moss and arranged in a herringbone pattern that occupied half the floor space.
The rich soil around the edges was filled with overgrown plants that had turned so wild they barely resembled any plant she had ever seen. A honeysuckle vine grew up the side of the greenhouse, searching for more sunlight.
Kelce and Sarge ventured into the room, each enamored by all the new smells. Sarge hiked his leg and definitively marked his territory. Kelce followed suit.
Colton moved to chase the two out, but Elaine stopped him. “That’s fine. They’re family too.”
“I like it.” Libby’s gaze rose up to the domed ceiling.
“It was pure luxury,” Elaine said. “My grandmother loved orchids, and Grandfather built this place so she could enjoy them all year long. She was from London and said this greenhouse matched the one her parents had in London. It was destroyed along with the family house in the Blitz.”
Colton walked up to one of the glass panes and inspected a crack that ran the diagonal length of it. “Elaine, you could make a small fortune if you had the place dismantled and sold all the pieces and parts to an architectural salvage company. It’s all quality construction.”
“We’ve had this conversation before,” Elaine said. “I want to fix it up. Make it what it once was.”
“It’ll take months,” he said.
“And money. I know the drill.” Elaine ran her fingertips along the edge of the fountain. “I suspect the plumbing that supplied water to this will need repair.”
“Yes,” he said. “There’s a gravity-fed system that feeds from a well near the main house.”
“Quite the engineering,” Libby said.
“My grandfather wanted only the best for his bride,” Elaine said.
“What was your grandfather Edward like?” Libby asked.
“Very dedicated to his work—that at times was controversial.”
“I think I read something about him years ago,” Libby said.
“It would have been hard to miss.”
Not only was the air thick with humidity, but it was also full of sadness and loss. The greenhouse had been designed to bear fruit, but neglect had left it infertile and a relic, more trouble than it was worth. A chill rolled down Libby’s spine, and she wondered if Sierra’s curse theory was not far off the mark.
Colton remained silent as he moved toward a far corner and knelt to inspect the foundation. He picked up an empty beer can that was faded and crushed. “When I was in high school, some kids used to sneak in here from time to time.”
“Sounds like you were in that group, Colton,” Elaine said.
“It was a long time ago,” he said.
Everything about Colton appeared to be in place, but Libby wondered if the sixteen-year-old version of him had been so contained.
“Did you sneak in here, Libby?” Elaine asked.
“I went to boarding school, so I missed out on the fun.”
An alarm buzzed on Colton’s phone. He removed it from his pocket and shut it off. “I’ve got to go get the boys, who are playing with friends this afternoon,” he said. His voice was smooth and mellow, unrushed. “As soon as I get them settled, I’ll be back to start on cleaning this place out. Libby, you want a ride back to the house with me or Elaine?”
“She can ride back with me,” Elaine said.
“Right,” he said.
“Colton, if you need help or extra manpower, get it,” Elaine said. “I want this done right, without delay.”
“Will do.” He strode outside and whistled for the dogs, who happily followed him to the truck.
Libby allowed her gaze to roam over the herringbone brick floor to a small stone table angled in a corner. “I’m glad you’re opening the property. From a business standpoint, it will allow you to upkeep all its beauty and history.”
“Perhaps,” Elaine said. “Or I might keep it private and available exclusively to the family. My husband calls it another one of my rescue missions.”
Libby wondered if she too might be one of those rescues, though she would argue she did not need rescuing. “Seems a worthy cause to me.”
“I’m glad you feel that way,” Elaine said.
Libby pointed her lens toward a small statue of a little angel. It was made of white marble and, like everything else, was covered in a thick coating of moss. She crossed to the opposite side to look back. Libby captured more images, and as she glanced to her right, she caught misshapen letters that had been etched in one of the glass panes. “Sadie.”
“What?” Elaine sounded slightly startled.
“Sadie, 1942. The name and date were etched in the glass.” Libby took