4

"How many people live in Divinity?" I asked my driver, Evander Graham, a burly man with silver hair who looked to be in his

early sixties, as I stared out the sedan's window at the passing landscape.

"?'Bout twenty-five thousand."

Kellan's dark head between my thighs. Challenge blazing in his eyes as I gripped fistfuls of his hair, bucking against him

as I came .

The unbidden image brought a flush to skin that still bore his scent, spicy and intoxicating. There'd been no time for a shower.

I needed one, as soon as possible, to wash away all memory of that man. Last night, and well into the day, had been merely

a nameless one-night stand, no different from the others, never to be repeated, never thought of again: one of my many unbreakable

rules—never take the same lover twice. I'd never wanted to. Until now.

Twenty-five thousand was roughly ten thousand more than Frankfort, closer to the size of Brownsburg, where I'd finished high

school. It was a comfortable size, large enough to offer amenities, small enough to feel cozy and navigable. "Everybody knows

everybody, don't they?"

"Pretty much. There's a lot of history in Divinity. It was settled in the late sixteen hundreds, and we've dozens of families that trace their roots back to those early settlers. Folks take pride in our town, work hard to keep it nice. It began as a planned settlement, stayed small until the late eighteen hundreds. Got a lot of fancy houses in the Queen Anne style, some Colonial and Antebellum. Streets are the prettiest I've ever seen. No real pollution. In my opinion, it's the best town in the whole damn country to live. We don't advertise the fact, though. Towns get attention, they start drawing the wrong kind of folk. Got no crime to speak of, work's plentiful, though some keep offices in New Orleans. Mostly we stay to ourselves."

Sounded too good to be true. All towns, no matter their size, had dark sides: drugs, homelessness, racism, economic inequity,

religious intolerance. Although, when I was younger, I'd hated being constantly uprooted, torn away from new friendships again

and again, my sense of loss was ameliorated by the endless discovery of new towns and new people. I hadn't gotten the best

schooling, but I'd acquired resilience, curiosity, and an open mind from our nomadic lifestyle. The only thing I'd missed

was my best friend, Este. When Mom let us stay in Brownsburg for two years, I'd been ecstatic, especially since I knew, for

reasons beyond my fathoming, Mom didn't like Este any more than Dalia Hunter liked me. They'd barely tolerated our friendship—and

they'd not tolerated each other at all, unwilling to share the same room. Hell, they wouldn't even occupy the same city block,

which had only made me and Este more protective of our friendship.

Este and I had been inseparable from the moment we met in fourth grade, when I was the new kid once again and both of us were outsiders. Me because I was always moving, often hastily, in the dead of night, and Este because she was brilliant, fierce, and—in a town that was 95 percent white in blue-collar jobs—biracial and from an affluent family, a singularity in both grade and high school. I still remembered what I was wearing the day we met, as I sat alone in the cafeteria picking at a greasy corn dog and fries on an orange plastic tray: jeans that I'd grown too tall for, so Mom had sewn bits of a flowered pillowcase to the bottoms, with a faded pink T-shirt that had only the tiniest of tears near the hem. I didn't look bad. I merely looked what we were: poor. Not Este. Her folks had money, lots of it, and it made her even more of a misfit at school.

Casting a glare about the cafeteria that had kids ducking their heads to avoid her withering gaze, nine-year-old Este swaggered

to my table, plunked down her tray, flashed me a smile as warm as her cyan glare was icy, and said, Name's Este Hunter. I'm going to be a famous artist someday, and everyone will know my name. You look like you have the balls

to be friends with me . Do you?

I was a goner. Only nine years old, and she'd said balls like she owned the word. Este did everything like she owned it. There was no "Zo, like no ," on my lips that day. Este was then and has always been able to blast through my countless barriers.

I smiled at the memory, gazing out the window at the passing scenery. Louisiana was subtropical-lush with trees and flowers I'd never seen before. The abundance of greenery was a feast to my winter-starved eyes. It was sunny, the sky cloudless, the temperature seventy-five. I hoped whatever local hotel Mr. Balfour had put me in had a pool, that prior to heading back to New Orleans to catch my return flight, I could have breakfast outside and soak up the sunshine before returning to a town where the only flowers brightening the dreary landscape were listless daffodils, assured of another killing frost, devoting scant effort to their pale blooms. In the Deep South, the foliage exploded with brazen audacity, exotic and wild, while I, feeling too much like those wan Midwestern daffodils, would droop home tomorrow to the same chilly terrain I'd left, with the same bone-deep chill in my heart. For a moment, I imagined living down here, never shoveling snow again, never de-icing my car as I shivered in the early morning gloom, never having to watch the world go colorless and cold around me for six long months, until the relentless gray of the sky was so similar to the roads, I might drive into the horizon without even realizing I'd left the ground. Then I sighed. I couldn't afford to move. I was so deeply in debt, dreams were beyond my budget.

When we passed the sign that announced we were entering Divinity, I sat up straighter, hugging my purse, gripped by a sudden

tension and apprehension I attributed to the unknowns of the meeting I was about to have. I wondered if I really did have

relatives, if the last one had recently died or if some remained and I might find family here. It was strange to be so alone,

and I hadn't wrapped my brain around it. I could feel the awareness of it, far off in the distance— You, Zo Grey, have no family in all the world —but it drifted aimlessly beyond a cyclone of grief.

Mr.Graham wasn't exaggerating. Divinity was the prettiest town I'd ever seen. The streets were immaculate, the centuries-old

houses faultlessly maintained behind cast-iron fences, their bright Victorian facades painted in historic shades, some with

fluted columns, others with whimsical romantic turrets, lace curtains fluttering in the afternoon breeze. Nearly all had inviting

porches and lawns bursting with bougainvillea, crepe myrtles, and magnolias.

As we entered the town commons—a one-block square of park hemmed on three sides by shops, with a fountain at the center and

benches dotting the hawthorn-hedged green—I gestured to an unusual building that resembled an old-time theater, modernized

with a striking cerulean and chrome facade. "What's that?"

"The Gossamer. It's a popular club with the young folk, live music and such. Then there's the Shadows at the south end of

town, where a more adult crowd gathers."

We passed dozens of quaint businesses, restaurants, a bank, a retro pizzeria, the post office and local gym, two coffee shops, and three bars. Then we were turning off the main thoroughfare and down a maze of cobbled alleys before exiting onto another main road and pulling into the circular drive of the Balfour and Baird Law Firm, which occupied a stately Colonial home, entry framed by tall white columns.

"Do you know where I'll be staying tonight?" Not with Kellan. Never with him again. My unbreakable rules are essential for navigating my life. I'd begun making them young for good reasons.

Mr.Graham got out of the car and opened my door. "I imagine Mr.Balfour will be telling you that."

As I stepped out, a sultry breeze lifted my hair and a sudden chill pierced the nape of my neck, burrowing to bone. My spine

constricted with a violent shiver, as if an icy airborne dart came concealed within the draft.

Later, I would understand I'd begun feeling the house at Watch Hill long before I saw it, the moment we'd entered the intangible

but oh so carefully guarded boundaries of Divinity, a cold, disturbing burn in my blood. When I stepped from the car, we got

that much closer to each other. I just hadn't understood what was happening.

Some things should never be awakened. Joanna Grey knew that.

Home to three centuries of secrets, blood, and lies, the mansion on the hill was a dark, slumbering beast.

Come to me. Know me. Live in me.

Shivering again, I tipped back my head, feeling irresistibly compelled to glance up and to the east.

Beyond gnarled, moss-draped limbs of centuries-old live oaks, an enormous hill hulked over the town of Divinity. At the crest of the hill, behind an ornate black cast-iron fence that was nearly swallowed by vines, crouched a dark, forbidding edifice flanked by turrets at the north and south ends. It peaked at five stories, its west-facing windows blazing like hellfire with afternoon sun, and, despite the brightness of the day, the fortress loomed, a stygian citadel on a high promontory.

It appeared to have been added on to multiple times. The vertiginous lines of the roofs soared and fell, veering off at opposing

angles, creating heavily gloomed niches between. It was a colossal structure, sweeping from grand porch to tall chimneys,

from turret to balcony to rooftop garden, hemmed by oaks twice the size of any I'd ever seen, their long, wandering, moss-fringed

branches brushing perilously near windowpanes.

Crouching high above Divinity, an uneasy blend of whimsical Victorian and funereal Gothic, painted pewter with ebony trim,

it squatted, a venomous spider presiding over the town, studying its meticulously spun web of streets below. The structure

fascinated and repelled me in equal measure. I wanted to explore the oddity; I never wanted to set foot inside it. I shuddered,

hoping I wasn't expected to stay there tonight. "Is that a hotel?" Please say no, I willed silently.

Mr.Graham laughed softly. "Private residence."

I hadn't realized I was holding my breath until it exploded in a sigh of relief. I wouldn't be sleeping there. Good. "That's

a house ?" More a mountain of malevolence, watching Divinity with shuttered eyes. "It's enormous."

"Oldest in town, built on the spot the first settlers chose. The original, centuries-old cabin was incorporated into it. The

first families still hold their funerals in the cemetery up there."

I forced my gaze away from the house with reluctance, with relief. The chill retreated as the ordinariness of the day washed back in, and I was suddenly embarrassed by how spooked I'd become. "I didn't think there were any hills in Louisiana." This was coastal plain, renowned for its unbroken flatness.

"We got a few. Watch Hill's the tallest in the state at six hundred fifty-four feet above sea level. Divinity's fifty feet

above sea level, then there's New Orleans at eight feet below, which causes countless problems. We don't advertise our hill

either. Louisiana's pride, Mount Driskill, is only five hundred thirty-five feet, and folks flock in droves to hike it, litter

it up, and spoil the beauty."

One day I would marvel that the largest hill in the state of Louisiana had been kept so secret that only Mount Driskill appeared

on maps, but by then it would seem trivial compared to the countless other impossibilities I was facing.

When I withdrew some of what remained of my dwindling store of cash—a waitress never fails to tip—he waved away my money,

assuring me Mr.Balfour had taken good care of him, and directed me to the door.

"Will you be driving me back to New Orleans tomorrow?"

"Welcome to Divinity, Ms.Cameron. It's good to have you here," Mr.Graham replied, as he got back into the car.

"Grey," I corrected. But the door was closed and he was already driving away.

James Balfour was a distinguished gentleman of seventy-six, though he didn't feel a day over fifty, he told me, blue eyes twinkling. He had the bearing of a retired actor aware of his every move, an abundance of white hair, a ready smile, and genteel manners. Fit and trim, he moved with the easy grace of a man decades younger, gesturing expansively as he talked. It was my guess he'd been a trial attorney at some point in his career, arguing cases with dramatic flair. His dark blue tailored slacks, light sweater, and expensive watch made me grateful I'd slipped into my other dress instead of jeans. Before getting down to the business at hand, he insisted I indulge in a glass of sweet tea and a thick wedge of the seven-layer caramel cake his wife, Lennox, had baked that morning.

By the time he set aside his plate and rose to gather a leather attaché from his desk, I was in the throes of a sugar rush

and more than ready to find out about my alleged inheritance so I could go to my hotel and shower. If I didn't wash the smell

of Kellan off me soon, I was afraid I might devise a loophole to one of my inviolate rules, return to New Orleans, and hunt

him down, telling myself I deserved a fabulous farewell fuck before flying back to my miserable life. I was already halfway

sold on the thought.

Throughout the day, flash after flash of our night together had slammed into me, virtually blanking my mind each time. I'd

caught myself losing focus on the driver's conversation, wondering where Kellan lived, how he lived, what kind of businesses

he ran, what style of house he lived in. What music he listened to, if he read books, what he did in his free time. Did he

date often, casually, indiscriminately? Or was he picky, like me? Did he always fuck like that? Was last night as different

for him as it had been for me, or was I the inconsequential recipient of what I'd so recklessly bestowed on others in the

past? Had the best sex of my life been nothing more than a never-to-be-repeated, meaningless one-night stand to him , or had I gotten under his skin as deeply as he'd gotten under mine? Was he thinking about me today?

I felt like such an idiot! I was actually wondering if a man was thinking about me today. What was wrong with me? I'd never wondered such things before. It was mortifying. I didn't like this Zo at all. I entered clean and swift and exited the same way.

Too clean, darling , Mom would say. She'd blamed herself for my lack of boyfriends. There was truth to that. When you know upon arrival you won't

be staying long, you unpack only what you need, acquire no knickknacks, hang no pictures on the walls. Nothing is permanent.

You know it, you adapt.

"As I told you on the phone," Mr.Balfour said, resuming his seat on the sofa opposite me, placing the attaché on the coffee

table between us, "you've been left an inheritance as the deceased's sole living heir."

So swiftly was the hope I'd been clinging to dashed—I would find no family here. I'd had a single other relative, but that

person was also dead. I truly was an orphan, the last of my line. "There were no children?"

"A daughter, but she died long ago."

"How were we related?"

"I'm not privy to that."

"But it's definitely my maternal side, not my father's?"

"I believe."

"Believe?"

"Upon review, I found nothing in my file. Juniper must have mentioned it; I merely failed to notate it."

"Surely you need more verification than someone's say-so that we're kin."

"If Juniper said you're related, you are. I had the privilege of working for her for fifty-two years. She made no mistakes,

left nothing to chance."

There wasn't a person alive who'd made no mistakes. "How did she find me?"

"I'm not privy to that either, but she assured me the genetic testing was conclusive. You are unequivocally related."

There went my inheritance, whatever it was. "I've never done genetic testing."

He arched a brow with a wry smile. "That you know of."

I arched a brow in return. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Do you get your hair cut in a local salon? Take your trash out to the curb overnight?"

My eyes narrowed. "You're telling me this Juniper of yours would have pilfered my trash, hunting for... I don't know what,

Band-Aids or hair?"

"She'd have pilfered more than that, Ms.Grey. Although I find it more likely she had her private investigator follow you

to a hair appointment and collect samples from the floor when no one was looking. She'd been hunting for blood kin for decades."

"When did she die?"

"Nine days ago."

Six days after my mother.

"Juniper found your mother through hospital records. I understand she was ill and then... the fire. I'm so very sorry for

your loss."

"Medical records are private. But I suppose the kind of woman that would steal someone's hair wouldn't balk at illegally accessing

medical records. Sounds like a real winner, this Juniper of yours."

He laughed. " Your Juniper. She's your relative, and I see it in you already. You've got the same take-no-guff attitude. You also narrow your

eyes the same way when your temper rises."

"I, however, don't believe the end justifies the means," I retorted, unaware my assertion would soon be put to the test, and I'd find myself willing to employ any means, any at all. No line of demarcation between light and dark, right and wrong. Funny how swiftly survival instinct breaches what you once deemed unbreachable.

"Perhaps you've never had as much at stake. Once you've signed the papers, the settlement is incontestable, not that there's

anyone to contest it. I set up the trust myself, and it affords protection for both your interests. You're welcome to have

an attorney of your own look over it before you sign, and, in fact, I encourage you to do so. However, the contingencies of

the inheritance are nonnegotiable. They must be met with no deviations or infractions."

That sounded ominous. I was bristling again. The astute Mr.Balfour noticed and offered, "As for the details of how you're

related to Juniper, it's likely you'll find that information somewhere on the estate, in her paperwork. I'm not withholding

facts from you, Ms.Grey. In my role as her solicitor, I'm simply not privy to them." He frowned, then added, "She said there

was a necklace worn by various branches of the family and your mother might have had one?"

"Nothing comes to mind."

"She didn't have a favorite necklace?"

"Mom wasn't much for jewelry," I said. "Now we'll never know. I lost everything in the fire."

Not quite everything. Tom Harris had phoned a few days ago to tell me they'd salvaged enough to fill a small box. A fireproof safe in mom's closet had been crushed by falling debris, but the contents were intact. I'd made plans to collect them upon my return. I suspected I'd find little more than paperwork, but hoped there would be more; special photos Mom had tucked away, loving mementos that had survived the fire that I could clutch while weeping. A scarf she'd worn, to which clung the priceless scent of my mother. I didn't have a single picture of her. I ached to curl in bed, laughing, weeping, reminiscing, but had only my duffle, an urn of ash, and memories that would grow increasingly blurred around the edges with the passage of years.

"It was a small seven-pointed star on a delicate chain."

"I'm surprised Juniper didn't have people break in to search our house for it," I remarked caustically.

"Juniper was an exceptional woman, brilliant and devoted to this town, but she'd known she was dying for some time. She would

have been one hundred and three years old this year. She'd grown desperate to find an heir. She had no wish to leave her estate

to a stranger or have it fall into disrepair. It meant everything to her, and it means a great deal to our town, too. She

was deeply loved, and her passing is deeply grieved. Juniper was a generous spirit and committed to those she cared about.

Yes, Ms.Grey, she was ruthless about finding you, but if she hadn't been, she'd have died heirless. When she confirmed you

were related, I'd never seen her happier. She hoped to bring both you and your mother here."

"Why didn't she contact us herself?"

"She slipped into a coma. I phoned after she passed. When the call to your home didn't go through, we knew of no other way

to reach you, so the investigator flew back up, only to learn your house had burned to the ground. We feared we'd lost you

both, but when Chuck went to the fire station, they told him you weren't home when it happened and gave him your cell phone

number."

I was abruptly exhausted, as if the past few years had caught up to me all at once, leaving me hollow and drained. "What is

this inheritance?"

"It's complicated."

"Why doesn't that surprise me?"

"Juniper wasn't looking merely for someone to whom she might leave her estate. She hoped her heir would love it as much as she did and choose to live in Divinity. Could you see yourself living here, Ms. Grey?"

I stared at him blankly. I couldn't see past the next five minutes. "I have no idea. I've been here all of an hour."

He said gently, "It's not as if you have a home to return to."

There was that. I wasn't looking forward to sleeping on a blowup mattress in an empty studio again. "I take it she left me

a house." Could be a blessing, if it was livable and had furnishings, even if they were as sadly outdated as they were bound

to be, given her age. I envisioned worn carpeting, tattered upholstered chairs, a yellow Formica dinette set in the corner

of a tiny linoleumed kitchen. I didn't care how old the bed was or what it looked like, so long as it had a mattress.

"She did. But you must live in it to inherit."

"How long?"

"Three years."

" Years? It's not mine until then?"

"I'm afraid not."

I surged to my feet, strode past the desk, and stood at the window, staring out. Though I despised winter and loved what I'd

seen of the climate in the south, it would be a drastic change. I might be an orphan, but at least back home I knew people.

Down here, I wouldn't know anyone, except a dangerously seductive man in New Orleans I'd prefer to stop thinking about. There

was comfort in familiarity, in navigating habitual landmarks, and Este lived less than an hour away from Frankfort. Was I

expected to pay rent? How much was the mortgage? What if it needed costly repairs?

"That's ridiculous," I clipped over my shoulder. "What kind of person forces you to live in a house for three years before you even own it?"

Mr.Balfour said, "During that time, all bills, utilities, and maintenance will be paid by the trust. Additionally, you will

be given five thousand dollars a month to cover living expenses, for an annual total of sixty thousand dollars."

I gasped, stunned by the amount. No bills to pay plus an income of sixty thousand dollars?

That was life-changing!

If I stayed the entire three years, I'd receive one hundred and eighty thousand dollars. I could barely fathom it. I could

get a job and save every penny, set up a long-term payment plan with my creditors. I'd actually own a house! I'd never asked myself what I wanted to one day be, what college major I might choose. Those thoughts were too painful

when I knew they would only become reality if Mom was dead.

One hundred and eighty thousand dollars meant I could go to college in three years. Or, if there was a university nearby,

I might even take a class or two while I was here. With a degree, I'd qualify for a job that paid well and eventually be able

to dig myself out of debt, build a life.

Dreams I'd refused to let myself entertain exploded in my mind. My passions were baking, nature, and animals. I could go to

culinary school, study horticulture, or pursue a degree in veterinary sciences. If I couldn't get a scholarship for graduate

school, I could at least become a technician while taking classes at night. My world was abruptly, dizzyingly rich with possibility.

"At the end of the first year, you inherit one million dollars."

I whirled to face him, blood draining from my face. Maybe there wasn't a yellow Formica dinette set in the kitchen.

"At the end of the second year, you inherit another million."

My heart began to pound, and my knees were suddenly weak. Maybe that kitchen had a dishwasher, a really nice stove with a

gas range and those pretty red knobs. Carefully, I made my way back to the sofa and sank onto it. "And at the end of three

years?" I managed to say weakly.

"At the end of three years, you inherit the house and the entire estate, the liquid portion of which is currently valued at

one hundred and forty-seven million dollars."

I opened my mouth and closed it again, sagging limply against the sofa, the unfathomable figure echoing inside my skull.

One. Hundred. Forty-seven. Million . The liquid portion. What the hell was the nonliquid portion?

"The nonliquid portion will take a bit of an education to understand," he said, as if reading my mind. "The estate's investments

are complex."

"Is this some kind of joke?" I finally managed to whisper.

"Absolutely not. Perhaps now you understand why she was ruthless about finding you."

I certainly did. If I were leaving that much to an heir, I too would have stolen DNA and accessed private medical records.

It took me several long moments to say weakly, "And you're certain we're related?"

"Unequivocally."

I locked eyes with him and searched his gaze intently, opening that inner part of me that sees too much in people's eyes.

I discerned no hint of falsehood. He genuinely believed what he was saying. If there was any deceit in this situation, both

of us were being fooled.

"Juniper made alternate plans, with which she was satisfied in case she was unable to locate a living relative. Under no circumstances would she have bequeathed her estate to a stranger. She'd have employed the alternative."

I fished for something intelligent and composed to say, but all that came out, so faintly it was little more than puffs of

air with a hint of vocalization, was, "Okay. Then. Well."

With one hundred and forty-seven million dollars, I could buy a culinary school, a dozen veterinary practices! I cast about

desperately for something more substantial, perhaps even intelligent to say, finally seizing upon, "What can you tell me about

the house? Where is it?" With luck, it was one of the pretty Victorians on the main thoroughfare.

"You might have noticed it on the way in."

My hopes soared.

"It graces the peak of Watch Hill."

"That monstrosity is my house ?" The primitive, instinctive response exploded from my mouth before I could stop it.

Graces was hardly the word I'd have chosen. I'd have gone with looms diabolically , perhaps postures predatorily , even a menace to the town . The only thing I'd seen in all of Divinity capable of icing my blood and striking dread into my heart was the very thing

that had been left to me.

Mr.Balfour's nostrils flared. His gaze chilled, and he took several measured breaths before suggesting tightly, "You may

not have looked closely, or perhaps the light wasn't quite right. Cameron Manor is the most gracious, inviting home I've ever

seen. You haven't been inside yet. Do try to keep an open mind."

I'd been grateful I didn't have to sleep there tonight. Now he expected me to sleep there.

Alone.

For three years.

Still, I'd insulted the home of someone he'd cared deeply about, and Mom had raised me better. "I'm sorry; I'm certain you're right, I must not have gotten a good look at it." I wasn't certain of that at all, but it was the thing to say.

Stiffly, he replied, "I'm afraid I've overwhelmed you, Ms.Grey. Perhaps you'd like to adjourn for dinner, have a glass of

wine, relax, and let your mind settle a bit."

Belatedly, I understood my driver's parting comment. "That's why Mr.Graham called me Ms.Cameron. She was Juniper Cameron

of Cameron Manor."

"He shouldn't have addressed you as such. There's no codicil in the will that requires you to change your name. Juniper hoped

you might choose to, but only of your own volition. Evander is a good man who dearly loved Juniper, and he spoke from grief.

We miss her, and you're her kin. We hope you decide to stay with us, but every bit of this is your choice. You can leave tomorrow

and never look back. You can stay as long as you wish while you make up your mind. You can live at the house for a year, and

if at the end of that time you no longer care to remain, you leave with a million dollars and the estate passes to the alternate."

A million dollars. My God, the things I could do with it. Live anywhere I wanted, do anything. Be free, light, weightless,

a buoyant feather. Feeling mercenary but compelled nonetheless to clarify, I said, "Unencumbered in any way?"

"Of course. It's all spelled out in the paperwork you'll sign. If you stay two years, you'll leave with two million."

I'd lose my mind doing nothing for two years. I needed a job.

I hadn't realized I'd said it aloud until Mr. Balfour's eyes were again sparkling and his tone warm. "You're two of a kind. Juniper couldn't stand an idle moment either, although she found running the estate and heading her charities and committees a full-time occupation. Still, I'm certain any establishment in town would be delighted to have you. I could put out feelers, see who's hiring, if you wish."

"Thank you, but if you don't mind, I'd like to go to my hotel now." My head was spinning, and I needed to be alone.

"Oh, my dear, I'm afraid I didn't... You see, I thought..." Mr.Balfour trailed off.

"I'd stay... there ." I couldn't bring myself to say the words Cameron Manor . It would make it too real. Live in that enormous, shadowy citadel all by myself? "How big is the house?"

"Square feet?"

I nodded.

He frowned. "Truth be told, I have no idea. It's never been on the market. I don't believe it's ever been measured."

"Do you know how many bedrooms it has?"

He shook his head and said, with unconcealed disappointment, "I was never given a tour of the entire manor."

"Twenty-five, thirty thousand square feet?" Our house in Indiana had been barely a thousand. I was offering numbers I couldn't

comprehend. My guess at the size of it made me feel ridiculously small. I could only imagine how Lilliputian being inside

the monstrosity would make me feel.

"Quite likely more. The fifth floor is small. It used to be the maid's quarters, but Juniper had it sealed off, as it wasn't

structurally sound. There's a basement—with a marvelous wine cellar, by the way—that adds considerable square footage, and

an expansive conservatory, which houses exotic flowers and trees. Juniper hosted parties at the manor all the time, threw

a fabulous annual Halloween bash for the town. I imagine you'll find photos of that and many other celebrations at the house.

She hired a professional photographer for such events."

"She lived up there all by herself?" Over a hundred years old in the macabre old mansion? If she could do it, so could I. But I'd rather not do it alone.

"Yes, although in later years, she had a nurse on-site."

"If I choose to stay, could I have someone live with me?"

"I'm afraid not. Guests are acceptable but no full-time residents for the first three years."

"Any limits regarding guests?"

"Daily visitors at your discretion. You may have one overnight guest, two weekends a month starting Friday at six in the evening,

ending Sunday at the same time."

"I find that disconcertingly controlling." Not to mention, bizarre.

"Juniper was heavy-handed when it came to the passing of her estate. I disagreed with her on the guest issue. After a bit

of time, say six months, I won't monitor the comings and goings of your company, so long as you don't breach it so flagrantly

it becomes difficult to ignore. After three years, the contingencies no longer apply; the estate is yours, and you may do

as you wish. A daytime staff cares for the manor. We've several wonderful local chefs if you'd care to retain meal services.

There are maids, carpenters, pool crew, gardeners, and the like. We've had the pantry stocked, and Lennox took the liberty

of placing a few casseroles that just need heating in the fridge, along with an assortment of essentials. The house is clean,

ready, and waiting for you. If and when you've a mind, my wife—my better half, we've been married since graduating high school,

and she's a gem to have put up with me this long—would love to meet you, show you around town a bit. Lennox knows everyone,

can help you get a feel for Divinity."

We sat in silence for a time while I tried and failed to wrap my mind around a single element of what he'd said. "You're absolutely certain I'm Juniper Cameron's relative?" I said finally. I couldn't shake the feeling this was some kind of prank, but I couldn't

see what anyone stood to gain from it.

"Juniper was, and that's all that matters. The papers are drawn up, awaiting your signature. Once you sign, the transfer of

the estate is irrevocable so long as the contingencies are met."

I lapsed into another silence. Half of me was insisting I leap up, pounce on the papers, and sign this very instant before

such a stupendous opportunity was snatched away. The other half was telling me to run like hell and pretend none of this had

ever happened. The inheritance, like the town, seemed too good to be true. Life didn't work this way for Grey women. I understood

hardship, running, sacrifice, and premature, painful goodbyes. I understood attaching to nothing, putting down no roots, erasing

myself again and again. Struggling to survive. Not a life of luxury, settling somewhere permanently, people seeing to my every

need, with more money than I could spend in a hundred lifetimes.

Mr.Balfour said gently, "Ms.Grey, I don't know you, but I get the feeling your life hasn't been easy, and you may find it

difficult to believe that good things happen to good people. Life isn't always hard. What do you have to lose? Give it a try.

Go see the house. You might find you love it here in Divinity. You and I may not be relatives, but Juniper was family to us,

and that means you're family too. Welcome. We hope you choose to make our town your home."

The grief I hadn't allowed myself to release last night was building pressure in my chest. Mom would have loved Divinity. If Juniper Cameron had found us sooner, we'd have had money for the best of care, I'd have had more free time to spend with Mom, and she wouldn't even have been in our house when it burned. She'd still be with me.

God, when would this pain ever stop? Would it, or was there to forever be a Mom-shaped hole in my heart?

"Would you mind driving me up the hill?"

He beamed, eyes twinkling. "I was hoping you'd say that. It would be my pleasure. The view of town from Watch Hill at twilight

is divine. We can meet tomorrow and discuss things further, or you can take a few days to relax and think things over. The

pool is ready, and you needn't worry about mosquitos. There's a constant breeze on the hill that proves quite the deterrent,

plus the landscapers planted abundant floral repellants. The wetlands are a different matter. Do take the time to coat yourself

in spray if you go hiking. Perhaps a few nights, even a week in Juniper's lovely home will change your mind."

I wasn't sure my mind needed changing. A million dollars for a year, two million for two, plus sixty thousand annually; if

I worked to pay for food and miscellaneous expenses, that would give me another hundred and twenty thousand dollars in addition

to whatever I saved. I could pay all of Mom's medical bills and have a fortune left over.

Three years? I couldn't wrap my brain around the possibility of committing to it, or the outcome: one hundred and forty-seven

million dollars, ownership of Cameron Manor and whatever the nonliquid estate was.

I was certain, however, that despite my first impression of Watch Hill, for one million dollars, I could survive a single

year on the cusp of hell itself.

Of course, at that moment, I had no idea I'd be doing just that.