“And at the end of the day, something I’ll enjoy having.”

“I wonder if there’s a place I could work in your house. I’d do the bulk in my apartment, but it might be helpful if I had some space on site. The house plays a vital part in the research, and the results.”

“That wouldn’t be a problem.”

“For the Amelia portion of the project, I’d like a list of names. Anyone who’s had any sort of contact with her I’ll need to interview.”

“All right.”

“And the written permission we talked about before, for me to access family records, birth, marriage, death certificates, that sort of thing.”

“You’ll have it.”

“And permission to use the research, and what I pull out of it, in a book.”

She nodded. “I’d want manuscript approval.”

He smiled at her, charmingly. “You won’t get it.”

“Well, really—”

“I’ll be happy to provide you with a copy, when and if, but you won’t have approval.” He picked up a short, thick breadstick from the wide glass on the table and offered it to her. “What I find, I find; what I write, I write. And if I write a book, sell it, you owe me nothing for the work.”

She leaned back, drew air deep. His casual good looks, that somewhat shaggy peat-moss brown hair, the charming smile, the ancient high-tops, all disguised a clever and stubborn man.

It was a shame, she supposed, that she respected stubborn, clever men. “And if you don’t?”

“We go back to the original terms we discussed at our first meeting. The first thirty hours are gratis, and after that it’s fifty an hour plus expenses. We can have a contract drawn up, spelling it all out.”

“I think that would be wise.”

When the appetizer was served, Roz declined a second glass of wine, absently selected an olive from the plate. “Won’t you need permission from anyone you interview as well, if you decide to publish?”

“I’ll take care of that. I want to ask, why haven’t you done this before? You’ve lived in that house your whole life and never dug down to identify a ghost who lives there with you. And, let me add, even after my experience, it’s hard to believe that sentence just came out of my mouth.”

“I don’t know exactly. Maybe I was too busy, or too used to her. But I’ve started to wonder if I wasn’t just, well, inoculated. The family never bothered about her. I can give you all sorts of details on my ancestors, strange little family anecdotes, odd bits of history, but when it came to her, nobody seemed to know anything, or care enough to find out. Myself included.”

“Now you do.”

“The more I thought about what I didn’t know, the more, yes, I wanted to find out. And after I saw her again, for myself, that night last June, I need to find out.”

“You saw her when you were a child,” he prompted.

“Yes. She would come into my room, sing her lullaby. I was never afraid of her. Then, as happens with every child who grows up at Harper House, I stopped seeing her when I was about twelve.”

“But you saw her again.”

There was something in his eyes that made her think he was wishing for his notebook or a tape recorder. That intensity, the absolute focus that she found unexpectedly sexy.

“Yes. She came back when I was pregnant with each of my boys. But that was more of a sensation of her. As if she were close by, that she knew there was going to be another child in the house. There were other times, of course, but I imagine you want to talk about all that in a more formal setting.”

“Not necessarily formal, but I’d like to tape the conversations we have about her. I’m going to start off with some basic groundwork. Amelia was the name Stella said she saw written on the window glass. I’ll check your family records for anyone named Amelia.”

“I’ve already done that.” She lifted a shoulder. “After all, if it was going to be that simple, I thought I might as well wrap it up. I found no one with that name—birth, death, marriage, at least, not in any of the records I have.”

“I’ll do another search, if it’s all the same to you.”

“Suit yourself. I expect you’ll be thorough.”

“Once I get started, Rosalind, I’m a bloodhound. You’ll be good and sick of me by the end of this.”

“And I’m a moody, difficult woman, Mitchell. So I’ll say, same goes.”

He grinned at her. “I’d forgotten just how beautiful you are.”

“Really?”

Now he laughed. Her tone had been so blandly polite. “It shows what a hold Baudelaire had on me. I don’t usually forget something like that. Then again, he didn’t have complimentary things to say about beauty.”

“No? What did he say?”

“ ‘With snow for flesh, with ice for heart, I sit on high, an unguessed sphinx begrudging acts that alter forms; I never laugh, I never weep.’ ”

“What a sad man he must have been.”

“Complicated,” Mitch said, “and inherently selfish. In any case, there’s nothing icy about you.”

“Obviously, you haven’t talked with some of my suppliers.” Or, she thought, her ex-husband. “I’ll see about having that contract drawn up, and get you the written permissions you need. As far as work space, I’d think the library would work best for you. Whenever you need it, or want something, you can reach me at one of the numbers I’ve given you. I swear, we all have a hundred numbers these days. Failing that, you can speak with Harper, or David, with Stella or Hayley, for that matter.”

“I’d like to set something up in the next few days.”

“We’ll be ready. I really should be getting home. I appreciate the drink.”

“My pleasure. I owe you a lot more for helping me out with my niece.”

“I think you’re going to be a hero.”

He laid some bills on the table, then rose to take her hand before she could slide out of the booth on her own. “Is anybody going to be home to help you haul in all that loot?”

“I’ve hauled around more than that on my own, but yes, David will be there.”

He released her hand, but walked her out to her car. “I’ll be in touch soon,” he said when he opened the car door for her.

“I’ll look forward to it. You’ll have to let me know what you come up with for your sister for Christmas.”

Pain covered his face. “Oh, hell, did you have to spoil it?”

Laughing, she shut the door, then rolled down the window. “They have some gorgeous cashmere sweaters at Dillard’s. Any brother who sprang for one of those for Christmas would completely erase a forgotten birthday.”

“Is that guaranteed? Like a female rule of law?”

“From a husband or lover, it better glitter, but from a brother, cashmere will do the trick. That’s a promise.”

“Dillard’s.”

“Dillard’s,” she repeated, and started the engine. “Bye.”

“Bye.”

She pulled out, and as she drove away glanced in the rearview mirror to see him standing there, rocking on his heels with his hands in his pockets.

Hayley was right. He was hot.

ONCE SHE GOThome, she pulled the first load out, carried it in the house and directly up the stairs to her wing. After a quick internal debate, she piled bags into her sitting room, then went down for more.

She could hear Stella’s boys in the kitchen, regaling David with the details of their day. Better that she got everything inside by herself, upstairs and hidden away before anyone knew she was home.

When she was finished, she stood in the middle of the room, and stared.

Why, she’d gone crazy, obviously. Now that she saw everything all piled up, she understood why Mitch had goggled. She could, easily, open her own store with what she’d bought in one mad afternoon.

How the hell was she going to wrap all of this?

Later, she decided after dragging both hands through her hair. She’d just worry about that major detail later. Right now she was going to call her lawyer, at home—the benefit of knowing him since high school—and get the contract done.

And because they’d gone to high school together, the conversation took twice as long as it might have. By the time she’d finished, put some semblance of order back into her sitting room, then headed downstairs, the house was settled down again.

Hayley, she knew, would be up with Lily. Stella would be with her boys. And David, she discovered, when she found the note on the kitchen counter, was off to the gym.

She nibbled on the potpie he’d left for her, then took a quiet walk around her gardens. The lights were on in Harper’s cottage. David would have called him to let him know he’d made potpie—one of Harper’s favorites. If the boy wanted some, he knew where to find it.

She slipped back inside, then poured herself another glass of wine with the idea of enjoying it in a long, hot bath.

But when she went back upstairs, she caught a movement in her sitting room. Her whole body tightened as she went to the door, then loosened again when she saw Stella.

“You got my juices up,” Roz said.

It was Stella who jolted and spun around with a hand to her heart. “God! You’d think we’d all stop jumping by now. I thought you’d be in here. I came by to see if you’d like to go over the weekly report, and saw this.” She swept a hand toward the bags and boxes lining the wall. “Roz, did you just buy the mall?”

“Not quite, but I gave it a good run. And because I did, I’m not much in the mood for the weekly report. What I want is this wine and a long, hot bath.”

“Obviously well deserved. We can do it tomorrow. Ah, if you need help wrapping some of this—”

“Sold.”

“Just tap me any evening after the kids are in bed. Ah, Hayley mentioned you were having drinks with Mitch Carnegie.”

“Yeah. We ran into each other, as it seems everyone in Tennessee does eventually, at Wal-Mart. He’s finished his book and appears to be raring to go on our project. He’s going to want to interview you, and Hayley among others. That’s not going to be a problem, is it?”