Birds were chirping, the fog had begun to thin, and a raccoon scurried across the bungalow porch when Jeremy’s cell phone rang. The harsh gray light of early morning passed through the torn curtains, smacking him in the eye like a prizefighter’s punch.

 

A quick glance at the clock showed it was 8:00 a.m., way too early to talk to anyone, especially after pulling an all-nighter. He was getting too old for nights like that, and he winced before groping for the phone.

 

“This better be important,” he grumbled.

 

“Jeremy? Is that you? Where have you been? Why haven’t you called? I’ve been trying to reach you!”

 

Nate, Jeremy thought, closing his eyes again. Good God, Nate.

 

Meanwhile, Nate was going on. He had to be a long-lost relative of the mayor, Jeremy thought. Put these two in a room, hook them up to a generator while they talked, and they could power Brooklyn for a month.

 

“You said you were going to keep in touch!”

 

Jeremy forced himself to sit upright on the side of his bed, though his body was aching.

 

“Sorry, Nate,” he said. “I’ve just been tied up, and the reception isn’t too good down here.”

 

“You’ve got to keep me filled in! I tried calling you all day yesterday, but I kept getting put through to your voice mail. You can’t imagine what’s going on. I’ve got producers hounding me left and right, coming to me for ideas about what you might want to discuss. And things are really moving. One of them suggested that you do a piece on these high-protein diets. You know, the ones that tell you that it’s okay to eat all the bacon and steaks you want and still lose weight.”

 

Jeremy shook his head, trying to keep up.

 

“Wait? What are you talking about? Who wants me to talk about what diet?”

 

“GMA. Who did you think I was talking about? Of course, I said I’d have to get back to them, but I think you’d be a natural at this.”

 

The man sometimes gave Jeremy a headache, and he rubbed his forehead.

 

“I have no interest in talking about a new diet, Nate. I’m a science journalist, not Oprah.”

 

“So you put your own spin on it. That’s what you do, right? And diets have something to do with chemistry and science. Am I right or am I right? Hell, you know I’m right, and you know me—when I’m right, I’m right. And besides, I’m just tossing out ideas here—”

 

“I saw the lights,” Jeremy interrupted.

 

“I mean, if you have something better, then we can talk. But I’m flying blind here, and this diet thing might be a way to get your foot—”

 

“I saw the lights,” Jeremy said again, raising his voice.

 

This time Nate heard him. “You mean the lights in the cemetery?” he asked.

 

Jeremy continued to rub his temples. “Yeah, those lights.”

 

“When? Why didn’t you call me? This gives me something to run with. Oh, please tell me you got it on film.”

 

“I did, but I haven’t seen the tapes yet, so I don’t know how they turned out.”

 

“So the lights are for real?”

 

“Yeah. But I think I found out where they’re coming from, too.”

 

“So it’s not real . . .”

 

“Listen, Nate, I’m tired, so listen for a second, will you? I went to the cemetery last night and saw the lights. And to be honest, I can see why some people consider them to be ghosts, because of the way they appear. There’s a pretty interesting legend attached to them, and the town even has a tour planned for the weekend to capitalize on it. But after I left the cemetery, I went looking for the source and I’m pretty sure I found it. All I have to do is figure out how and why it happens when it does, but I have some ideas about that, too, and hopefully, I’ll have it figured out by later today.”

 

Nate, for a rare moment, had nothing to say. Like the trained professional he was, however, he recovered quickly.

 

“Okay, okay, give me a second to figure out the best way to play this. I’m thinking of the television folks here . . .”

 

Who else would he be thinking of? Jeremy wondered.

 

“Okay, how’s this?” Nate was going on. “We open with the legend itself, sort of setting the scene. Misty cemetery, a close-up on some of the graves, maybe a quick shot of a black raven looking ominous, you talking in voice-over . . .”

 

The man was the master of Hollywood clichés, and Jeremy glanced at the clock again, thinking it was way too early for this.

 

“I’m tired, Nate. How about this? You think about it and let me know later, okay?”

 

“Yeah, yeah. I can do that. That’s what I’m here for, right? To make your life easier. Hey, do you think I should call Alvin?”

 

“I’m not sure yet. Let me see the tapes first, and then I’ll talk to Alvin, and we’ll see what he thinks.”

 

“Right,” he said, his voice rising in enthusiasm. “Good plan, good idea! And this is great news! A genuine ghost story! They’re going to love this! I told you they were hot and heavy about the idea, didn’t I? Believe me, I told them you’d come through with this story and that you wouldn’t be interested in talking about the latest diet fad. But now that we have a bargaining chip, they’re going to go crazy. I can’t wait to tell them, and listen, I’ll be calling you in just a couple of hours, so make sure you keep your phone on. Things could be moving quickly . . .”

 

“Good-bye, Nate. I’ll talk to you later.”

 

Jeremy rolled back onto the bed and pulled the pillow over his head, but finding it impossible to fall back to sleep, he groaned as he got up and made his way to the bathroom, doing his best to ignore the stuffed creatures that seemed to be watching his every move. Still, he was getting used to them, and as he undressed, he hung his towel on the outstretched paws of a badger, thinking he might as well take advantage of the animal’s convenient pose.

 

Hopping into the shower, he turned the water as far as it would go and stayed under the single jet for twenty minutes, until his skin was pruned. Only then did he begin to feel alive again. Sleeping less than two hours would do that to a person.

 

After throwing on his jeans, he grabbed the tapes and got in his car. The fog hung over the road like evaporating dry ice on a concert stage, and the sky had the same ugly tones as it had the day before, making him suspect that the lights would appear again tonight, which not only boded well for the tourists this weekend but also meant that he should probably call Alvin. Even if the tapes were okay, Alvin was magic with a camera, and he’d capture images that would no doubt make Nate’s finger swell up from making frantic calls.

 

His first step, though, was to see what he’d caught on camera, if only to see that he’d captured something. Not surprisingly, Greenleaf didn’t have a VCR, but he’d seen one in the rare-book room, and as he drove along the quiet road that led toward town, he wondered how Lexie would behave toward him when he got there. Would she go back to being distant and professional? Would the good feelings from their day together linger? Or would she simply remember their final moments on the porch, when he&rs............