street. What’s going on?”
“Seems your neighbor’s come back, girl.”
Honor shook her head, bewildered. Shaw’s Retreat was a fine Gothic house built in 1850 for Natchez’s first physician, her great-great-great-grandfather. Next door to the property was the old carriage house, which had been sold during the Depression. The carriage house was now home to a nice elderly widow.
“Mrs. Bennett’s been gone? I thought I just saw her,” she said.
“‘Fraid to tell you, girl, but it’s your other neighbor who’s come back.” He pointed to the property on the other side of the house. “Blackbird Hall’s comin’ back to life as of tomorrow.”
Suddenly she wanted to wring her hands and run away like a child. With heroic effort, she glanced casually at the huge acreage that sat on the other side of Shaw’s Retreat. The road ended at the gates of Blackbird Hall, but for years Honor had taken it for granted that the road ended at Shaw’s Retreat, because Blackbird Hall had been boarded up and closed down for as many years as...well, as Lockey had been..
“You’re a thousand miles away, girl.”
Honor shot her gaze back to the sheriff. “I just can’t believe, after all this time, we’re finally going to have a neighbor over there.”
“And what a neighbor. His damned sec‘etary called me and told me that they were sending in a fair army tomorrow morning, so the owner could have dinner there by tomorrow night. That’s when I told Doris I’d better get on out here and warn you ’bout the traffic.”
She did her best to smile. “I’m glad you did. I’d really be wondering what was going on.” Her gaze slid back to the grove of moss-covered live oak trees and the old iron gate that said, in hand-forged letters, Blackbird Hall. Numbly, she walked Doug back to his squad car. After more promises of dinner, he drove off, and she was left to stare again at the grove, the fence and the weed-choked drive that led to a house she knew only too well—because it haunted her dreams almost every night.
Suddenly she felt faint, but denial ran in her blood like an antidote.
Maybe the property had been sold without her knowing about it. It could be another person entirely who was going to show up tomorrow night.
That’s right, she told herself as she went back into the kitchen and grabbed her pruning shears. It might not be him at all.
“I’m done, Mommy. Can I help you with the garden now?”
As if in a daze, Honor looked over at her daughter. Lockey gave her that grin, that beautiful heartbreaking smile, and suddenly Honor knew she was deluding herself. It had only been a matter of time, and now time was up.
Of all the wicked ironies.
He was finally coming back.
Two
In misery, Honor watched the trucks and cars go back and forth from Blackbird Hall. Doug hadn’t been kidding. It looked as if they were preparing for the president himself to visit. The cleaning crew had arrived in two full-size buses, which were even now parked in front of Shaw’s Retreat as if the National Registry house were nothing but a bus depot. Five contractors’ vans were scattered along the road, nearly blocking passage, and men streamed back and forth carrying dropcloths and tool boxes.
“Who are those people, Mommy?”
Honor spun around and faced Lockey, her heart constricting. “They’re just fixing up the place for the owner.”
“The owner? I always thought we owned that place.” The little girl looked up at her, her eyes as large and blue as cornflowers.
“No, darling,” Honor said with a painful laugh. “But I can see how you’d think that. Blackbird Hall’s been locked up a long time. That’s why it’s taking so many people to put it right again.”
“Who’s going to live there?”
“A man. A very rich man.”
“Do you think he has any kids for me to play with?”
Honor felt a stabbing in her chest. “Maybe,” she said in a small voice. “I guess we won’t know for sure until he gets here.”
“What’s the man’s name, Mommy?”
“Does it really matter? We may never even see him. He has a dozen houses. He may come for the night and decide Blackbird Hall bores him.”
“But what’s his name?”
“If...if I recall, his name is Mark Gnffin.”
“Griffin.” Lockey stared down the road from where they stood on the front veranda. “Griffin,” she repeated.
Honor died a little bit mside.
Pulling herself together, she said, “Hey, let’s go to a movie. C‘mon. It’s Saturday. Vergie can watch out for the guests. All-these workmen are getting on my nerves.”
“Griffin. That’s the name those guys were talking about.”
“Those guys?”
“You know. The two guys in the attic. They kind of scare me, Mommy. They talk bad.”
“What were they talking about?” Honor tried to keep her voice even, but it was difficult. She hadn’t been able to hide her distaste when Metz and Keliher had arrived back at the house late last night, the strange black duffel bag still in tow. Now it seemed Lockey had had an encounter with them and formed the same aversion to them.
“I was on the stairs this morning with my dolls, and I heard them talking. Their door was a little bit open, but I think they thought it was closed, because they talked so loud.”
“So you heard them?”
“Yes.”
“You remember all our talks about eavesdropping—”
“I didn’t, Mommy, I promise! I was just sitting on the stairs!”
Honor took both her daughter’s hands in hers. “I know you understand, Lockey. That’s why I’m not mad. I want you to know this is a special case. Tell me what these men said. And why they scared you.”
“They said a lot of curse words, and they talked about how Mr. Griffin was a really rich guy with a lot of treasure in his house. They were watching the house from the attic window, and they said they were going to take Mr Griffin’s stuff, even though that’s not why their boss sent them here.”
Honor could hardly breathe. “Are you sure, honey?”
Lockey met her gaze and nodded resolutely. “I’m sure.”
Without pause, Honor went inside, grabbed her purse and headed for the car, all the while holding Lockey’s hand firmly in her own. She started the car, eased between the two buses and headed for the police station.
“But,
