was by surreptitiously sending him to jail. Jake had had one or two tangles with love that had made him nuts, but he had a deep suspicion that, in this case, love-crazy was being piled on top of standard-issue-crazy.

And that was one dangerous combination.

“I’m not making any promises,” he said.

Rhonda cocked her head to the side, studied his face for a while. “I believe you’re a good man, Mr. Tucker. I trust you to do what you think is best.”

She pulled an envelope out of her bag and placed it on the bar. “This is as far as I’m willing to take things. The rest is up to you.”

Jake grabbed the envelope and opened it. At first it seemed empty, but when he shook it, a single key fell into his hand.

Looked a helluva lot like an office key. He chuckled and turned it over in his hand. Rhonda laid one hand on the bar in a quick good-bye, then turned and started out.

“Rhonda,” Jake called after her. She turned and raised her eyebrows at him expectantly.

“That laptop you found. Was it by any chance a Dell, with a little splash of red nail polish on the cover?”

A look of confusion crossed Rhonda’s face, but then, slowly, she nodded. Jake waved at her. She watched him for a few moments longer, then turned and retreated.

So, Chase had wiped the laptop, then kept it and used it to track his latest nefarious activities. He was either the stupidest guy on the planet or he had an ego like nobody’s business.

Or a little bit of both, Jake thought. He tossed twenty bucks on the bar next to his full glass and told the bartender to keep the change.

He was feeling lucky.

Flynn threw her feet up over the edge of the tremendous oak desk that had been Esther’s, and was now hers. She concluded that fairies themselves must have built the leather office chair she was sitting in, because she couldn’t remember the last time she’d been that comfortable sitting up. The carpet below her was a deep green, and the walls an antique white. Two large, glass-paned French doors faced out into the courtyard, with an unobscured view of the fountain in the center. As she tucked her cell phone between her ear and shoulder, she wondered if she could bring the desk and chair back with her to Boston.

“Freya Daly.” Even at a spa in Tucson, Freya could not get the business out of her voice.

“Just checking in, boss,” Flynn said. “So far this morning I have taken a detailed tour of the grounds, had four cups of coffee, a wonderful lunch of grilled Alaskan salmon with a side of the creamiest saffron mashed potatoes known to man. I’m sitting here in my office with my feet on the desk, and doing absolutely no work.”

“Oh, my God,” Freya said, her voice rising in a fake cry. “Did you just say ‘my office’?” She sniffled dramatically. “You’re going to have to give me a moment.”

Flynn pulled her feet off the desk. “What am I even doing here? There’s nothing for me to do. Apparently, Aunt Esther did nothing but sit here and look pretty, and everything’s running just fine without me lifting a finger. The concierge practically bit my hand off when I tried to get a look at the reservations system.”

Freya released a sigh. “Honey. You’re not there to work. You’re there to be a presence. And the staff is gonna be territorial. Change freaks people out. Your purpose there is to keep them from freaking out. Leave the damn reservations system alone.”

“So... what?” Flynn pulled out the mammoth file drawer on the left side of the desk. It was empty. “I’m supposed to just... what? Exist?”

“Pretty much. Enjoy it. I promise, I’ll have plenty of real work waiting for you when you get home.”

Flynn stood up and walked over to the French doors looking out over the courtyard and leaned her head against the frame. “I can’t just exist here, Freya. This place is freaking me out. There’s nature everywhere.”

“You know, you would have made a horrible cavewoman,” Freya said.

“And the front desk girl? Totally perky. You know how I feel about perky people.”

“Well. No wonder you’re freaked.”

“Exactly. I need something to do. Something to distract me. I think hard work is the answer. I think if I can apply myself to something, then maybe...” Maybe the lambs will stop screaming. “Plus,” she went on quickly, “these people already don’t like me. I thought maybe if I pitched in, proved myself, I could get their respect, you know?”

“You get their respect by paying their salaries,” Freya said. “Don’t get all romantic about it. Look, if you don’t like sitting around, then don’t. Hit the town. Pick some apples, tip some cows, do whatever the locals do. Find a good-looking man and have inappropriate sex. Just make sure he doesn’t work for us.” She paused. “Trust me. Bad idea.”

Flynn touched the window glass with one finger, and a flash of Jake Tucker’s face went through her mind. “Oh, God, Fray. I would never. That would just be...” Kinda nice maybe. “... wrong.”

“I can’t believe you’re calling me to complain about not having enough work. Most people would love this, you know.”

“Most people aren’t being haunted by their dead aunts,” Flynn muttered.

Freya snorted. “Sorry, what?”

Flynn hesitated, then closed her eyes tight and said it out loud. “Aunt Esther. She’s been haunting me every night.”

“Darling, Aunt Esther is dead, and there’s no such thing as haunting. Dead is dead. Dead is gone.”

“I know. I’m not saying she’s really haunting me. But that cottage is creepy. It’s full of old lady stuff. It smells like peppermint. Don’t they say that ghosts all have a particular smell?”

“I’m sure some crazy people have said that before. But sane people know that ghosts don’t exist, hence they lack a scent. And if her cottage creeps you out so much, move into one of the rooms.”

Flynn sighed. “You’re right. I know. It’s just stress, I think. I just... I don’t belong here, Fray.”

“Sweetie, you know I wouldn’t have sent you there if I didn’t think you could do this, right?”

No. “Right.”

“So don’t worry about it. Get out. See a movie. Wander around the grounds twice a day looking like you know what you’re doing and then go get a mani-pedi.” There was a shuffle on the phone and Freya seemed to be talking to someone, then she was back. “Look, babe, I’m about to get a very nice massage from a man so beautiful you should have to prick a hole in a piece of paper just to look at him. Relax, you’ll be fine. Love you.”

“You, too,” Flynn said, then flipped the phone shut and closed her eyes.

Relax, she thought. Think of city streets. Museums. The sounds of traffic. The T. Civilization.

She opened her eyes, feeling just as tense as ever. She turned and stared at the desk. There had to be something she could do. Esther must have done something. She sat in the leather chair and pulled at the drawer on the right.

It was full of Pop-Tarts. Strawberry frosted.

With sprinkles.

Flynn’s heart started booming in her chest. Pop-Tarts. Pop-Tarts. Something about Pop—

I really miss Pop-Tarts. The strawberry ones with the frosting and sprinkles were my favorite, Esther’s voice said in her head.

Flynn shot up out of her office and scrambled down the hall to the front desk.

“Oh, hi, Flynn,” Annabelle said, her grin fading as she took in Flynn’s expression. “Is everything okay?”

“No,” Flynn said. “What’s up with all the Pop-Tarts?”

Annabelle blinked. “What Pop-Tarts?”

“In Esther’s—in my desk. There’s Pop-Tarts.” Flynn felt a bead of cold sweat run down the back of her neck. Her heart started to race.

It wasn’t possible. They were just dreams.

It wasn’t possible.

“Ohhhhh.” Annabelle giggled. “Those are Esther’s. She had a thing for Pop-Tarts, would eat them all day long if I didn’t make her have something healthy.”

“Get them out.” Flynn pulled on a tight smile. “Please.”

Annabelle’s face fell. “I’m sorry. I do remember seeing them in there when I cleaned out her desk. I must have forgotten to take them out. If I thought they would upset you, I would have. You’re a little pale. Are you okay?”

“No.” Flynn glanced at her watch. It was almost two. She’d put in enough of a presence for the day, right? Five hours including a lunch break. It would have to do. “Look, I’ve got something I need to take care of right now. What was that stuff you were talking about? The stuff that would knock me out? The stuff that you don’t dream with?”

“Oh, Tylenol PM?” Annabelle nodded. “It’ll knock you out. I don’t know about dreams. I didn’t have any when I used it, but I don’t tend to dream much. If you want, I can ask Herman to make a run down to Hannaford’s and—”

“Yes,” Flynn said. “Please. I’ll be in the cottage. Can you have him bring them there?”

“Sure.” Annabelle picked up the desk phone and dialed, then raised her eyes up to Flynn. “Is there anything else I can help you with?”

“Actually, yeah.” Flynn smiled. “Is there a Catholic church within walking distance?”