Jeremy spent the rest of the morning hunched over a stack of books and the two articles Lexie had found. The first, written in 1958 by a folklore professor at the University of North Carolina and published in the Journal of the South, seemed to have been intended as a response to A. J. Morrison’s account of the legend. The article pulled a few quotes from Morrison’s work, summarized the legend, and recounted the professor’s stay in the cemetery over a one-week period. On four of those evenings, he witnessed the lights. He seemed to have made at least a preliminary attempt to find the cause: he counted the number of homes in the surrounding area (there were eighteen within one mile of the cemetery and, interestingly, none on Riker’s Hill), and also noted the number of cars that passed within two minutes of the lights’ appearance. In two instances, the span of time was less than a minute. In the other two instances, however, there were no passing cars at all, which seemed to eliminate the possibility that headlights were the source of the “ghosts.”

 

The second article was only a bit more informative. Published in a 1969 issue of Coastal Carolina, a small magazine that went belly-up in 1980, the article reported the fact that the cemetery was sinking and the damage that had been caused as a result. The author also mentioned the legend and the proximity of Riker’s Hill, and while he hadn’t seen the lights (he’d visited during the summer months), he drew heavily on eyewitness accounts before speculating on a number of possibilities, all of which Jeremy was already aware.

 

The first was rotting vegetation that sometimes bursts into flames, giving off vapors known as swamp gas. In a coastal area like this, Jeremy knew the idea couldn’t be completely discounted, though he did think it unlikely, since the lights occurred on cold and foggy nights. They could also be “earthquake lights,” which are electrical atmospheric charges generated by the shifting and grinding of rocks deep below the earth’s crust. The automobile headlights theory was again advanced, as was the idea of refracted starlight and fox fire, which is a phosphorescent glow emitted by certain fungi on rotting wood. Algae, it was noted, could also glow phosphorescently. The author even mentioned the possibility of the Novaya Zemlya effect, in which light beams are bent by adjacent layers of air at different temperatures, thus seeming to glow. And, in offering a final possibility, the author concluded that it might be St. Elmo’s fire, which is created by electrical discharges from sharp-pointed objects that occur during thunderstorms.

 

In other words, the author had said it could be anything.

 

However inconclusive, the articles did help Jeremy clarify his own thoughts. In his opinion, the lights had everything to do with geography. The hill behind the cemetery seemed to be the highest point in any direction, and the sinking cemetery made the fog more dense in that particular area. All of which meant refracted or reflected light.

 

He just had to pinpoint the source, and for that, he needed to find the first time the lights had ever been noted. Not something general, but an actual date, so he could then determine what was happening in the town at that time. If the town was undergoing a dramatic change around then—a new construction project, a new factory, or something along those lines—he just might find the cause. Or if he did see the lights—and he wasn’t counting on it—his job would be even simpler. If they occurred at midnight, for instance, and he saw no passing cars, he could then survey the area, noting the location of occupied houses with lamps blazing in the window, the proximity of the highway, or possibly even river traffic. Boats, he suspected, were a possibility, if they were large enough.

 

Going through the stack of books a second time, he made additional notes regarding the changes in the town over the years, with special emphasis on changes around the turn of the century.

 

As the hours rolled on, the list grew. In the early twentieth century, there was a mini–housing boom that lasted from 1907 to 1914, during which the north side of the town grew. The small port was widened in 1910, again in 1916, and once more in 1922; combined with the quarries and phosphorous mines, excavation was extensive. The railroad was started in 1898, and spurs continued to be built in various areas of the county until 1912. A trestle over the river was completed in 1904, and from 1908 to 1915 three major factories were constructed: a textile mill, a phosphorous mine, and a paper mill. Of the three, only the paper mill was still in operation—the textile mill had closed four years ago, the mine in 1987—so that seemed to eliminate the other two as possibilities.

 

He checked his facts again, made sure they were correct, and restacked the books so Lexie could shelve them. He leaned back in his chair, stretched the stiffness from his body, and glanced at the clock. Already, it was coming up on noon. All in all, he thought it was a few hours well spent, and he glanced over his shoulder at the open door behind him.

 

Lexie hadn’t returned to check on him. He sort of liked the fact that he couldn’t read her, and for a moment, he wished she lived in the city, or even someplace near the city. It would have been interesting to see the way things might have developed between them. A moment later, she pushed through the door.

 

“Hey there,” Lexie greeted him. “How’s it going?”

 

Jeremy turned. “Good. Thanks.”

 

She slipped into her jacket. “Listen, I was thinking about running out to grab lunch, and I was wondering if you wanted me to bring you something back.”

 

“Are you going to Herbs?” he asked.

 

“No. If you thought breakfast was busy, you should see the place at lunch. But I’d be happy to pick up a to-go order on my way back.”

 

He hesitated for only an instant.

 

“Well, would it be all right if I came with you to wherever it is you’re going? I should probably stretch my legs. I’ve been sitting here all morning, and I’d love to see someplace new. Maybe you could even show me around a bit.” He paused. “If that’s okay, I mean.”

 

She almost said no, but again, she heard Doris’s words, and her thoughts became muddled. Should I or shouldn’t I? Despite her better judgment—thank you very much for that, Doris—she said, “Sure. But I’ve only got an hour or so before I have to get back, so I don’t know how much help I can be.”

 

He seemed almost as surprised as she did, and he stood, then followed her out the door. “Anything at all is fine,” he said. “Helps me fill in the blanks, you know. It’s important to know what goes on in a place like this.”

 

“In our little hick town, you mean?”

 

“I didn’t say it was a hick town. Those are your words.”

 

“Yeah. But they’re your thoughts, not mine. I love this place.”

 

“I’m sure,” he agreed. “Why else would you live here?”

 

“Because it’s not New York City, for one thing.”

 

“You’ve been there?”

 

“I used to live in Manhattan. On West Sixty-ninth.”

 

He almost stumbled in midstep. “That’s just a few blocks from where I live.”

 

She smiled. “Small world, isn’t it?”

 

Walking quickly, Jeremy struggled to keep up with her as she approached the stairs. “You’re kidding, right?”

 

“Nope,” she said. “Lived there with my boyfriend for almost a year. He worked for Morgan Stanley while I interned in the NYU library.”

 

“I can’t believe this . . .”

 

“What? That I lived in New York and left? Or that I lived near you? Or that I lived with my boyfriend?”

 

“All of it,” he said. “Or none of it. I’m not sure.” He was trying to fathom the thought of this small-town librarian living in his neighborhood. Noticing his expression, she had to laugh. “You’re all alike, you know that?” she said.

 

“Who?”

 

“People who live in the city. You live your life thinking that there’s no place in the world as special as New York and that no place else has anything to offer.”

 

“You’re right,” Jeremy admitted. “But that’s only because the rest of the world pales in comparison.”

 

Glancing over at him, she made a face that clearly telegraphed, You didn’t just say what I think you said, did you?

 

He shrugged, acting innocent. “I mean, come on . . . Greenleaf Cottages can’t exactly compare to the Four Seasons or the Plaza, can it? I mean, even you’ve got to admit that.”

 

She bristled at his smug attitude and began to walk even faster. She decided then and there that Doris didn’t know what she was talking about.

 

Jeremy, however, wouldn’t let it go. “Come on . . . admit it. You know I’m right, don’t you?”

 

By that point, they’d reached the front door of the library, and he held it open for her. Behind them, the elderly woman who worked in the lobby was watching them intently. Lexie held her tongue until she was just outside the door, then she turned on him.

 

“People don’t live in hotels,” she snapped. “They live in communities. And that’s what we have here. A community. Where people know and care about each other. Where kids can play at night and not worry about strangers.”

 

He raised his hands. “Hey,” he said, “don’t get me wrong. I love communities. I lived in one growing up. I knew every family in my neighborhood by name, because they’d lived there for years. Some of them still do, so believe me, I know exactly how important it is to get to know your neighbors, and how important it is for parents to know what their kids are doing and who they’re hanging out with. That’s the way it was for me. Even when I was off and about, neighbors would keep tabs on us. My point is that New York City has that, too, depending on where you live. Sure, if you live in my neighborhood, it’s filled with a lot of young career people on the move. But visit Park Slope in Brooklyn or Astoria in Queens, and you’ll see kids hanging out in the parks, playing basketball and soccer, and pretty much doing the same thing that kids are doing here.”

 

“Like you’ve ever thought about things like that.”

 

She regretted the sharpness in her tone the moment she lashed out at Jeremy. He, however, seemed unfazed.

 

“I have,” he said. “And believe me, if I had kids, I wouldn’t live where I do. I have a ton of nephews and nieces who live in the city, and every one of them lives in a neighborhood with lots of other kids and people watching out for them. In many ways, it’s a lot like this place.”

 

She said nothing, wondering if he was telling the truth.

 

“Look,” he offered, “I’m not trying to pick a fight here. My point is simply that kids turn out okay as long as the parents are involved, no matter where they live. It’s not like small towns have a monopoly on values. I mean, I’m sure if I did some digging, I’d find lots of kids that were in trouble here, too. Kids are kids, no matter where they live.” He smiled, trying to signal that he didn’t take what she’d said personally. “And besides, I’m not exactly sure how we got on the subject of kids, anyway. From this point on, I promise not to mention it again. All I was trying to say was that I was surprised that you lived in New York and only a couple of blocks from me.” He paused. “Truce?”

 

She stared at him before finally releasing her breath. Maybe he was right. No, she knew he was right. And, she admitted, she’d been the one who escalated the whole thing. Muddled thoughts can do that to a person. What on earth was she getting herself into here?

 

“Truce,” she finally agreed. “On one condition.”

 

“What’s that?”

 

“You have to do the driving. I didn’t bring a car.”

 

He looked relieved. “Let me find my keys.”

 

Neither was particularly hungry, so Lexie directed Jeremy to a small grocery store, and they emerged a few minutes later with a box of crackers, some fresh fruit, various kinds of cheese, and two bottles of Snapple.

 

In the car, Lexie set the food at her feet. “Is there anything in particular you’d like to see?” Lexie asked.

 

“Riker’s Hill. Is there a road that leads to the top?”

 

She nodded. “It’s not much of a road. It was originally used for logging, but now it’s mainly deer hunters. It’s rough, though—I don’t know if you want to bring your car up there.”

 

“No big deal. It’s a rental. And besides, I’m getting used to bad roads around here.”

 

“Okay,” she said, “but don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

 

Neither said much as they headed out of town, past Cedar Creek Cemetery and over a small bridge. The road was soon lined with ever-thickening groves of trees on both sides. The blue sky had given way to an expanse of gray, reminding Jeremy of winter afternoons much farther north. Occasionally, flocks of starlings broke into flight as the car passed, moving in unison as if tethered together by string.

 

Lexie was uneasy in the silence, and so she began describing the area: real estate projects that had never come to fruition, the names of trees, Cedar Creek when it could be seen through the thicket. Riker’s Hill loomed off to the left, looking gloomy and forbidding in the muted light.

 

Jeremy had driven this way after leaving the cemetery the first time and had turned around about here. It had been just a minute or so too soon, he learned, because she told him to turn at the next intersection, which seemed to loop around toward the rear of Riker’s Hill. Leaning forward in her seat, she peered out the windshield.

 

“The turn is just up ahead,” she said. “You might want to slow down.”

 

Jeremy did, and as she continued to stare, he glanced over at her, noting the slight indentation of a frown line between her eyebrows.

 

“Okay . . . there,” she said, pointing.

 

She was right: it wasn’t much of a road. Gravel and rutted, kind of like the entrance to Greenleaf, but worse. Exiting the main road, the car began to lurch and bounce. Jeremy slowed even more.

 

“Is Riker’s Hill state property?”

 

She nodded. “The state bought it from one of the big timber companies—Weyerhaeuser or Georgia-Pacific or something like that—when I was a little girl. Part of our local history, you know. But it’s not a park or anything. I think there were plans to make it into a campground at one time or another, but the state’s never gotten around to it.”

 

Loblolly pines closed in as the road narrowed, but the road itself seemed to improve as they moved higher, following an almost zigzag pattern to the top. Every now and then, a trail could be spotted, which he assumed was used by hunters.

 

In time, the trees began to thin and the sky became more noticeable; as they neared the crest, the vegetation looked more weathered, then almost devastated. Dozens of trees had snapped in half; less than a third still seemed to be standing upright. The incline grew less steep, then flattened out as they neared the top. Jeremy pulled over to the side. Lexie motioned for him to turn off the engine, and they stepped out of the car.

 

Lexie crossed her arms as they walked. The air seemed colder up here, the breeze wintry and stinging. The sky seemed closer as well; clouds were no longer featureless, but twisting and curling into distinctive shapes. Down below, they could see the town, rooftops clustered together and perched along straight roads, one of which led to Cedar Creek Cemetery. Just beyond the town, the ancient, brackish river looked like flowing iron. He spotted both the highway bridge and a picturesque railroad trestle that rose high behind it as a red-tailed hawk circled overhead. Looking closely, Jeremy could just make out the tiny shape of the library and could even spot where Greenleaf was, though the cottages were lost in their surroundings.

 

“The view is amazing,” he finally said.

 

Lexie pointed toward the edge of town and helped him zero in on where to look. “See that little house over there? Kind of off to the side, near the pond? That’s where I live now. And over there? That’s Doris’s place. It’s where I grew up. Sometimes when I was little, I’d stare toward the hill imagining that I could see myself staring down from up here.”

 

He smiled. The breeze tossed her hair as she went on.

 

“As teenagers, my friends and I would sometimes come up here, and we’d stay for hours. During the summer, the heat makes the house lights twinkle, almost like stars. And the lightning bugs— well, there are so many in June that it almost looks like there’s another town in the sky. Even though everyone knew about this place, it wasn’t ever too crowded up here. It was always like a secret place that my friends and I could share.”

 

She paused, realizing that she felt strangely nervous. Though why she should be nervous was beyond her.

 

“I remember this one time when a big thunderstorm was expected. My friends and I got one of the boys to drive us up here in his truck. You know, one of those big-tired things that could make it down the Grand Canyon, if need be. So we all came up here to watch the lightning, expecting to see it flickering in the sky. We didn’t stop to consider that we’d put ourselves at the highest spot in any direction. When the lightning started, it was beautiful at first. It would light up the sky, sometimes with a jagged flash, other times almost like a strobe light, and we’d count out loud until the thunder boomed. You know, to see how far away the lightning was. But the next thing we knew, the storm was on us. I mean, the wind was blowing so hard that the truck was actually rocking, and the rain made it impossible to see anything. Then the lightning started striking the trees around us. Gigantic bolts came down from the sky so close that the ground would tremble, and then the tops of pines would just explode into sparks.”

 

As she spoke, Jeremy studied her. It was the most she’d said about herself since they’d met, and he tried to imagine what her life was like back then. Who was she in high school? One of the popular cheerleaders? Or one of the bookish girls, who spent her lunches in the library? Granted, it was ancient history—I mean, who cared about high school?—but even now, when she was lost in the memories, he wasn’t quite able to put his finger on who she’d been.

 

“I’ll bet you were terrified,” he said. “Lightning bolts can reach fifty thousand degrees, you know.” He glanced at her. “That’s ten times hotter than the surface of the sun.”

 

She smiled, amused. “I didn’t know that. But you’re right—I don’t think I’ve ever been so terrified in my entire life.”

 

“So what happened?”

 

“The storm passed as they always do. And once we collected ourselves, we drove back home. But I remember Rachel was holding my hand so hard that she left fingernail marks in my skin.”

 

“Rachel? That wouldn’t happen to be the waitress at Herbs, would it?”

 

“Yeah, that’s the one.” Crossing her arms, she looked over at him. “Why? Did she put the move on you at breakfast this morning?”

 

He shifted from one foot to the other. “Well, I wouldn’t call it that. She just seemed a little . . . forward is all.”

 

Lexie laughed. “It doesn’t surprise me. She’s . . . well, she’s Rachel. She and I were best friends growing up, and I still think of her as a sister of sorts. I suppose I always will. But after I went off to college and New York . . . well, it wasn’t the same after I got back. It just changed, for lack of a better word. Don’t get me wrong— she’s a sweet girl and she’s a lot of fun to spend time with and she hasn’t got a mean bone in her body, but . . .”

 

She trailed off. Jeremy looked at her closely.

 

“You see the world differently these days?” he suggested.

 

She sighed. “Yeah, I suppose that’s it.”

 

“I think it happens to everyone as they grow up,” Jeremy responded. “You find out who you are and what you want, and then you realize that people you’ve known forever don’t see things the way you do. And so you keep the wonderful memories, but find yourself moving on. It’s perfectly normal.”

 

“I know. But in a town this size, it’s a little harder to do. There are only so many people in their thirties here, and even fewer who are still single. It’s kind of a small world down here.”

 

He nodded before breaking into a smile. “Thirties?”

 

She suddenly remembered that he’d been trying to guess her age yesterday.

 

“Yep,” she said with a shrug. “Getting old, I guess.”

 

“Or staying young,” he countered. “That’s how I think of myself, by the way. Whenever I get worried about aging, I just start wearing my pants lower, flash the waistband of my boxers, wear my ball cap backward, and walk around the mall listening to rap.”

 

She gave an involuntary giggle at the image. Despite the chill in the air, she felt warm with the recognition, unexpected and yet strangely inevitable, that she was enjoying his company. She wasn’t sure she liked him yet—in fact, she was pretty sure she didn’t—and for a moment, she struggled to reconcile the two feelings. Which meant, of course, that the whole subject should best be avoided. She brought a finger to her chin. “Yes, I can see that. You do seem to regard personal style as important.”

 

“Without a doubt. Why, just yesterday, in fact, people were particularly impressed with my wardrobe, including you.”

 

She laughed, and in the ensuing silence, she glanced at him. “I’ll bet you travel a lot for your job, don’t you?” she asked.

 

“Maybe four or five trips a year, each lasting a couple of weeks.”

 

“Have you ever been in a town like this?”

 

“No,” he said, “not really. Every place I go has its own charms, but I can say with all honesty that I’ve never been to a place like this. How about you? Other than New York, I mean.”

 

“I’ve been to UNC, in Chapel Hill, and spent a lot of time in Raleigh. And I’ve been to Charlotte, too, when I was in high school. Our football team made the state championship my senior year, so pretty much everyone in town made the road trip. Our convoy stretched four miles down the highway. And Washington, D.C., on a field trip when I was little. But I’ve never been overseas or anything like that.”

 

Even as she spoke, she knew how small her life would seem to him. Jeremy, as if reading her mind, flashed a hint of a smile.

 

“You’d like Europe. The cathedrals, the gorgeous countryside, the bistros and city squares. The relaxed lifestyle . . . you’d fit right in.”

 

Lexie dipped her eyes. It was a nice thought, but . . .

 

And that was the thing. The but. There was always a but. Life had a nasty tendency to make exotic opportunities few and far between. It simply wasn’t a reality for most folks. Like her. It wasn’t as if she could take Doris or take off much time from the library. And why on earth was he telling her all this, anyway? To show her that he was more cosmopolitan than she was? Well, I hate to break it to you, she thought, but I already know that.

 

And yet, even as she digested those thoughts, another voice piped in, telling her that he was trying to flatter her. He seemed to be saying that he knew she was different, more worldly, than he’d expected her to be. That she could fit in anywhere.

 

“I’ve always wanted to travel,” she admitted, sort of hedging the conflicting voices in her head. “It must be nice, having that chance.”

 

“It is, at times. But believe it or not, what I most enjoy is meeting new people. And when I look back on the places I’ve gone, more often than not I see faces, not things.”

 

“Now you’re sounding like a romantic,” she said. Oh, he was difficult to resist, this Mr. Jeremy Marsh. First the ladies’ man and now the great altruist; well traveled but still grounded; worldly but still cognizant of the things that really mattered. No matter whom he met or where he was, she had no doubt that he had an innate ability to make others—especially women—feel as if he was in kinship with them. Which, of course, led directly back to her first impression of him.

 

“Maybe I am a romantic,” he said, glancing over at her.

 

“You know what I liked about New York?” she asked, changing the subject.

 

He watched her expectantly.

 

“I liked the fact that there was always something happening. There were always people hurrying down the sidewalks and cabs buzzing by, no matter what time it was. There was always someplace to go, something to see, a new restaurant to try. It was exciting, especially to someone who’d grown up here. Like going to Mars, almost.”

 

“Why didn’t you stay?”

 

“I suppose I could have. But it wasn’t the place for me. I guess you might say that my reason for going there at all kind of changed. I went to be with someone.”

 

“Ah,” Jeremy said. “So you’d followed him up there?”

 

She nodded. “We met in college. He seemed so . . . I don’t know . . . perfect, I guess. He’d grown up in Greensboro, came from a good family, was intelligent. And really handsome, too. Handsome enough to make any woman ignore her best instincts. He looked my way, and the next thing I knew I was following him up to the city. Couldn’t help myself.”

 

Jeremy squirmed. “Is that right?”

 

She smiled inwardly. Men never wanted to hear how handsome other men were, especially if the relationship had been serious.

 

“Everything was great for a year or so. We were even engaged.” She seemed lost in thought before she let out a deep breath. “I took an internship at the NYU library, Avery went to work on Wall Street, and then one day I found him in bed with one of his co-workers. It kind of made me realize that he wasn’t the right guy, so I packed up that night and came back here. After that, I never saw him again.”

 

The breeze picked up, sounding almost like a whistle as it rushed up the slopes, and smelling faintly of the earth.

 

“Are you hungry?” she asked, wanting to change the subject again. “I mean, it’s nice visiting with you out here, but if I don’t get some nourishment, I tend to get grumpy.”

 

“I’m starved,” he said.

 

They made their way back to the car and divided up the lunch. Jeremy opened the box of crackers on the front seat. Noticing that the view wasn’t much, he started the car, maneuvered around the crest, then—angling the car just right—reparked with a view of the town again.

 

“So you came back here and began working at the library, and . . .”

 

“That’s it,” she said. “That’s what I’ve been doing for the last seven years.”

 

He did the math, figuring she was about thirty-one.

 

“Any other boyfriends since then?” he asked.

 

With her fruit cup wedged between her legs, she broke off a piece of cheese and put it on a cracker. She wondered if she should answer, then decided, What the hell, he’s leaving, anyway.

 

“Oh, sure. There were a few here and there.” She told him about the lawyer, the doctor, and—lately—Rodney Hopper. She didn’t mention Mr. Renaissance.

 

“Well . . . good. You sound like you’re happy,” he said.

 

“I am,” she was quick to agree. “Aren’t you?”

 

“Most of the time. Every now and then, I go nuts, but I think that’s normal.”

 

“And that’s when you start wearing your pants low?”

 

“Exactly,” he said with a smile. He grabbed a handful of crackers, balanced a couple on his leg, and began stacking some cheese. He glanced up, looking serious. “Would you mind if I asked a personal question? You don’t have to answer, of course. I won’t take it the wrong way, believe me. I’m just curious.”

 

“You mean, more personal than telling you about my previous boyfriends?”

 

He gave a sheepish shrug, and she had a sudden vision of what he must have looked like as a small boy: a narrow, unlined face, bangs cut straight, shirt and jeans dirty from playing outside.

 

“Go ahead,” she said. “Ask away.”

 

He focused on the lid of his fruit cup as he spoke, suddenly reluctant to meet her gaze. “When we first got here, you pointed out your grandmother’s house. And you said you’d grown up there.”

 

She nodded. She’d wondered when he would ask about that.

 

“I did,” she said.

 

“Why?”

 

She looked out the window; habit made her search out the highway that led out of town. When she spotted it, she spoke slowly.

 

“My parents were coming back from Buxton, out on the Outer Banks. That was where they got married, and they owned a small beach cottage there. It’s kind of hard to get to from here, but my mom swore that it was the most beautiful place in the world, so my dad bought a small boat so they wouldn’t have to use the ferry to get there. It was their little escape, the two of them sneaking away, you know. There’s a beautiful lighthouse that you can see from the porch, and every now and then, I head out there, too, just like they used to, just to get away from it all.”

 

Her lips formed the tiniest of half-smiles before she went on. “But anyway, on their way back that night, my parents were tired. It still takes a couple of hours to get there even without the ferry, and the best guess is that on the way home, my dad fell asleep at the wheel and the car went off the bridge. By the time the police found the car and dredged it out the following morning, they were both dead.”

 

Jeremy was quiet for a long moment. “That’s terrible,” he finally said. “How old were you?”

 

“Two. I was staying with Doris that night, and the next day, she headed off to the hospital with my granddad. When they got back, they told me that I’d be living with them from now on. And so I did. But it’s strange; I mean, I know what happened, but it’s never seemed particularly real. I didn’t feel like I was missing anything when I was growing up. To me, my grandparents seemed like everyone else’s parents, except that I called them by their first names.” She smiled. “That was their idea, by the way. I guess they didn’t want me to think of them as grandparents anymore since they were raising me, but they weren’t my parents, either.”

 

When she finished, she looked over at him, noticing the way his shoulders seemed to fill out his sweater, and eyeing that dimple again.

 

“Now it’s my turn to ask questions,” she said. “I’ve talked too much, and I know that my life must be boring compared to yours. Not so much about my parents, of course, but living here, I mean.”

 

“No, it’s not boring at all. It’s interesting. Kind of like . . . reading a new book when you turn the pages and experience something unexpected.”

 

“Nice metaphor.”

 

“I thought you might appreciate that.”

 

“So what about you? What made you want to become a journalist?”

 

For the next few minutes, he told her about his college years, his plans to become a professor, and the turn of events that had brought him to this point.

 

“And you said that you have five brothers?”

 

He nodded. “Five older brothers. I’m the baby of the family.”

 

“For some reason, I just can’t see you with brothers.”

 

“Why?”

 

“You strike me as more the only-child type.”

 

He shook his head. “It’s a shame you didn’t inherit the psychic abilities of the rest of your family.”

 

She smiled before glancing away. In the distance, red-tailed hawks circled above the town. She put her hand to the window, feeling the cold press of glass against her skin. “Two hundred forty-seven,” she said.

 

He looked over at her. “Excuse me?”

 

“That’s how many women visited Doris to find out the sex of their babies. Growing up, I’d see them sitting in the kitchen visiting with my grandmother. And it’s funny, even now I can remember thinking that they all had this look about them: the sparkle in their eyes, the fresh glow to their skin, and their genuine excitement. There is truth to the old wives’ tale that women who are pregnant glow, and I remember thinking that I wanted to look just like them when I grew up. Doris would talk to them for a while to make sure they were sure they wanted to know, and then she’d take their hand and get really quiet all of a sudden.

 

Hardly any of them were even showing, and a few seconds after that, she’d make her pronouncement.” Lexie let out a soft breath. “She was right every time. Two hundred forty-seven women came by, and she was right two hundred and forty-seven times. Doris kept their names in a book and wrote everything down, including the dates of the visits. You can check it out if you’d like. She still has the book in her kitchen.”

 

Jeremy simply stared at her. Impossible, he thought, a statistical fluke. One that pressed the limits of believability, but a fluke nonetheless. And her notebook, no doubt, would only show the guesses that had been right.

 

“I know what you’re thinking,” she said, “but you can check it out with the hospital, too. Or the women. And you can ask anyone you want, to see if she was ever mistaken. But she wasn’t. Even the doctors around town will tell you straight up that she had a gift.”

 

“Did you ever think that maybe she knew someone who did the ultrasounds?”

 

“That wasn’t it,” she insisted.

 

“How can you know for sure?”

 

“Because that’s when she stopped. When the technology finally arrived in town. There was no reason for people to come to her anymore, once they could see the picture of the baby themselves. The women visitors began slowing after that, then turned into a trickle. Now it’s maybe one or two people a year, usually folks from out in the country who don’t have medical insurance. I guess you could say her abilities aren’t in too much demand these days.”

 

“And the divining?”

 

“Same thing,” she said. “There isn’t much demand around here for someone with her skills. The entire eastern section of the state sits over a vast reservoir. You can sink a well anywhere and find water around here. But when she was growing up in Cobb County, Georgia, farmers would come to the house begging for her help, especially during the droughts. And even though she

 

wasn’t more than eight or nine, she’d find the water every time.”

 

“Interesting,” Jeremy said.

 

“I take it you still don’t believe it.”

 

He shifted in his seat. “There’s an explanation somewhere. There always is.”

 

“You don’t believe in magic of any kind?”

 

“No,” he said.

 

“That’s sad,” she said. “Because sometimes it’s real.”

 

He smiled. “Well, maybe I’ll find something that changes my mind while I’m down here.”

 

She smiled, too. “You already have. You’re just too stubborn to believe it.”

 

After finishing their makeshift lunch, Jeremy slid the car into gear, and they bounced back down Riker’s Hill, the front wheels seemingly drawn to every deep rut. The shocks squeaked and groaned, and by the time they reached the bottom, Jeremy’s knuckles were white on the wheel.

 

They followed the same roads back. Passing Cedar Creek Cemetery, Jeremy found his eyes drawn to the top of Riker’s Hill; despite the distance, he could pick out the spot where they’d parked.

 

“Do we have time to see a couple of other places? I’d love to swing by the marina, the paper mill, and maybe the railroad trestle.”

 

“We have time,” she said. “As long as we don’t stay too long. They’re pretty much all in the same area.”

 

Ten minutes later, following her directions, he parked again. They were at the far edge of downtown, a few blocks from Herbs, near the boardwalk that stretched along the riverfront. The Pamlico River was nearly a mile wide and flowed angrily, the currents rippling to form tiny whitecaps as they rushed downstream. On the far side of the river, near the railroad trestle, the paper mill— a huge structure—spewed clouds from the dueling smokestacks.

 

Jeremy stretched as he stepped out of the car, and Lexie crossed

 

her arms. Her cheeks began to redden in the chill.

 

“Is it getting colder, or is it just my imagination?” she asked.

 

“It’s pretty cold,” he agreed. “Seems colder than it was up top, but maybe we just got used to the heater in the car.”

 

Jeremy struggled to catch up to her as she set off for the boardwalk. Lexie finally slowed and then stopped to lean against the railing as Jeremy gazed up at the railroad trestle. Perched high above the river to let large boats pass, it was crisscrossed with beams, resembling a suspension bridge.

 

“I didn’t know how close you wanted to get,” she said. “If we had more time, I would have taken you across the river to the mill, but you probably get a better view from here.” She motioned toward the other end of town. “The marina is over there, near the highway. Can you see where all those sailboats are docked?”

 

Jeremy nodded. For some reason, he’d expected something grander.

 

“Can big boats dock there?”

 

“I think so. Some big yachts from New Bern sometimes stop over for a couple of days.”

 

“How about barges?”

 

“I suppose they could. The river is dredged to allow for some of the logging barges, but they usually stop on the far side. Over there”—she pointed to what seemed to be a small cove—“you can see a couple there now, all loaded up.”

 

He followed her gaze, then turned around, coordinating locations. With Riker’s Hill in the distance, the trestle and the factory seemed perfectly aligned. Coincidence? Or completely unimportant? He stared in the direction of the paper mill, trying to figure out whether the tops of the smokestacks were lit at night. He’d have to check on that.

 

“Do they ship all the logs by barge, or do you know if they use the railroad, too?”

 

“I’ve never noticed, to tell you the truth. I’m sure it would be easy to find out, though.”

 

“Do you know how many trains use the trestle?”

 

“Again, I’m not sure. Sometimes I hear the whistle at night, and I’ve had to stop more than once in town at the crossing to let the train pass, but it’s not as if I could tell you for certain. I do know they make a lot of shipments from the mill, though. That’s where the train actually stops.”

 

Jeremy nodded as he stared at the trestle.

 

Lexie smiled and went on. “I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking that maybe the light from the train shines as it goes over the trestle and that’s what’s causing the lights, right?”

 

“It did cross my mind.”

 

“That’s not it,” she said, shaking her head.

 

“You’re sure?”

 

“At night, the trains pull into the yard at the paper mill so they can be loaded the following day. So the light on the locomotive is shining in the opposite direction, away from Riker’s Hill.”

 

He considered that as he joined her at the railing. The wind whipped her hair, making it look wild. She tucked her hands into her jacket pockets.

 

“I can see why you liked growing up here,” he commented.

 

She turned so that she could lean back against the railing, and stared toward the downtown area—the neat little shops festooned with American flags, a barbershop pole, a small park nestled at the edge of the boardwalk. On the sidewalk, passersby moved in and out of the establishments, carrying bags. Despite the chill, no one seemed to be rushing at all.

 

“Well, it is a lot like New York, I have to admit.”

 

He laughed. “That’s not what I meant. I meant that my parents probably would have loved to raise their kids in a place like this. With big green lawns and forests to play in. Even a river where you could go swimming when it gets hot. It must have been . . .

 

idyllic.”

 

“It still is. And that’s what people say about living here.”

 

“You seem to have thrived here.”

 

For an instant, she seemed almost sad. “Yeah, but I went off to college. A lot of people around here never do. It’s a poor county, and the town has been struggling ever since the textile mill and phosphorous mine closed, and a lot of parents don’t put much stock into getting a good education. That’s what’s hard sometimes—trying to convince some kids that there’s more to life than working in the paper mill across the river. I live here because I want to live here. I made the choice. But for a lot of these people, they simply stay because it’s impossible for them to leave.”

 

“That happens everywhere. None of my brothers went to college, either, so I was sort of the oddball, in that learning came easy for me. My parents are working-class folks and lived in Queens their whole life. My dad was a bus driver for the city. Spent forty years of his life sitting behind the wheel until he finally retired.”

 

She seemed amused. “That’s funny. Yesterday I had you pegged as an Upper East Sider. You know, doorman greeting you by name, prep schools, five-course meals for dinner, a butler who announces guests.”

 

He recoiled in mock horror. “First an only child and now this? I’m beginning to think that you perceive me as spoiled.”

 

“No, not spoiled . . . just . . .”

 

“Don’t say it,” he said, raising his hand. “I’d rather not know. Especially since it isn’t true.”

 

“How do you know what I was going to say?”

 

“Because you’re currently oh for two, and neither was particularly flattering.”

 

The corners of her mouth turned up slightly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it.”

 

“Yes, you did,” he said with a grin. He turned around and leaned his back against the rail as well. The breeze stung his face. “But don’t worry, I won’t take it personally. Since I’m not some spoiled rich kid, I mean.”

 

“No. You’re an objective journalist.”

 

“Exactly.”

 

“Even though you refuse to have an open mind about anything mysterious.”

 

“Exactly.”

 

She laughed. “What about the supposed mysteriousness of women? Don’t you believe in that?”

 

“Oh, I know that’s true,” he said, thinking of her in particular. “But it’s different than believing the possibility of cold fusion.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Because women are a subjective mystery, not an objective one. You can’t measure anything about them scientifically, although, of course, there are genetic differences between the genders. Women only strike men as being mysterious because they don’t realize that men and women see the world differently.”

 

“They do, huh?”

 

“Sure. It goes back to evolution and the best ways to preserve the species.”

 

“And you’re an expert on that?”

 

“I have a bit of knowledge in that area, yes.”

 

“And so you consider yourself an expert on women, too?”

 

“No, not really. I’m shy, remember?”

 

“Uh-huh, I remember. I just don’t believe it.”

 

He crossed his arms. “Let me guess . . . you think I have a problem with commitment?”

 

She looked him over. “I think that about sums it up.”

 

He laughed. “What can I say? Investigative journalism is a glamorous world, and there are legions of women who yearn to be part of it.”

 

She rolled her eyes. “Puh-lease,” she said. “It’s not like you’re a movie star or sing in a rock band. You write for Scientific American.”

 

“And?”

 

“Well, I may be from the South, but even so, I can’t imagine your magazine is deluged with groupies.”

 

He gazed at her triumphantly. “I think you just contradicted yourself.”

 

She raised an eyebrow. “You think you’re very clever, Mr. Marsh, don’t you?”

 

“Oh, so we’re back to ‘Mr. Marsh’ now?”

 

“Maybe. I haven’t decided yet.” She tucked a blowing strand of hair behind her ear. “But you missed the fact that you don’t have to have groupies to . . . get around. All you need is to hang out in the right kind of places and pour on the charm.”

 

“And you think I’m charming?”

 

“I would say some women would find you charming.”

 

“But not you.”

 

“We’re not talking about me. We’re talking about you, and right now you’re doing your best to change the subject. Which probably means that I’m right but that you don’t want to admit it.”

 

He stared at her admiringly. “You’re very clever, Ms. Darnell.”

 

She nodded. “I’ve heard that.”

 

“And charming,” he added for good measure.

 

She smiled at him, then glanced away. She looked down the boardwalk, then across the street toward the town, then up at the sky before she sighed. She wasn’t going to respond to his flattery, she decided. Nonetheless, she felt herself blushing.

 

As if reading her mind, Jeremy changed the subject. “So this weekend,” he started. “What’s it like?”

 

“Won’t you be here?” she asked.

 

“Probably. For part of it, anyway. But I was just curious how you felt about it.”

 

“Aside from making a lot of people’s lives crazy for a few days?” she asked. “It’s . . . needed at this time of year. You go through Thanksgiving and Christmas in a rush, and then nothing is on the schedule until spring. And meanwhile, it’s cold and gray and rainy . . . so years ago, the town council decided to do the Historic Homes Tour. And ever since then, they’ve just added more festivities to it in the hope of making for a special weekend. This year it’s the cemetery, last year the parade, the year before that, they added a Friday night barn dance. Now it’s becoming part of the tradition of the town, so most of the folks who live here look forward to it.” She glanced at him. “As small-town forgettable as it sounds, it’s actually sort of fun.”

 

Watching her, Jeremy raised his eyebrows, remembering the barn dance from the brochure. “They have a dance?” he asked, feigning ignorance.

 

She nodded. “On Friday night. In Meyer’s tobacco barn downtown. It’s quite the shindig, with a live band and everything. It’s the only night of the year that the Lookilu Tavern is pretty much empty.”

 

“Well, if I happen to go, maybe you’ll dance with me.”

 

She smiled before finally eyeing him with an almost seductive look. “I’ll tell you what. If you solve the mystery by then, I’ll dance with you.”

 

“You promise?”

 

“I promise,” she said. “But our deal is that you have to solve the mystery first.”

 

“Fair enough,” he said. “I can’t wait. And when it comes to the Lindy or the fox-trot . . .” He shook his head, drawing a long breath. “Well, all I can say is that I hope you can keep up.”

 

She laughed. “I’ll do my best.”

 

Crossing her arms, Lexie watched the sun trying and failing to break through the gloom. “Tonight,” she said.

 

He frowned. “Tonight?”

 

“You’ll see the lights tonight. If you go to the cemetery.”

 

“How do you know?”

 

“The fog is coming in.”

 

He followed her gaze. “How can you tell? It doesn’t seem any different to me.”

 

“Look across the river behind me,” she said. “The tops of the smokestacks on the paper mill are already hidden by clouds.”

 

“Yeah, sure . . . ,” he said, trailing off.

 

“Turn around and look. You’ll see.”

 

He looked over his shoulder and back, then looked once more, studying the outlines of the paper mill. “You’re right,” he said.

 

“Of course, I am.”

 

“I guess you peeked when I wasn’t looking, huh?”

 

“No,” she said. “I just knew.”

 

“Ah,” he said. “One of those pesky mysteries again?”

 

She pushed herself from the railing. “If that’s what you want to call it,” she said. “But c’mon. It’s getting a little late, and I have to get back to the library. I have to read to the children in fifteen minutes.”

 

As they made their way back to the car, Jeremy noticed that the top of Riker’s Hill had become hidden as well. He smiled, thinking, So that’s how she did it. See it over there, figure it must be happening across the river, too. Tricky.

 

“Well, tell me,” he said, doing his best to hide his smirk, “since you seem to have hidden talents, how can you be so sure the lights will be out tonight?”

 

It took a moment for her to answer.

 

“I just am,” she said.

 

“Well, I guess it’s settled, then. I should probably head out there, shouldn’t I?” As soon as he spoke the words, he remembered the dinner he was supposed to attend and he suddenly winced.

 

“What?” she asked, puzzled.

 

“Oh, the mayor is setting up a dinner with a few people he thought I should meet,” he said. “A little get-together or something.”

 

“For you?”

 

He smiled. “What? You’re impressed by that?”

 

“No, just surprised.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Because I hadn’t heard about it.”

 

“I only found out this morning.”

 

“Still, it’s surprising. But I wouldn’t worry about not seeing the lights, even if you do go to dinner with the mayor. The lights don’t usually come out until late, anyway. You’ll have plenty of time.”

 

“Are you sure?”

 

“That’s when I saw them. It was a little before midnight.”

 

He stopped in his tracks. “Wait—you’ve seen them? You didn’t mention that.”

 

She smiled. “You didn’t ask.”

 

“You keep saying that.”

 

“Well, Mr. Journalist, that’s only because you keep forgetting to ask.”