By midnight, only a small crew of firefighters kept an eye out for hotspots on the mountain. Sam’s head ached from the smoke and her feet ached from standing for hours, feeding those who came through and cleaning up after the café closed. She was too weary to miss Walker’s company. She walked up the hill to the studio, showered, and simply fell into bed.

Only to wake at dawn from a nightmare of dragons and soul-sucking demons and snakes that spoke with forked tongues. Forked tongues, right. Sam wearily wiped her eyes and glared at the clock. The Mexican blanket blocked most of the sun from her bed, but the main room was bright already. No fog today. She would never go back to sleep now.

Deciding to dig up some of the plants she’d located these last days, she got dressed and gulped cereal. She debated whether to take Harvey’s walking stick with her. It was a thing of beauty, but she didn’t see the necessity. Leaving it behind, she headed over to Cass’s gardening shed. Cass had said to use whatever she needed. Sam prayed it wasn’t all covered in rust and spider webs.

The wooden shed doors sagged open as if in welcome when she approached. Sam regarded them warily but decided the doors had probably just blown loose. The wind was strong off the ocean this morning, carrying the stench of wet ash and smoke away from town.

She looked for a latch to see if she would be able to close the shed properly, but there was none. Cass apparently didn’t mind sharing her tools with anyone who passed by.

She’d brought a flashlight to search the interior. The space was larger than she’d realized. Spotting a light shaped like a lantern overhead, she looked around for a switch. As in the house, the light came on when she stepped inside. Motion sensors in a shed actually made sense and was more modern than she’d expected, considering the ancient sagging exterior.

The tools all looked brand new. No self-respecting gardener had shiny tools without a single dent or worn place in the handle. But Cass had known she was coming. . . .

Preferring not to think about how her great-aunt had all but kidnapped her to bring her up here, Sam found a sturdy, long-handled digger, some like-new gloves, and a bucket for water. She didn’t mean to go far. She needed to be at Dinah’s in a few hours.

She liked this side of the valley much better than the lodge side. Here, birds sang, and the earth simply felt happy beneath her feet. The breeze was chilly but fresh, unlike the stench of hell around the lodge. Carrying her tools through the cemetery portal, she explored the overgrown weeds around the gravestones before making any choices.

She didn’t think it was sacrilege to take cuttings or divide perennials that would otherwise smother in their own roots. She would leave the graves tended, and the plants would grow better next year.

Wolf had told her the stories of Mother Earth, and she respected the land as his ancestors had. She wasn’t so certain her college-educated father had actually accepted the stories, but to her, the earth had always been a living presence requiring respect.

She was pulling weeds and clearing the ground around lily leaves when she realized she wasn’t alone. She reached for her shovel and glanced over her shoulder.

Xavier, in his faded green jacket, hovered uncertainly near the Kennedy vault. He was watching her, but he looked so nervous, she couldn’t feel afraid, just puzzled at these odd encounters.

“Good morning, Mr. Black,” she called. “Out for a stroll?”

“You shouldn’t be here,” he said, wringing his hands. “The fire should have driven out the ghosts, but I don’t think it did.”

She got up to apply her shovel to the clump of lilies, keeping an eye on him as she did so. “If there are spirits, they must be friendly. I like it here.”

He seemed interested in that notion, glancing around as if hoping to see Casper the Friendly Ghost. “It’s an unhappy place,” he finally decided. “Terrible things happen here. The ghosts are angry.”

“Perhaps you’re a sensitive. I’ve heard that people feel the sorrow and pain of soldiers who died when they stand on a battlefield like Gettysburg. Have you ever been there?”

“Wouldn’t like it,” he said.

Remembering she was supposed to be helping Walker, since he’d helped her, she asked, “How long have you lived here?”

He frowned and shifted from foot to foot. “Don’t know. Long time. Why?”

“My parents used to live here. I was wondering if you knew them. That would have been almost twenty-five years ago.”

He appeared a little curious and his brow wrinkled in thought. “No, don’t think so. Geoff died a few months after I moved here. Does that help?”

He’d known the town when Walker’s father died! But getting anything out of him wouldn’t be easy. Before she could prepare another careful question, he ambled away without a farewell.

Possibly Asperger’s? Being a salesman would be tough, if so.

Happy that she’d added one more piece to her store of knowledge, Sam dug in the dirt and decided on her priorities. She needed to talk to Cass more about her parents. What had driven her mother to give her up and send her far away? Her father hadn’t overdosed until after she was born, according to the genealogy. Her adoption date was immediately afterward. It may have been a grieving widow’s decision.

And they still needed a better list of who had been here when Walker’s father died—witnesses, potential killers, anything would help. Cass would know more, as would Carmel, she supposed, but neither woman was inclined to talk. Neither was Xavier Black. Would even the lodge staff be reluctant to recall the past?

She cleared the plot she worked on, then carried the starving lilies back to the house. She’d need some good compost to plant them in.

She cleaned off Cass’s tools and returned them to the shed—again, the doors opened before she could reach for them. Had someone wired doors with a motion detector? Needing to get to Dinah’s, she didn’t have time to inspect them. She rushed back to the studio to shower and dress.

Reluctant to enter the oppressive pall of wet ash in town, Sam decided to explore the lane of cottages where Mariah lived. Half-way down, at a cottage nearly concealed by rambling roses, an older woman with a thick straight salt-and-pepper mane caught in a black ribbon looked up from her overgrown cottage garden. “I see you found the lilies. I used to tend them, but I can’t get up there much these days.”

Knowing she would be late, Sam stopped anyway. “I hope you don’t mind that I divided them. I want to find some manure or compost to feed them. I don’t suppose you know anyone with a stable?”

“I know someone with a compost bin. I’ll have him leave a load next time he’s by. I’m Gladys. You must be Zach and Susanna’s daughter. You look like both your parents.”

Someone besides Cass knew her parents! Here was another name for Walker’s list, and she seemed more talkative than the others. Sam was dying to ask about her parents, but now probably wasn’t the best time.

“I’m Samantha. I can haul the compost if you tell me where to find it. I have to go into work now or Dinah will be swamped. May I bring you up a piece of pie later and we can talk? I’m not familiar with the soil here, but you seem to have a knack.” She gestured at the lush garden growing despite the shade.

“That would be delightful but not necessary, luv. Tell Dinah her mother has passed and is sorry for not understanding.” Gladys picked up her basket and vanished beneath a rose-covered arch at the rear of the yard.

“Way too much weird for one day,” Sam muttered. Almost afraid to pass on the message, she found a shady place in town to store the lilies before entering the busy diner. The rich aroma of coffee replaced the nasty stench lingering outside.

Mariah shoved the carafe at her and indicated the tables by the window. Sam now knew that she had waited tables in high school. Apparently her subconscious had known she could handle the job, even when she couldn’t remember it. She washed and began pouring coffee.

Most of the customers today were locals. The tourists who often stopped in after their weekend visit had already left the mountain, which still smoldered in the distance.

Once breakfast was served, they stopped for a break. Dinah cut cinnamon rolls for tasting. Sam sipped her tea and offered the odd information she’d received. “I had a strange encounter with Gladys this morning. She told me to tell you that your mother has passed and regrets not understanding. Is Gladys a friend of yours?”

Dinah’s eyes got wide, and she sat abruptly on a stool she kept behind the counter. “I better call my brother,” she muttered, looking teary-eyed.

Mariah put down the coffee carafe and joined them. “You have a brother? Is he ill?”

“Gladys spoke to Sam. What time is it back there? Noon? I’d better try to catch him when he’s at lunch.” Dinah got up and hurried for her office, where she kept a landline.

“Gladys spoke?” Maria poured herself a cup of coffee and regarded Sam with interest. “Do tell.”

“She had bad news about Dinah’s mother, apparently. I don’t know why she didn’t tell Dinah herself.” Feeling uneasy under Mariah’s stare, Sam nibbled the mouth-watering cinnamon bun.

“Because Dinah isn’t a sensitive,” Mariah explained, gesturing with her cup. “She talks about auras and maybe she even sees them, but she’s been faking for so long, even she doesn’t know what’s real.”

Sam wrinkled her nose at this non-explanation. “What does being sensitive have to do with Gladys? She seemed quite sensible to me.”

“Gladys died of breast cancer last year,” Mariah said, watching Sam. “They buried her casket beside her husband in the cemetery, but I have a feeling they buried part of her in her garden.”

“What part, her heart?” Sam said with mockery. “And that allows her to keep living?”

“Don’t be such a Null,” Mariah retorted. “Gladys is dead. But her garden lives. Until now, I’m the only who has seen her. I suppose the solstice could make the veil thinner, as it does at Halloween, so even a near-Null could see her.”

“That’s absurd,” Sam protested, like a Null.

“Sturdy lady, gorgeous long graying dark hair?” Mariah asked.

“Yes. Maybe it’s her daughter?”

Mariah shook her head. “That’s Gladys. She had no kids. We’re waiting for the Kennedys to realize the lot is being held by the state and to snatch it up for their inventory. But right now, no one lives there.”

“Someone does. The garden is gorgeous,” Sam argued, not mentioning the compost conversation. She’d thought she’d finally found a source, and it would be too disappointing—and frightening—if she’d imagined a conversation with a ghost.

“Some of us try to keep it up to hide the fact that the house is empty, but mostly, the garden tends itself—as if a ghost gardener maintains it.” Mariah finished eating her bun without concern.

“Then you’d better hope your ghost catchers don’t catch her,” Sam said in disgust, before turning to take orders from a new customer.

But when she walked back up to her apartment after the lunch rush, a dump load of beautifully composted dirt awaited her outside Gladys’s cottage.