ater that night, Alvin and Jeremy set up the cameras near the boardwalk on the Pamlico River. In the distance, the sounds of music drifted from Meyer’s tobacco barn as the dance got under way. The rest of the shops downtown had closed up for the night; even Lookilu had been abandoned. Bundled in their jackets, they seemed to be alone.

“And then what?” Alvin asked.

“That’s it,” Jeremy said. “She left.”

“You didn’t follow her?”

“She didn’t want me to,” he said.

“How do you know?”

Jeremy rubbed his eyes, replaying the argument for the umpteenth time. The last few hours had passed in a haze. He vaguely remembered heading back to the rare-book room before putting the stack of diaries on the shelf and locking the door behind him. On the drive back, he’d brooded over what she’d said, his feelings of anger and betrayal mingling with those of sadness and regret. He spent the next four hours lying on the bed at Greenleaf, trying to figure out how he could have handled it better. He shouldn’t have stormed into her office the way he had. Had he really been so angry about the diary? About the thought that he’d been duped? Or was it simply that he was angry at Lexie and, like her, looking for any excuse to start an argument?

He wasn’t sure, and Alvin didn’t have any answers, either, after he’d related the day’s events. All Jeremy knew was that he was exhausted, and despite the fact he had to film, he was fighting the urge to go to Lexie’s house and see if he could mend things. Assuming she was even there. For all he knew, she was at the dance with everyone else.

Jeremy sighed, his thoughts going back to their final moment in the library. “I could see it in the way she looked at me,” he said.

“So it’s over?”

“Yeah,” Jeremy said, “it’s over.”

In the darkness, Alvin shook his head and turned away. How his friend had become so attached in such a short period of time was beyond him. She hadn’t been that charming, and she didn’t fit the deferential image he’d had of southern women.

But whatever. This was a fling, Alvin knew, and he had little doubt that Jeremy would get over it as soon as he boarded the flight back home.

Jeremy always got over everyone.

At the dance, Mayor Gherkin sat alone at a table in the corner, his hand on his chin.

He’d hoped that Jeremy would swing by, preferably with Lexie, but as soon as he’d arrived, he heard the chatter from the library volunteers about the argument in the library. According to those folks, it had been a big one, and had something to do with one of the diaries and some sort of scam.

Thinking about it now, he decided he shouldn’t have donated his father’s journal to the library, but at the time, it hadn’t seemed all that important, and it was a fairly accurate record of the town’s history. The library was the obvious place to donate it. But who could have guessed what would happen in the next fifteen years? Who knew the textile mill would be closed or the mine abandoned? Who knew that hundreds of people would find themselves out of work? Who knew that a number of young families would leave and never return? Who knew the town would end up fighting a battle of survival?

Maybe he shouldn’t have added the cemetery to the tour. Maybe he shouldn’t have publicized ghosts when he knew they were simply the lights from the night shift at the paper mill. But the simple fact was that the town needed something to build on, something to get people to visit, something to make them spend a couple of days in town so they could experience how wonderful this place was. With enough people passing through, maybe they could eventually become a retirement mecca like Oriental or Washington or New Bern. It was, he thought, the town’s only hope. Retirees wanted hospitable places to eat and bank, they wanted places to shop. It wouldn’t happen right away, but it was the only plan he had, and it had to start somewhere. Thanks to the addition of the cemetery and its mysterious lights, they’d sold a few hundred extra tickets to the tour, and Jeremy’s presence had offered them the opportunity to get the word out nationally.

Oh, he’d always figured that Jeremy was smart enough to figure it out on his own. That part didn’t bother him. So what if Jeremy exposed the truth on national television? Or even in his column? People around the country would still hear about Boone Creek, and some might seek it out. Any publicity was better than no publicity. Unless, of course, he used the word “scam.”

It was such a nasty-sounding word, and not in keeping with what was happening. Sure, he knew what the lights were, but hardly anyone else did, and what was the harm, anyway? The simple fact was that there was a legend, there were lights, and some people did believe that they were ghosts. Others simply played along, thinking it made the town seem different and special. People needed that now, more than ever.

Jeremy Marsh with fond memories of the town would understand that. Jeremy Marsh without them might not. And right now Mayor Gherkin wasn’t sure which impression Jeremy would be leaving with tomorrow.

“The mayor looks sort of worried, don’t you think?” Rodney remarked.

Rachel looked over, feeling rather proud that they’d been standing together most of the night. Even the fact that he sometimes glanced toward the door and seemed to scan the crowd for Lexie did nothing to diminish the feeling, for the simple reason that he seemed happy to be with her as well.

“Sort of. But he always looks that way.”

“No,” Rodney said, “it’s not the same. He’s got something serious on his mind.”

“Do you want to talk to him?”

Rodney thought about it. Like the mayor—like everyone else, it seemed—he’d heard about the argument at the library, but unlike most of them, he figured he had a pretty good handle on what was going on. He was able to put the bits and pieces together, especially after seeing the mayor’s expression. The mayor, he suddenly knew, was worried about the way Jeremy was going to present their little mystery to the world.

As for the argument, he’d tried to warn Lexie it was coming. It had been inevitable. She was just about the most hardheaded woman he’d ever met, someone who always stood her ground. She could be volatile, and Jeremy had finally gotten a taste of it. Though Rodney wished she wouldn’t have put herself through the wringer again, he was relieved to know the affair was just about over.

“No,” Rodney said, “there’s not much I can tell him. It’s out of his hands now.”

Rachel furrowed her brow. “What’s out of his hands?”

“Nothing.” He waived the subject off with a smile. “It’s not important.”

Rachel studied him for a moment before shrugging. They stood together as one song ended and the band began a new one. As more people took to the dance floor, Rachel began tapping her foot to the beat.

Rodney didn’t seem to notice the dancers, preoccupied as he was. He wanted to talk to Lexie. On his way here, he’d driven past her house and seen her lights on and the car in the driveway. Earlier, he’d also received a report from another deputy, noting that City Boy and his cartoon character friend were setting up their camera on the boardwalk. Which meant that the argument had yet to be resolved.

If Lexie’s lights were still on after the dance had ended, he supposed he could drop by on his way home, like he’d done the night after Mr. Renaissance had left. He had a feeling she wouldn’t be entirely surprised to see him. He figured she’d probably stare at him for a moment before opening the door. She’d brew some decaf, and just like the last time, he’d sit on the couch and listen for hours as she berated herself for being so foolish.

He nodded to himself. He knew her better than he knew himself.

Even so, he wasn’t ready to do that just yet. For one thing, she needed a bit more time alone so she could sort things out. And he had to admit he was a little tired of being viewed as the big-brother type, and he wasn’t sure he was in the mood to listen to her. He was feeling pretty good, after all, and right now he wasn’t anxious to end the evening on a downer.

Besides, the band wasn’t half-bad. It was a lot better than the one they’d had last year. From the corner of his eye, he watched Rachel swaying in time to the music, pleased that she’d sought him out for company, just as she had the other night at the party. She had always been easy to be around, but the strange thing was that lately, every time he saw her, she seemed just a bit prettier than he remembered. No doubt it was just his imagination, but he couldn’t help thinking that she looked especially nice tonight.

Rachel noticed him watching her and grinned in embarrassment. “Sorry,” she said, “I like this song.”

Rodney cleared his throat. “Would you like to dance?” he asked.

Her eyebrows shot up. “Really?”

“I’m not much of a dancer, though—”

“I’d love to,” she interrupted, reaching for his hand.

Following her to the floor, he decided then and there that he’d figure out what to do about Lexie later.

Doris sat in the rocker in the living room, staring absently in the direction of the window and wondering if Lexie would drop by. Her intuition led her to doubt it, but it was one of those moments when she wished she was wrong. She knew that Lexie was upset— this was less a premonition than a reading of the obvious—and it had everything to do with Jeremy leaving.

In some ways, she wished she hadn’t pushed Lexie toward him. Looking back, she knew now that she should have suspected it might end this way, so why had she done everything she could to set their affair in motion? Because Lexie was lonely? Because Lexie was stuck in a rut and had been ever since she’d fallen for the young man from Chicago? Because she’d come to believe that Lexie was frightened by the thought of ever falling for someone again?

Why couldn’t she have just enjoyed Jeremy’s company? Really, that was all she’d wanted Lexie to do. Jeremy was intelligent and charming, and Lexie simply needed to see that there were men like him out there. She needed to realize that not every man was like Avery or the young man from Chicago. What did she call him now? Mr. Renaissance? She tried to remember his name but knew that it wasn’t important. What was important was Lexie, and Doris was worried about her.

Oh, she’d be all right in the long run, Doris knew. No doubt she would accept the reality of what had happened and find a way to move on. In time, she’d even convince herself it was a good thing. If she’d learned one thing about Lexie, it was that Lexie was a survivor.

Doris sighed. She knew Jeremy was smitten. If Lexie had fallen for him, he’d fallen even harder, and Lexie had learned the art of putting relationships behind her and living her life pretending they never happened.

Poor Jeremy, she thought. It wasn’t fair to him.

Up at Cedar Creek Cemetery, Lexie stood in the thickening fog overlooking the spot where her parents had been buried. She knew that Jeremy and Alvin would be filming the trestle and Riker’s Hill from the boardwalk, which meant that she could be alone with her thoughts tonight.

She didn’t intend to stay long, but for some reason, she’d felt compelled to come. She’d done the same thing after her relationships with Avery and Mr. Renaissance had ended, and as she shone the flashlight on the inscribed names of her parents, she wished they would have been here to talk to her.

She knew she held a romanticized view of them, one that shifted with her moods. Sometimes she liked to think of them as fun-loving and chatty; other times she liked to believe they were quiet listeners. Right now she wanted to think of them as wise and strong, people who would give her the sort of advice that would make everything less confusing. She was tired of making mistakes in her life. That’s all she’d ever done, she thought despondently, and right now she knew she was on the verge of making another, no matter what she did.

Across the river, only the lights from the paper mill were visible through the fog, and the town itself was lost in a dreamy haze. With the train approaching shortly—according to Jeremy’s schedule, anyway—Alvin made one final check on the camera facing Riker’s Hill. That was the tricky shot. The one on the trestle was easy, but because Riker’s Hill was both distant and shrouded in mist, he wasn’t absolutely certain the camera would work. It wasn’t designed for long-range photography, which was exactly what was needed here. Though he’d brought along his best lens and high-speed film, he wished Jeremy had mentioned this little detail before he left New York.

Jeremy hadn’t been thinking clearly for the last few days, so he supposed he could be forgiven. Normally, in a situation like this, Jeremy would have been talking and joking nonstop, but as it was, he hadn’t said much of anything for the last couple of hours. Instead of being the easy, vacation-like shoot he thought it would be, the past couple of hours had begun to seem like work, especially with the chill. This wasn’t what he’d signed on for, but whatever . . . he’d just raise his fee and send the bill to Nate.

Meanwhile, Jeremy was standing at the rail with his arms crossed, staring into a cloud bank.

“Did I mention that Nate called earlier?” Alvin asked, trying again to engage his friend.

“He did?”

“He woke me up from my nap,” Alvin said, “and began screaming at me because you didn’t have your cell phone on.”

Despite his preoccupied mood, Jeremy smiled. “I’ve learned to keep it off as much as possible.”

“Yeah, well . . . I wish you would have told me.”

“What did he want?”

“The same thing. The latest update. But get this: he asked if you’d be able to get a sample.”

“A sample of what?”

“I figured he was talking about the ghosts. If there was ooze or something. He had the thought that you could show it to the producers at the meeting next week.”

“Ooze?”

Alvin raised his hands. “His word, not mine.”

“But he knows it’s just the light from the paper mill.”

Alvin nodded. “Yeah, he knows. He just thought it might be a nice touch. You know, the big ta-da to really impress them.”

Jeremy shook his head in disbelief. Nate had had a lot of crazy ideas over the years, but this one took the cake. He was like that, though. Anything that popped into his head came out of his mouth, and half the time, he wouldn’t even remember saying it.

“He also said you should call,” Alvin added.

“I would,” Jeremy said, “but I left my cell phone back at Green-leaf.” He paused. “You didn’t tell him about the diary, did you?”

“I didn’t even know about it then,” Alvin said. “You didn’t tell me until after he called. Like I said, he woke me up from my nap.”

Jeremy nodded thoughtfully. “If he does call you again, just keep it to yourself for a while, okay?”

“You don’t want him to know that the mayor’s running a scam?”

“No,” he said. “Not yet.”

Alvin looked at him. “Not yet, or not ever?”

Jeremy didn’t answer right away. That was the real question, wasn’t it? “I haven’t decided.”

Alvin squinted through the lens once more. “It is a tough one,” he said. “It might be enough to make the story, you know. I mean, the lights are one thing, but you have to realize that the solution isn’t all that interesting.”

“What do you mean?”

“For television. I’m not so sure they’re going to be interested in the fact that a passing train causes the lights.”

“It isn’t just the passing train,” Jeremy corrected. “It’s the way the lights from the paper mill are reflected by the train onto Riker’s Hill, and how the greater density of the fog in the sinking cemetery makes the lights appear.”

Alvin feigned a yawn. “Sorry,” he said. “You were saying?”

“It’s not boring,” Jeremy insisted. “Don’t you realize how many things had to come together to create this phenomenon? How the quarries changed the water tables and made the cemetery sink?

The placement of the train trestle? The phases of the moon, since it’s only dark enough to see the lights at certain times? The legend? The location of the paper mill and the train schedule?”

Alvin shrugged. “Trust me. It’s boring with a capital B. To be honest, it would have been a lot more interesting if you hadn’t found the solution. Television audiences love mysteries. Especially in places like New Orleans or Charleston or someplace cool and romantic. But reflected lights in Boone Creek, North Carolina? Do you really think people in New York or Los Angeles care?”

Jeremy opened his mouth to say something and suddenly remembered that Lexie had said exactly the same thing about the phenomenon, and she lived here. In the silence, Alvin looked at him.

“If you’re serious about this television gig, you’re going to need to spice it up somehow, and the diary you were telling me about just might be enough to do that. You can do the piece just like you researched it and spring the diary at the end. That might be enough to get the producers’ attention if you did it right.”

“You think I should throw the town to the wolves?”

Alvin shook his head. “I didn’t say that. And to be honest, I’m not even sure that the diary will be enough. I’m just telling you that if you can’t come up with some ooze, you’d better give using the diary some thought if you don’t want to look like an idiot at the meeting.”

Jeremy looked away. The train, he knew, would be coming in just a few minutes. “Lexie would never talk to me again if I did that,” he said. He shrugged. “Assuming that she still wants to.”

Alvin said nothing. In the silence, Jeremy looked his way.

“What do you think I should do?”

Alvin drew a long breath. “I think,” Alvin said, “that it all comes down to what’s most important to you, doesn’t it?”