“Yeah,” he agreed. “The entire property has a lot of charm. There's a pond and what's left of my granddad's peach orchard. They sold off most of that parcel a long time ago.”

“How many acres did they have?”

“When my granddad was farming, they had over two hundred. Wendy sold some to Herb after she inherited it. Now, we're down to about sixty, and Herb uses most of that for his corn. I guess we have about a dozen acres that we use, between the garages and the pond.”

“I noticed an old cemetery on the road as I drove up. Is that your family's?” She shook out another book but nothing fell out.

“It's on the property, but there aren't any Perones buried there. The family my grandparents bought this place from had owned it for almost two hundred years. Their name was Sawyer. They're all buried down there.”

“None of their descendants wanted to keep the farm?”

“I don't think they had any children. My granddad showed me where the folks he bought from were buried-Mary Alice and Henry Sawyer-and he was careful to keep the graveyard respectfully mowed and the weeds out.”

“That was nice of him. It looked pretty tidy when I drove past,” she said.

“Herb kind of took that over after my granddad died. Wendy would never have thought to do it, and I wasn't here.”

“Herb sounds like the ideal neighbor.”

“He is. He and his wife are the best. They keep an eye on the place for me. Last time I was out here, I noticed that we're in need of a lot of repairs. Herb lined up some contractors to come out and look things over and write up some estimates. That's what he was dropping off. The barn needs work, the pond house my granddad built for Wendy and me-remind me to show you that before we leave-that needs a new-”

“Oh,” Emme exclaimed as several sheets of folded paper fluttered from a book she'd turned upside down. She bent over to pick them up and straightened them out. She looked them over quickly before handing them off to Nick. “Emails from Blondebelle to aspark1010.” She looked up at Nick. “Belle to Aaron.”

He read through them. “This is stuff we already knew. Donor 1735 was of Scandinavian and Irish descent. Oh, here's stuff Hayley hadn't told us. He was born in Philadelphia on August first, 1961, and he's a lawyer.”

Emme leaned around him to read for herself, and he put his arm around her to bring her closer.

“So all we have to do is find a lawyer who was born in Philly on August first, 1961. Hey-piece of cake,” he said dryly.

“Right. It'll be a snap.” She pointed at the box that sat at his feet. “Keep looking.”

“Here's the box with the bags in it.” Nick pulled out a black leather clutch and looked inside. “It seems to have a lot of pockets in it. Maybe you should look through these.”

“Because I said I liked bags?”

“No. Because you'll know where to look for the pockets.” He opened another box. “Looks like… stuff girls wear that guys don't. Sorry-this creeps me out a little. This one's yours.”

“Okay. You finish up on this box of books and I'll do the bags and the girly stuff.” Emme pushed a carton aside to make room to walk. She peered inside the box Nick had relinquished to her. She was through it in less than five minutes. “No place to hide stuff in any of these things.”

She moved that box into the living room and moved on to the box of handbags.

“Wow. Belinda really did have a lot of bags.”

She began to sort through them, finding sticks of gum in some, pink packets of sweetener in others, pens in most, but no papers that would bring them closer to finding Donor 1735.

When he finished with the box of books, Nick said, “Want to take a break? It's getting hot in here.”

“No, I'm good.”

“Maybe there's a fan in the attic.” Nick wiped sweat from his forehead. “I'll be right back.”

Emme glanced up to see him take the stairs two at a time. Overhead, she heard first his footsteps, then the creak of a door being opened, followed by the sound of footsteps on the stairs. A few minutes later, he came back down.

“Nothing. I don't know how anyone lived in this house in the summer without even a damned fan.”

“We only have four more boxes to go.” Emme pointed out. “I think we'll survive.”

“Not without cold drinks,” he grumbled and went into the kitchen. The refrigerator door opened, then closed.

“The cupboard is really bare,” he told her. “I have an idea. Let's drive into town and pick up some lunch.”

“You go,” she said. “I'll keep working here.”

“You sure? You're not dying from the heat?”

“No, I'm fine.”

“Sandwich, all right?”

“Whatever. I'm not fussy. Just get me whatever you get for yourself.”

“That's easy enough. I'll be back in twenty, thirty minutes.”

“Fine.” She looked up and smiled. “I'll be here.”

He left through the back door and she heard the Firebird rumble softly as it passed the window to her left. The house grew very still, and she became aware of a clock ticking in one of the other rooms. She wished there was music, a radio, an iPod, anything to cut through the silence. It was just too quiet.

She finished going through the bags-Belinda had excellent taste in bags, she'd give her that. There were several in that box that Emme had admired, but none of their zippered pockets had hidden secrets. She folded over the top and dragged the box into the living room with the others.

It was a nice room, a comfortable room. She could see a young Nick sitting on that sofa-now covered with a well-worn sheet-with his grandfather, watching TV. She peeked at the books gathering dust on the shelves that flanked the side windows. He'd mentioned his grandmother reading something… ah, here it is. The Joy Luck Club. She lifted the book from the shelf and opened it. Angela Curcio Perone was written in a beautiful script inside the front cover. She wondered which of the sheet-covered chairs his grandmother had sat in to read. The picture in her mind was a gentle one, one of two generations of a loving, happy family enjoying each other's company on a hot summer night. It must have been nice to have that, she thought with a tiny stab of envy.

Emme replaced the book and went back to work. She looked inside several boxes, and decided to go with the one containing books. Sliding the box on its side, she sat cross-legged on the floor and reached inside and pulled out the top book. Geometry. The only math course she ever did really well in. She thought if she were superstitious, she might take that as a sign, but she wasn't, and the book held no surprises. She pushed it to her right and tried again.

She heard the car before she saw it. Standing and stretching out the kinks, she went to the window and watched the Firebird slide past. Just below the windows on that side of the house, a bank of roses grew leggy and wild and covered with blooms. She went out the front door to get a better look.

“Em,” Nick called to her as he got out of the car. “Is something wrong?”

“No, I just came out to get a better look at these rose bushes.” She walked toward him.

“My grandmother planted them about a million years ago.” He shifted the bag from the deli from one hip to the other. “Wendy tried to get them under control, but I'm sorry to say no one's tended to them since she died. There's always been something else that seems more important. I'm surprised old Angie-that was my gram-hasn't come back to haunt me over it. She really took a great deal of pride in them.”

Don't offer to prune them, Emme commanded herself. You have other things to do that are more important. Besides, you won't be back here again. Let it go. Tempting as it may be…

“You can cut some before we go, if you want, to take back to your room.”

“Maybe a few for Trula for helping out so much. Thanks.”

“Trula has her own rose garden,” he reminded her as she came toward him. “I think Emme and Chloe could use something pretty to brighten up that hotel room.”