of the wood gleamed against the old stone walls, drawing out the hints of gold and umber.
Generous in size, its steps spanning the length, it stood out against the softer colors of the rails and pickets. Rising over it, the upper porch added grace and charm to dignity.
“You know, you work on it,” Owen began, “and you see it change. But you’re inside it or on it, so you don’t really see. Fucking A, we did good.”
“Damn right. It’s a moment.” Ryder pulled out his phone, framed the building in, took a picture. “And the moment’s immortalized. Back to work.”
“Better send that to Mom.”
Owen shook his head at Beckett. “I’ve already talked to her this morning. She’s coming in anyway. Let’s give her the full impact.”
“Better idea,” Beckett agreed. “Talk of the town.” He studied the lines and colors as they crossed back over.
Inside, they split off, Owen to check on the progress of the tile install, Ryder to begin work on the coffered ceiling in the dining room. Beckett headed up to the third floor, but paused on two when he smelled honeysuckle.
“Like that, do you?” he murmured, and walked down to Elizabeth and Darcy. “She doesn’t look sad anymore.”
On impulse, he walked into the room, then out onto the porch. He looked out on the town, the line of Main Street with its shops and houses, its covered porches and bricked sidewalks. And beyond it to the glint of fields, the rise of hills, the ring of mountains rolling to the blue autumn sky.
“This is good.” He didn’t know if he spoke to himself, the building, or the ghost. It didn’t matter. “This feels right.”
Others had stood on this spot when the street had been a wide dirt road carrying horses, carriages. When soldiers came to fight in those fields, those hills and mountains. It stood while the dead were buried, and the grass grew green over them.
“Did you?” he wondered, thinking of the honeysuckle. “Did you stand here? When? Did you come in a carriage or in a car? How did you die? Why do you stay?”
Not ready to share, he thought. Women knew how to keep their secrets.
He glanced down toward Turn The Page. Too early for Clare to be in, he thought. She’d be getting the boys ready for school, dealing with breakfast and backpacks.
Did she think of him during her morning routine? Would she look out her office window and wonder what he was doing, how soon they’d see each other?
Did she sometimes ache at night wishing for him the way he wished for her?
He liked to think so.
He saw one of the operators unlock the front door of Sherry’s Salon, then glance over—then simply stand and stare. It made him grin as pride rushed into him.
We’re not done yet, he thought. She needs lights and benches, planters—and so much more. But when she’s dressed for the party, she’ll be the belle of the ball.
As he walked back in, he caught a movement out of the corner of his eye. Just a blur that seemed to shimmer in the air—there, then gone—as he turned toward it.
The door he’d secured swung back open.
He took a quick step back as his heart jolted. He’d have sworn he heard the faintest whisper of a laugh.
“Yeah, funny.” He moved over, shut the door again. The minute he started out, it opened again.
He closed it; it opened.
Maybe she liked the fresh air, or the view, but he couldn’t play this game all morning.
“Okay, look, I can’t leave it open. Remember the pigeons—and the pigeon shit? Let’s not give them an invitation to move back in.”
As he watched, the door opened a couple inches—like a tease—then shut.
“Thanks.” He waited a moment to be sure before backing out of the room.
He’d just won an argument with a ghost, he decided on his way upstairs. That had to be one for the books.
Just after nine, his day got another boost when his cell phone rang and he saw the bookstore on the display. He set his measuring tape aside.
“Hi.”
“Oh, Beckett, it’s beautiful. I just got in, came up to my office and glanced out the window. I swear I did a double take.”
“We took the tarp down a couple hours ago.”
“I know you told me what it would look like, and I saw a little, but it’s just so much more. I’m watching people walking or driving by stopping to stare.”
“So am I. I just walked out on the second-floor porch.” He