“No, no. I mean, getting the place all lit up for Christmas. My gosh, the two of them worked on those decorations year-round. Lights everywhere! My husband used to say you could probably see Bob’s lights from outer space.”

“Daddy used to load all of us up in the van and take us out to the farmhouse to see all the lights,” Phoebe put in. “Everybody in town did the same thing.”

“A couple of people have told me about that, but Christmas lights aren’t really my thing,” Ivy said apologetically. “I was just telling my real estate agent, Ezra, I probably won’t even get a tree.”

“Oh,” Mrs. Huddleston said. “That’s a shame. I think everybody needs a little Christmas spirit in these times, don’t you?”

“Maybe next year,” Ivy said vaguely. “And speaking of time, I’ve probably taken up enough of yours for today.”

“Right,” Phoebe said, catching Ivy’s signal. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Mom.”

“Wait!” Mrs. Huddleston said, jumping to her feet. “You didn’t even taste my cake yet. And I baked it special for you, Ivy. I’ll just wrap it up for you. Cake to go!”

“You shouldn’t have,” Ivy said. “I don’t really eat a lot of sweets.…”

But Mrs. Huddleston was already bustling around out in the kitchen.

“Wait’ll you taste this cake,” Phoebe said. “I’m on a strict diet, but I promise you will go crazy when you taste it!”

“Here we are!” Mrs. Huddleston said, triumphantly thrusting a foil-wrapped parcel into Ivy’s hands. “My S’mores Butterscotch Caramel Choco Dump Cake!”

“Yum!” Ivy said, feeling queasy. “Can’t wait!”

“And I just now remembered Carlette’s mama’s name. It was Diana. Diana Jones.”

Chapter 5

Sunday morning dawned colder, but clear. Ivy pulled on jeans, boots, and her warmest jacket. “C’mon, Punkin!” she called. “Let’s go walk the back forty!”

The dog cast a baleful eye in her direction. He was content by the fire she’d built.

“Oh, come on. It’ll be fun. You can chase some squirrels.”

Woodsmoke curled through the air, and dead grass and acorns crunched beneath her boots as she toured the property. In a sunny patch near the back porch she found what had surely been a beloved rose garden, but now the bushes looked stunted and unloved. Someday, Ivy thought, she would have roses in this spot: pink, yellow, white, and coral roses.

Oak trees, evergreens, and tall pines were dotted around the landscape. A huge camellia bush was planted a few yards from the back porch and she leaned in and plucked a delicate pink blossom, tucking it behind one ear. There were towering holly bushes too, bristling with clusters of fat red berries that contrasted with their gleaming leaves.

“All mine,” Ivy whispered, turning to Punkin. But the dog was racing and romping around the property, chasing squirrels and having the time of his life.

Not far from the camellia bush she found the remains of a vegetable garden. Dried cornstalks and forlorn tomato cages promised that this had once been fertile ground. Nearby was a rustic shed that covered an ancient-looking tractor and an assortment of rusty rakes, shovels, and hoes. Just beyond the shed she found the chicken coop.