Description: Chapter 1 "This is where you grew up?" my boyfriend, Heath, asked me as our van came to a stop. I stared up at the large plantation home of my childhood and tried to see it through Heath''s eyes. The stately six-bedroom, five-bath home sat atop a large hill that I used to roll down when I was little. I had found such joy in rolling down that hill. And the grand, ancient sixty-foot oak tree that dominated the far right side of the yard, where I''d had a swing that I used to ride for hours. And the long wraparound porch where I''d spent lazy summer days cuddled up with a good book and glass after glass of pink lemonade. Of course, all of that was before my mother died. Before all the joy went right out of my life and right out of that house. Looking up at the dark redbrick manor with black shutters and a gleaming white porch, I could see that not much had changed about the house in thirty years. It still looked as grand, charming, and pristine as ever, but inside I could feel the ghosts that haunted the old Southern home. Literally. "Are we there yet?" Gil yawned from the backseat. Gilley is my BFF. He''s been my best friend for over twenty years, so he knows my history well. "We''re here," Heath said, arching his back and stretching. It''d been a long drive from Boston to the southern Georgia city of Valdosta. "I didn''t know this place was gonna be so . . . big." Gil sat up and leaned forward. "M.J. didn''t tell you?" he asked, like I wasn''t in the van. "Her daddy''s a very wealthy man." I scowled. Gil made it sound like that was something to be proud of. But since my mother''s death, Daddy had always put his work before me, so I hardly thought it a positive thing. Plus, he''d never once offered to help me out in all those years Gil and I had struggled to make ends meet in Boston. "Yeah, he''d have to be to afford this place," Heath said. My gaze shifted to him. He looked intimidated, and I thought I knew why. Heath came from far humbler--but perhaps more honorable--circumstances. "Hey," I said, reaching for his hand. "It''s his money, not mine." Heath tore his eyes away from the house. "Yeah, but, Em, I mean . . . look at this place." "It''s just a house," I said, leaning in to give him a quick peck before getting out of the van. As we walked from the van toward the house, the front porch door opened and out stepped Daddy. My breath caught in surprise at the sight of him. I barely recognized the man standing there. My father had always been a tall and imposing figure. Well over six feet, he''d been a big barrel of a man who''d gone gray, then silver prematurely, and whose countenance had always appeared to be tired and overworked. The man on the porch, whom I hadn''t seen in several years, was still tall and imposing, but he''d trimmed down by at least forty pounds--pounds he''d always carried around his middle and which he really had needed to lose. His hair was also darker, but it suited him and made him look ten years younger, and his face, always set in a deep frown, was actually lifted into an expression I hadn''t seen him wear since I was ten. The man actually looked happy. "You okay?" Heath whispered, and I realized he''d taken up my hand. "Yeah," I said, shaking my head a little. "He just looks . . ." "Amazing," Gil said on the other side of me. "Lord, M.J., is that really Montgomery Holliday?" "Hey there, Mary Jane," my father called from the porch with a wave. "I was expectin'' you a little later. Y''all must''ve made good time." "Hey, Daddy," I replied as we started up the walk toward the stairs. "We did make good time." My father nodded and adopted something halfway between a grimace and a smile, but I couldn''t really fault him for it. If you don''t ever smile even once in twenty years, I expect you''d be out of practice. The porch door opened again and out stepped a lovely-looking woman perhaps in her late fifties or early sixties. She had a regal quality about her with short-cropped and perfectly coiffed blond hair, bright blue eyes, and a trim figure. Her smile was brilliant and contagious and she clapped her hands at the sight of us. "Ooo!" she exclaimed. "Monty, is this your daughter?" I had climbed the steps and now stood in front of Daddy and the woman who must be his new fiance, Christine Bigelow. "This is her, dear," Daddy said, stepping forward to open up his arms to me. For a moment I just stood there confused. Daddy hadn''t hugged me since the day my mother died. In fact, that was perhaps the last time he''d ever touched me tenderly, so this open display of affection was throwing me a little and I didn''t know how to react. Next to me I heard Gil clear his throat, then push me with his hand a little, and I sort of took two awkward steps forward and Daddy hugged me with three neat pats to the back before letting go. He continued to wear that strange half smile, half grimace. And then I was wrapped up in another hug from Christine. She squeezed me tight and added another "Ooo!" Then she stepped back and held me at arm''s length. "Mary Jane, I have heard so many wonderful things about you! Your father simply raves about how smart and amazing his little girl is!" "You have?" I said. "He does?" I wasn''t trying to be a brat--I was actually really surprised that Daddy would say anything even remotely kind on my behalf. He''d spent decades letting everyone else know what a disappointment I was to him. "Well, of course!" she said, and then her bright eyes turned to the two men at my side. "Now, don''t tell me. Let me guess," she said to them. Pointing to Heath, she said, "You must be Heath Whitefeather, Mary Jane''s boyfriend, and you," she said next, pointing to Gil, "must be Gilley Gillespie, Mary Jane''s best friend--am I right?" "What gave it away?" Gil said, and I wanted to roll my eyes. Gilley was actually wearing mascara and blush today, along with blue nail polish. He loved flaunting his flamboyant side in my conservative Southern Baptist father''s face. "Your mama described her handsome son to a T," Christine told him slyly. The tactic worked; Gil blushed and I knew she''d just claimed another ally. "It''s very nice to meet you, ma''am," Heath said, extending his hand to her. Christine laughed lightly and shook her head, stepping forward to hug Heath. "Oh, none of that formal stuff for family!" she said. I hate to admit it, but the lovely warmth and charm of the woman had an effect on me. I liked her. A lot. And I couldn''t understand what she''d first seen in my father, but looking at the dramatic change in him, I had to be grateful, because it was a world of difference. Once she''d had her fill of hugs, Christine took up my arm and Gilley''s and said, "Now! Let''s all step inside and have ourselves a proper lunch, shall we?" We began to follow her and Daddy inside when a pickup truck came barreling up the drive at an alarming rate of speed, honking its horn to get our attention. Daddy''s posture and countenance changed in a second and he stepped forward to the edge of the porch, ready to handle whatever came next. Heath moved over to stand next to Daddy, and I could tell that my father approved of the move and perhaps even of Heath in that moment. The truck came to a stop and out jumped a man in jeans, a plaid shirt, a stained cowboy hat, and work boots. "Mrs. Bigelow!" he called urgently. "Clay," my father said, his voice full of the authority that used to send me scurrying. Clay removed his hat and nodded to my father. He looked out of breath. "Mr. Holliday, sorry to trouble you, but we''ve had another situation at the work site." Daddy moved down two steps toward Clay, and Heath followed him. Next to me Christine stood rigid, biting her lip as if she knew the news was bad. "It''s another accident," Clay said. "What happened?" Daddy demanded. "The scaffolding in the ballroom gave way, sir. Two of my men were sent to the hospital." "Oh, no!" Christine exclaimed. "Clay, are they badly injured?" Clay clenched and unclenched his hat. "Not real bad, ma''am, but bad enough. Boone''s got a busted ankle, and Darryl might have a broken arm." Christine''s posture relaxed a fraction. "Oh, that''s dreadful," she said. "But I''m so grateful it wasn''t worse! Monty, after lunch we should go straight to the hospital to see the men. And of course I''ll cover their medical expenses." "Now just hold on here," my father interjected. "Clay, that scaffolding is your responsibility. If it wasn''t properly put together, Christine ain''t gonna be responsible for no medical expenses." It was Clay''s turn to stiffen. "Mr. Holliday, sir, that scaffolding was put together correctly. Why, I checked it myself this morning. Just like I checked all the other equipment and rigging that''s somehow managed to come apart, or blow up, or fail on us and cause nothing but accidents at this jobsite. It ain''t us, sir." "Well, then who''s responsible?" Daddy snapped. Clay fiddled with his hat and looked at the ground. "It''s like I told you last time, Mrs. Bigelow," he said, avoiding my father''s sharp gaze. "We think your place is cursed, and, ma''am, I truly am sorry, but I''m pulling my crew." "You''re what?" Daddy roared loud enough for Clay to jump. But the foreman wasn''t backing down. Donning his hat, he looked directly at Christine and said, "I''m real sorry, ma''am. But that estate has something bad creeping through those hallways. I''ve tried to tell you that I don''t think it''s a good idea to keep messing with it, and maybe you''d best to cut your losses too, before you or someone you love gets hurt same as my men. Anyway, we''re leaving. I just wanted to co

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