That made Sophia smile. “Colin and his trees.”

It made Paxton smile, too. Colin had always had a thing about trees. He’d spent half his childhood in the hickory grove on the estate, just lying there and staring up at the branches, as if the history of the world could be found there.

Sophia’s smile suddenly faded. “Just because he stayed out all night when he first got back doesn’t mean you get to do it, too.”

It was a double standard Paxton was used to by now. Sophia had focused all her efforts on shaping Paxton into who she wanted her to be, but she had only a peripheral effect on Colin, whom everyone had assumed was being molded by their father in some mysterious man way on the golf course. But Colin had broken away from whatever ephemeral expectations their father had, and by then it was too late for Sophia to rope him back in.

Sophia stood, then sighed. She looked around the kitchen in a drowsy, languid kind of way. “I’m going to lie down until breakfast. Nola, wake me if I fall asleep.”

Nola and Paxton watched Sophia leave, like something out of an old movie. “Will you be staying for breakfast?” Nola asked when Sophia had made her exit.

Paxton swallowed. “No. I don’t think I could handle food right now.”

Nola smiled as Paxton walked out. “It’s about time,” she said.

For reasons she didn’t understand, and her grandmother probably would have said were signs, Osgoods were crawling out of the woodwork and into Willa’s perfectly normal life, upsetting the balance.

But thankfully, Willa figured she wasn’t going to see much of either Colin or Paxton anymore, what with the brouhaha going on up at the Madam.

Over the weekend, a news crew from Asheville had come to do a story on the skeleton found at the Blue Ridge Madam, then reported that the unconfirmed cause of death could possibly have been homicide, because someone had noticed trauma to the skull. The news crew had also been given the name Tucker Devlin from an unnamed source, someone who had obviously seen the scrapbook and the high school diploma, and they had found a man by the same name who had a record in Asheville for swindling several people out of their money in January 1936. He’d been a traveling salesman.

A traveling salesman? A possible murder? That had tongues wagging, and Willa was as curious as the next person, in a distant kind of way. What went on at the Madam didn’t have anything to do with her, and probably never would. The ghosts up there were none of her business.

Or so she thought until the police came to see her on Sunday.

“Did you see that man?” Rachel called from the coffee bar after their last customer left on Sunday afternoon. Willa had just cashed out the store register and looked up to see Rachel writing in her coffee notebook. “He’d been hiking for a week, and he’s finally going home today. You know what he ordered? An iced mocha latte. That’s a drink for people who are ready for comfort. I’m telling you, it’s a science.” She finished writing and waved her coffee notebook at Willa.

Today Rachel’s super-short hair was in spikes and she was wearing one of the waterproof tops the store sold, along with a tiny plaid skirt. The whole ensemble was so off-kilter, so Rachel, that it made Willa smile.

“What?” Rachel asked, when she saw Willa staring at her.

Willa shook her head, thinking how glad she was that Rachel had walked into her store a year and a half ago. “Nothing.”

“Quick, tell me what kind of coffee you want right now.”

“I don’t want any coffee right now,” Willa said.

“But if you did, what would it be?”

“I don’t know. Something frozen and sweet. Chocolate and caramel.”

“Ha!” Rachel said. “That means you were just thinking of something that makes you happy.”

“Well, you’ve got me there. I was.”

The bell over the door rang, and they both turned to see who it was.

But no one was there.

“That’s the second time that’s happened,” Rachel said, frowning. “When are you going to fix that bell? That freaks me out.”

“I thought you said you didn’t believe in ghosts,” Willa teased as she zipped the deposit bag and went to the storeroom to put it in the safe.

The bell rang again while she was in the storeroom.

“Willa?” Rachel called.

Willa walked out, saying, “Okay, I promise I’ll fix it.”

“Someone’s here to see you.”

She felt a little catch in her chest, because for some reason she thought it would be Colin coming to see her again. She didn’t have much time to process why exactly that would make her happy, especially since she had convinced herself that he was nothing but trouble, because when she turned to the man standing at the door, she saw that it wasn’t Colin. It was Woody Olsen, a detective from the Walls of Water Police Department.

Willa’s father had taught Woody in high school, and Woody had always respected him. Woody had been the one who had called Willa in Nashville and told her about her father being hit and killed on the interstate. She’d been so young and directionless and full of grief at the time that Woody had helped her arrange everything, and had even given the eulogy at the funeral. She sent him a fruit basket every Christmas instead of ever saying thank you in person. She just couldn’t bear it. Even now, she still stiffened upon sight of him, because she would forever associate him with being the bearer of bad news. It wasn’t fair, but she couldn’t help it. Her mind instantly went to what could have happened, what bad news he was bringing now.

“Hi, Willa,” Woody said. His eyes were big and perpetually watery, which made it hard to tell if there was really anything wrong. “I need to ask you a few questions about your grandmother. Do you have a few minutes?”

“My grandmother?”

“Nothing’s wrong. I promise.” He smiled and gestured slowly to the café, as if the slower his movements, the calmer she would be. “Let’s have a seat,” he said.

Confused, Willa walked over to the café and sat. Woody took the chair opposite her. He was a skinny man but had a large belly. His tie sat on his stomach like a pet. “What’s this all about, Woody?” she asked.

“Your grandmother isn’t able communicate anymore, so as her only living relative, our questions have to come to you. That’s all.”

“But why do you have questions about her?”

Woody took a notepad from his interior jacket pocket. “When did your grandmother’s family move out of the Blue Ridge Madam?”

“Nineteen thirty-six. I don’t know the exact date.” She shook her head. “Why?”

“Did she ever mention anything about anyone being buried at the Madam?”

This was about the skeleton. Her shoulders dropped with some relief. “Oh. That. No. She never talked about her time at the Madam. Sorry.”

Woody looked at the pages of his notepad, not meeting her eyes. “I understand she was pregnant when her family lost the house.”

Willa hesitated. “Yes.”

“Did she ever say who the father was?”

“No. She was a teenager and unmarried, which was obviously scandalous at the time. She didn’t like talking about it.”

“Did your father know?”

“He might have. He always said it was private. I didn’t ask a lot of questions back then. I should have.” She bent her head, trying to meet Woody’s eyes. “This is ridiculous, Woody. The man buried up there isn’t the father of Georgie’s child. There’s no connection.”

He finally looked up. “Colin Osgood told me you had a look at the things buried with the skeleton.”

“Yes,” she said. “I mean, this was before we knew there was a skeleton buried there. He asked me to look through the things to see if I recognized anything.”

“So you looked at the scrapbook.”

She stared at him blankly. “Yes.”

“You didn’t recognize anything?”

“No. Did you?”