As she waited, she looked at the puzzle, disappointed by her limited progress. She had finished the border but had done little to finish the image featuring an enormous basket of sleepy golden retriever puppies. She should just give up and dismantle it, but her grandmother had always complained that no one saw anything through. Margaret’s own mother had not stayed around to raise her, so she had decided years ago she would style herself like her grandmother and never quit anything. So the puzzle stayed.

When the kettle whistled, she fished a tea bag from the cabinet and dropped it into a favorite mug covered in honeysuckle flowers. It had belonged to her grandmother, and though the rim was slightly chipped, she was willing to avoid the rough edge for the sake of the memories.

She poured hot water over the bag, swirling it gently and watching as the water darkened.

Her old phone rang, and she crossed to the wall and picked up the receiver. “Hello.”

“It’s me, Mom,” Colton said. “Just making sure you got home.”

“Alive and well.”

“Dinner was fun.”

“It was nice.”

“What did you think of Libby?” he asked.

“I like her. She’s a strong young woman.”

“What’s her deal with Elaine?”

“I don’t know,” she lied. “Best ask Elaine.”

He chuckled. “Fine, don’t tell me. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Sure thing, son.”

“See ya.”

She hung up the phone and picked up her cup, running her finger over the chipped edge. She sipped tea and walked over to the puzzle, fingering a few pieces before she lost interest and walked out onto the back porch.

Margaret sat on the vinyl-covered cushions nestled in the porch rocker seat. Gently, she swayed back and forth, sipping her tea and staring up into the cloudless night sky at the bright pinpoints of starlight.

The stalemate she had with her house and her inability to move on toward a new future did not have anything to do with caring for Elaine or Woodmont. It had to do with Libby.

Margaret had been waiting for the girl to return. And now that her father had passed, she hoped the young woman would sink her roots deep in this valley. Libby being here would be good for everyone.

The tea tasted too bitter. She considered adding more honeysuckle syrup but decided it was not worth the bother.

She tipped her head back, tracing her finger over the chipped edge of her mug as she stared at the stars. “I don’t know where you are right now, Dr. Carter. But if there’s any justice, you’re burning in hell.”

CHAPTER TEN

LIBBY

Tuesday, June 9, 2020

Bluestone, Virginia

Hours before the sun rose, Libby’s eyes popped open, and she was fully awake. She was back in her father’s home and sleeping on the couch in the living room. Glancing at her phone, she confirmed it was 3:24 a.m. Willing herself to enjoy the remaining hours of sleep, she closed her eyes and breathed deeply several times. The harder she tried to sleep, the more awake she felt.

She stared at the tiny luminescent stars that she had glued on the living room ceiling when she was in sixth grade. The stars had annoyed her father, but her mother, who had watched her affix them all, had declared them delightful. By then, he never went against his wife’s wishes, knowing it always led to an argument. So the stars remained. She was surprised now—and a little pleased—they had survived last year’s renovation.

Libby did not have to be at Woodmont until eight. But the longer she stared at the stars, the more worries nibbled at her. Another worst-case list materialized. Elaine forgets she’s hired me. More rain. Overcast skies. All my shots are boring and expose me as the newbie photographer that I really am.

More aggravated with each passing wakeful moment, she finally tossed back her covers and got up. Carefully, she folded the quilt and draped it over the couch.

Grabbing her pillow, she climbed the stairs and carefully placed the pillow on her bed. In the adjoining bathroom, she turned on the shower. As steam rose, she glanced in the mirror at her hollow cheeks and pale skin. On her return home last night, she’d had a few more glasses of wine, making the grand total too much.

No amount of hydration or coffee was going to soften the dark circles or hollow cheeks. “Damn it, Libby.”

She stripped off her oversize T-shirt and stepped under the hot spray, willing it to pummel the stiffness and fatigue from her body. She lathered her hair in rose-scented shampoo and washed with fragrant bodywash. If she did not feel great, she could at least smell good. Twenty minutes later makeup was applied, and she was dressed in black jeans, a loose white T-shirt, and sneakers.

She brewed a pot of coffee and, after filling her cup, moved out to the front porch, where she checked her email on her phone. The tree-lined street was quiet as the nearly full moon hovered just above the horizon.

The emails in her in-box were standard. One client wanted a retouch, complaining her pictures had made her look too heavy. One bride thought she did not look tanned enough and wanted to be photoshopped. There were three new inquiries from potential brides-to-be. And a local real estate group that wanted headshots for the newest members of their million-dollar club. All good for the company, but still boring.

Her mind drifted to the greenhouse covered in moss and dead foliage, concealing a broken fountain and a pack of small animals that had likely lived for generations in the shadows of silence.

She checked the time. Over two hours to go before her appointment. Still, Woodmont was a working farm, and everyone would be up early.

After pouring her morning coffee into her travel mug, she grabbed her cameras and put them all in the back seat of her car. As she started the drive out of town, she tried to script what to say to Elaine and Colton when she arrived two hours early.

Pulling into the long driveway past the twin pillars, she determined her early arrival was attributed to the morning light. For a photographer, it was the purest, and she would capture the best of the greenhouse’s domed roof.

Libby parked in the circular driveway and then climbed out of the car, grabbing her cameras and flashlight from the back seat. She strung two cameras around her neck and, after clicking on the flashlight, retraced the path she had driven with Colton and Elaine yesterday. Trees ripe with foliage blocked most of the remaining moonlight, making it tougher to track.

As she eased down the dark road, she calculated how long it would take for someone to find her if she fell. If her body was on the road, less than a few hours, she thought. If she rolled into a gully, it could be considerably longer. After doing the calculations, she moved closer to the middle of the road, knowing rescue crews would have a better chance of finding her and getting an ambulance to the scene so she could be carted to the trauma center in Charlottesville.

Too curious about the greenhouse, she pushed aside fear and followed the glow of the flashlight. The dark road narrowed as it sloped toward the river. The dirt, now mud from last night’s rain, stuck to her shoes, staining the sides as she left impressions of her footsteps.

“Damn it.”

The morning air was already warm, and by the time she saw the structure, her shirt was damp. The sun was nearing the horizon and bringing with it streaks of gold and orange light.

She angled her body through the open door and moved to the center of the greenhouse. Enveloped by the thick, moist air, she shut off her flashlight and tucked it in her back pocket. She snapped a few pictures of the dome but knew with one glance into her viewfinder the light was not right yet. Good photographers understood the right moment could not be rushed, and if captured, patience and speed were essential.