“I can help you unpack.”

  “Oh, the hell with that. Later. I want to see more.” She sat up. “Is there a creepy basement?”

  “There is.”

  “I want to see that, too.”

  “You’re on your own with that. I really, really missed you, Cleo.”

  “I missed you. I swear, it feels like months instead of a couple weeks.” She popped up. “Come on. Show me more. Then let’s pick a room and open a bottle of wine.”

  Sonya showed her more, and felt even the dregs of anxiety drain at Cleo’s delighted reaction to everything. When they stood shivering on the widow’s walk, the snow began to fall.

  “Imagine standing here, looking out, and not knowing when the person you loved would come home.”

  “The Pooles not only built ships but sailed them,” Sonya said. “So I guess more than one stood here looking out and wondering.”

  “I see what you mean about the forest. It’s magical. It’s all magical.” She wrapped an arm around Sonya’s waist. “My best friend fell into magic. I love this, Sonya. I love it for you.

  “Let’s go have wine.”

  They went down, opened a bottle. For now, Sonya noted, the iPad stayed quiet. And the cabinets in the kitchen remained closed.

  If she’d imagined it all, maybe she needed to see a doctor.

  They took the wine—Cleo’s pick—into the solarium to sit in the warm among the plants and watch the snow fall.

  “Now.” Cleo settled back. “We’re just into our second decade of knowing each other. What’s worrying you?”

  “Not nearly as much with you here. I think all this alone time in this big house started making me a little crazy. I love it, and didn’t expect to. I didn’t expect to be so determined to stay. I miss you. I miss Mom. Sometimes I miss living in the city. But I want to be here.”

  “It’s yours, Son. And it’s not just a house, it’s your history, and generations of family. You’re making it your home. I can see pieces of you all around. Not just the library, though that’s all you now. You don’t love it just because it’s amazing, and it is. You love it because it’s you.”

  “I’m a big old house on the coast of Maine?”

  “Not the location necessarily, but yeah, the rest. You always wanted this.” Lifting a finger, Cleo ticked it in the air. “I’m not wrong there.”

  “I did. It feels sort of strange to know I did want this.”

  “When that asshole whose name I won’t speak unless it’s in a curse wanted to look at houses, you wanted something just like this. Smaller scale, for sure, but a house with history, with character, with quirks. All he wanted was a big fancy box with status symbol all over it.”

  “You’re right about that.”

  “I’m here until Monday morning.” Settling back, Cleo toasted both of them. “I know your mom’s coming up in a few weeks. And I’ll come up again. Trust me on that because I miss you. Plus, I love this place, too.”

  “You could stay.”

  “I’ve got a meeting Monday afternoon, so—”

  “No, I mean stay-stay. Move in.”

  Cleo’s topaz eyes widened. “Move in … here?”

  “Why not? You can work anywhere, just like me. It’s only three hours to Boston to have meetings if you can’t do it by remote. Your family can come and stay anytime. At all. You can have that bedroom. Or you could take the apartment if you want more space.”

  The words tumbled out in a rush.

  “You know we can live together. We did it for four years in college. And it’s such a big house. We could go days without seeing each other if we wanted to.”

  “Well, holy shit, Sonya.” More than stunned, Cleo pushed a hand through her hair. “And here comes another wow.”

  “You could think about it, couldn’t you? Just think about it. The village—it’s not Boston by any stretch, but it’s charming, and there are some restaurants, some shops. Have some more wine,” Sonya said, almost desperately now, “and just think about it.”

  “You’re serious about this?”

  “I’m serious.”

  And wanted it more than she’d let herself admit.

  “You fell for Collin’s studio during the video tour, and when we just walked through again. It’s yours. Or you could set up anyplace you want, but you know you could work there. And have the space and the time to paint more. You really only paint in the summer now, outside, because your apartment doesn’t have the light or space. You’d have it here.”

  Eyes narrowed, Cleo pointed a finger. “You’re playing dirty with that turret space.”

  “It’s made for you. You have to at least think about it.”

  “It’s hard to think of anything else right now.”

  “Good. That’s good.” Bracing herself, Sonya took a long sip of wine. “Because I need to tell you either I’m having some sort of a breakdown, I’ve got a brain tumor, or the manor’s haunted.”

  Cleo said nothing for a moment, then picked up her own glass. “Those are words I never expected to hear coming out of my most sensible friend.”

  “I know. I know. But—”

  Cleo held up a hand. “You’re not having a breakdown, you don’t have a damn brain tumor. And of course the manor’s haunted.”

  “I don’t know how to…” As she stared, Sonya’s breath hitched in, hitched out.

  “How do you know it’s haunted? They haven’t done anything since you’ve been here.”

  “Well, Jesus, Son, because they’re here. Because I felt them the minute I walked in. At least one of my wows was for them.” Cleo angled her head.

  “What do they do?”

  “They—they—God, I can’t sit down.” She pushed up, paced around the plants. “They open doors, shut them. Move things. Music starts playing on my iPad. Sometimes they open all the kitchen cabinets. They clean out the wood-burning fireplaces and set the logs—I think they bring logs in, too. They make up my bed in the morning, and turn it down at night.”

  “Do you thank them?”

  Sonya goggled. “Thank them?”

  “If someone made up my bed and turned it down for me, I’d thank them.”

  “No, I haven’t thanked them, or it, or…”

  “Because you didn’t want to believe they exist.”

  “Why would I?” Exhausted by the rant, Sonya dropped down again. “Why would anybody want to believe they might be living in a haunted house? Last night…”

  She closed her eyes, breathed deep.

  “Last night, someone pounded on the door. The front door. It woke me up. And when I looked out the window, I swear, Cleo, there was a blizzard. Snow, howling wind. I went down. I thought someone had an accident or their car broke down. But when I opened the door, there was nothing. No snow, nobody, no howling wind. I didn’t dream it.”

  “Okay.” With a nod, Cleo took another sip of wine. “It’ll take me two or three weeks to get everything together and move up here.”

  “You—” Sonya covered her face with her hands and burst into tears.

  “Aw, come on, Son. Come on.” Rising, Cleo shifted seats and wrapped around her friend. “It’s okay. We’ll be roomies again. In really big rooms. You don’t think I’d let you have a haunted house all to yourself.”

  “I love you so much.”

  “I love you right back.”

  “You’re sure—not about loving me, but moving here?”

  “Absolutely sure. And I hope whoever’s in charge of housekeeping turns down my bed, too.”

  “If they don’t, I will.”

  With a laugh, Cleo drew back. “We’re going to have some fun. Anyway, if loving my best friend and the ghosts hadn’t done it, that turret studio did. I’ve been obsessed with it since we FaceTimed.”

  “Do you want the apartment?”

  Laughing, Cleo gave Sonya a little shove. “Do you think I’m giving up the beautiful Bluebird? No possible way. Come on. Let’s go get me unpacked.”

  They unpacked, then finished the wine in one of the sitting rooms by the fire. They made canned tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches for dinner—a college-days staple.

  Over another bottle of wine, they huddled on the sofa in the front parlor, sharing a bowl of popcorn and making plans.

  When they finally went upstairs, Sonya pulled Cleo into her bedroom. “See! Do you see? You know I haven’t been up here. But the fire’s on, the bed’s turned down.”

  “Say thank you.”

  “Thank you? I—”

  “Now let’s go see if I got the same service.”

  When Cleo walked in, saw the gas fire glowing, the bed turned down, her reaction was to clap her hands together and laugh.

  “All right! That’s so sweet. Thank you!”

  “There are parts of you I’ll never fully understand.”

  “Born in the bayou,” Cleo sang.

  “But you weren’t.”

  “My grand-mère was. I’m going to sleep like a queen. See you in the morning.”

  Sonya might have shaken her head as she walked back to her room. But when she slipped into bed, she smiled knowing Cleo slept just a few rooms away.

  * * *

  “Sonya! Wake up!”

  With the stage-whisper voice in her ear and the hand shaking her shoulder, Sonya shot from dead asleep to wide awake with a single wild jolt.

  “What? What?”

  “Ssh! Listen!” Cleo gripped her shoulder now.

  The piano music seemed to float upstairs. “Do you hear that?” In the dim light of the fire, Sonya clutched at Cleo with both hands. “Tell me you hear that.”

  “Of course I hear it. It’s why I’m waking you up at three in the morning. We have to go check it out.”

  “We have to go check it out,” Sonya repeated, struggling against dread as she got out of bed.

  “Do you know the song?” Still whispering, Cleo tugged Sonya out of the room. “It sounds familiar. Sort of familiar.”

  “I thought I dreamed it.”

  “Unless you and I are having the same dream at the same time while we’re walking out of your sitting room, that’s a no.”

  As they approached the staircase, the music came clearer.

  “Wait.” Sonya dashed into the library, arrowed toward the fireplace. She grabbed the poker.

  “Son, I don’t think a piano-playing ghost is looking for a fight. Plus, what are you going to do with that? Kill them?”

  Gripping the poker with both hands, Sonya sent Cleo a don’t-argue-with-me glare.

  They crept down the stairs, and when they reached the base, Sonya nodded toward the music room. Light flickered there, as if from candles or flames in a hearth.

  The song played on as they approached. Then came a long, distinctly human sigh, and it faded away.

  Armed with the poker, Sonya rushed the doorway. She saw nothing but shapes and shadows in the dark. Cursing, she groped for the light switch.

  Under the glitter of the chandelier, no one sat at the piano. But for the instruments, the furniture, the room was empty.

  “This is bullshit. I saw light in here, and I can still smell candles. They heard us coming and took off.”

  “Sonya, we were almost at the door when it went dark and the music stopped. Nobody could’ve gotten by us without us seeing them.”

  “There could be a passageway. Another passageway, like for the servants.” Determined, she put the poker down to search along the walls. “The wainscoting, the—what do you call it?—chair rail. There could be a button or pull worked in.”

  “I’m going to do reverse X-Files. You don’t want to believe.”

  “Of course I don’t want to believe.” Her voice pitched up two full registers. “Especially at three in the morning I don’t want to believe some ghost got the urge to play the damn piano. Help me look.”

  Obliging, Cleo took the next wall. “You’d rather believe someone’s sneaking around the house, opening doors, moving things, and so on, and playing the piano in the middle of the night? This person can also blow out the candles and zip into a secret passage in about two seconds?”

  “At least I could give them a good smack with the poker and tell them to get the hell out of my house. So yeah, I’d rather believe that.”

  She stopped, scrubbed her hands over her face. “And no, I don’t actually believe that. Before you got here today, I was torn between accepting there’s something in the house or accepting I was going crazy. Hallucinating. Maybe that brain tumor.”

  “Well, I am here, and I can tell you you’re not crazy or hallucinating.” Cleo walked over, wrapped an arm around Sonya’s shoulders. “There’s more than one something in this house. And the one playing the piano’s a female.”

  “The sigh. I heard it, too.”

  “She’s sad.”

  “I don’t think many people are happy to be dead.”

  “Maybe it’s Astrid. Getting murdered on your wedding day’s bound to make you sad. The song…” Wandering to the piano, Cleo tried to pick it out. “Sort of like that, right? The basic notes. I really think I’ve heard it before, but I can’t place it.”

  “And that’s the most important element in this scenario?”

  “Could be a clue.” Cleo brightened. “It’s like we’re Nancy Drew and this is The Case of the Haunted Piano.”

  “I’m going back to bed.”

  “Good idea. The candle wax is still a little soft in these tapers,” she said as she poked a finger in one.

  “You’re not the least bit freaked out.”

  “Not yet. Right now I’m freaking fascinated. Hey, don’t forget your poker.”

  “Ha ha. You’d’ve been glad I had it if we walked in here to an axe murderer.”

  “That would be the axe murderer who takes time out to play the piano? The axe murderer who sweetly turns down the beds at night? That one?”

  Sonya let out a sigh of her own and took Cleo’s hand as they walked upstairs. “I’m glad you’re here.”

  “I’m gladder of it every second. Oh, when I was falling asleep, I had this thought.”

  “Don’t tell me if it involves calling in Paranormal R Us.”

  “Not that. When the lawyer and the cousin come tomorrow to move those things you wanted, can I ask them to move anything else if I see something?”

  “I don’t see why not. Did you see something?”

  “We went through before we talked about me staying, and working in that fabulous turret space. I could look, pay more attention, with that in mind. Anyway, tomorrow.”

  They paused at Cleo’s door.

  “There’s a desk, a great desk. The one you use now, it’s serviceable, but you could have better. And you need some seating.”

  “Got a mental list going on it, and a couple other things. Tomorrow,” Cleo repeated. “We’ve got men coming, so I need sleep so I don’t look like a hag.”

  “And that happens never.”

  “If you hear something and I don’t, come get me.”

  “Count on it. Good—I hope—night.”

  Sonya expected the same restless, patchy post–three a.m. sleep she’d experienced the night before, but she dropped off in seconds.

  And woke to soft morning light.

  Since she expected Cleo would sleep at least two more hours, she went to make coffee. She’d squeeze in a little work, then they’d do a kind of brunch before they went on a hunt for what Cleo could use in her studio—and anywhere else she wanted.

  The idea that her friend would live there gave her such a boost. And it didn’t hurt, really, to know she hadn’t imagined things, forgotten things.

  Optimism ruled the day as she sat at her desk.

  Even her tablet deciding to play “Come Saturday Morning” didn’t dim it.

  Just after eleven, Cleo came in.

  Her hair fell in perfect corkscrews. The lids on her long, amber eyes showed just a hint of bronze. She wore snug black jeans with an ombré sweater that went from the palest of lavender to the deepest purple.

  “You’re all duded up.”

  “Company’s coming. Male-type company.” She struck a pose. “First impressions are first. Plus, my best friend bought me this sweater because she knows what I like.

  “Working?” she added. “I can get scarce.”

  “I was working until you got up.” She checked the time. “They’re not coming until after three, so I’ve got time to put myself together.”

  “I hate you can look like that before putting anything together. I’ve always hated you for that, but my love’s stronger.”

  On cue, the music switched to Queen’s “You’re My Best Friend.”

  Cleo laughed in delight. “You’ve got like a ghost DJ. You know that’s cool.”

  “I’ll shut down, and we’ll go have a girl brunch.”

  “Don’t shut down yet. Let me see what you’ve got for the potter. We didn’t get around to that last night.”

  “I’m running tests. I’m going to have it up and running next week.”

  “That’s fast.”

  “Plenty of time to work here. First, here’s what she had.”

  Cleo came around, looked over Sonya’s shoulder. “Okay, I like her work. The site’s not horrible.”

  “Load times are, and it didn’t work worth shit on mobile devices. You saw the mood board there. And this is what I designed, she approved, and I’m testing.”

  Cleo cackled, gave Sonya a light punch on the shoulder as the website came on-screen.

  “Okay, baby, that sings. Classy but approachable. Arty but down-to-earth. Strong colors, more impact. Good call on the little video. Can you enlarge it?

  “Yeah, yeah. She’s got a face—great bones—the hair shows them off. I may have to sketch that.”

  Sonya clicked on the Shop tab.

  “And I change like her work to love. Your new format really shows it off.”

  “Xena’s new pot’s Anna’s work.”

  “What?” Cleo walked over to the window. “How could I not have noticed her new outfit? Love it. And Xena looks happy with it.”

  “She’s got some new buds coming in.”

  “So I see.”

  “Enough work. I’ve been up since eight, and I’m starved.”

  “I want to eat in that major dining room.”

  “Really?”