“Doesn’t that pose a legal concern?” Trey asks. “What if someone burned themselves?”

“It’s a sparkler,” I say. “It’s innocent fun.”

Cissy and Trey look at each other with a tinge of sadness and amusement, and then give me a patronizing look, just like they used to do the servers at any restaurant we went to if they didn’t meet their standards.

“We’ll pass,” Cissy says. “But cute idea.”

“Just make sure you’re covered under your insurance’s umbrella policy,” Trey adds. “People sue for anything these days.”

My heart sinks, and I open the front door for them, quietly sliding the sparklers and lighter back into the basket before stepping inside and behind the stand.

“How quaint,” Cissy says. “Oh, look, Trey. The Al Capone bullet hole Nate told us to look for.”

My head jerks upright like when Sonny hears the word cookie.

Nate?

Cissy looks at Trey, her face registering what I think is guilt. “Nate told us all about this place years ago,” Trey says. “He just loved it here.”

No, he didn’t, I think. That’s a total lie.

“Well,” I say, acting as if nothing is wrong, “you’re in the fish house.”

“The what?” Cissy asks.

I laugh. “I’m sorry. It was once a cold storage outbuilding for fruit and fish that was being shipped to and from Chicago,” I explain. “It’s on the historic registry. It’s been completely renovated and turned into a private guest cottage. I think you’ll love it.”

I can see Cissy is still unsure. “And,” I continue, “it’s away from all other guests. You wanted a getaway. This is a getaway.” I look at my laptop. “You’re paid in full, and here is your key. If you’ll follow me.”

I grab two of their bags and wheel them through the dining room and kitchen, over the patio and to the guest cottage. Trey tosses a bag over his shoulder and carries two more, while Cissy carries her Kate Spade.

“I hope there’s heat,” Cissy says, shivering. She pulls her tiny arms around her tiny body. She looks like a pretzel.

I unlock the door and turn on the lights.

“This was my father’s favorite place,” I say, wheeling their luggage toward the closet, “and it’s decorated with some of his favorite things in the world.”

Cissy walks toward one of the Helmscenes.

“What is this?” she asks.

“Turn the little knob on its side,” I say.

She does, and it flickers to life.

“Wow,” she says. “This really is roughing it.”