Seven.

Jeremy spent the rest of the morning hunched over a stack of books and the two articles Lexie had found. The first, written in 1958 by a folklore professor at the University of North Carolina and published in the Journal of the South, Journal of the South, seemed to have been intended as a response to A. J. Morrison's account of the legend. The article pulled a few quotes from Morrison's work, summarized the legend, and recounted the professor's stay in the cemetery over a one-week period. On four of those evenings, he witnessed the lights. He seemed to have made at least a preliminary attempt to find the cause: he counted the number of homes in the surrounding area (there were eighteen within one mile of the cemetery and, interestingly, none on Riker's Hill), and also noted the number of cars that pa.s.sed within two minutes of the lights' appearance. In two instances, the span of time was less than a minute. In the other two instances, however, there were no pa.s.sing cars at all, which seemed to eliminate the possibility that headlights were the source of the "ghosts." seemed to have been intended as a response to A. J. Morrison's account of the legend. The article pulled a few quotes from Morrison's work, summarized the legend, and recounted the professor's stay in the cemetery over a one-week period. On four of those evenings, he witnessed the lights. He seemed to have made at least a preliminary attempt to find the cause: he counted the number of homes in the surrounding area (there were eighteen within one mile of the cemetery and, interestingly, none on Riker's Hill), and also noted the number of cars that pa.s.sed within two minutes of the lights' appearance. In two instances, the span of time was less than a minute. In the other two instances, however, there were no pa.s.sing cars at all, which seemed to eliminate the possibility that headlights were the source of the "ghosts."

The second article was only a bit more informative. Published in a 1969 issue of Coastal Carolina, Coastal Carolina, a small magazine that went belly-up in 1980, the article reported the fact that the cemetery was sinking and the damage that had been caused as a result. The author also mentioned the legend and the proximity of Riker's Hill, and while he hadn't seen the lights (he'd visited during the summer months), he drew heavily on eyewitness accounts before speculating on a number of possibilities, all of which Jeremy was already aware. a small magazine that went belly-up in 1980, the article reported the fact that the cemetery was sinking and the damage that had been caused as a result. The author also mentioned the legend and the proximity of Riker's Hill, and while he hadn't seen the lights (he'd visited during the summer months), he drew heavily on eyewitness accounts before speculating on a number of possibilities, all of which Jeremy was already aware.

The first was rotting vegetation that sometimes bursts into flames, giving off vapors known as swamp gas. In a coastal area like this, Jeremy knew the idea couldn't be completely discounted, though he did think it unlikely, since the lights occurred on cold and foggy nights. They could also be "earthquake lights," which are electrical atmospheric charges generated by the shifting and grinding of rocks deep below the earth's crust. The automobile headlights theory was again advanced, as was the idea of refracted starlight and fox fire, which is a phosph.o.r.escent glow emitted by certain fungi on rotting wood. Algae, it was noted, could also glow phosph.o.r.escently. The author even mentioned the possibility of the Novaya Zemlya effect, in which light beams are bent by adjacent layers of air at different temperatures, thus seeming to glow. And, in offering a final possibility, the author concluded that it might be St. Elmo's fire, which is created by electrical discharges from sharp-pointed objects that occur during thunderstorms.

In other words, the author had said it could be anything.

However inconclusive, the articles did help Jeremy clarify his own thoughts. In his opinion, the lights had everything to do with geography. The hill behind the cemetery seemed to be the highest point in any direction, and the sinking cemetery made the fog more dense in that particular area. All of which meant refracted or reflected light.

He just had to pinpoint the source, and for that, he needed to find the first time the lights had ever been noted. Not something general, but an actual date, so he could then determine what was happening in the town at that time. If the town was undergoing a dramatic change around then-a new construction project, a new factory, or something along those lines-he just might find the cause. Or if he did see the lights-and he wasn't counting on it-his job would be even simpler. If they occurred at midnight, for instance, and he saw no pa.s.sing cars, he could then survey the area, noting the location of occupied houses with lamps blazing in the window, the proximity of the highway, or possibly even river traffic. Boats, he suspected, were a possibility, if they were large enough.

Going through the stack of books a second time, he made additional notes regarding the changes in the town over the years, with special emphasis on changes around the turn of the century.

As the hours rolled on, the list grew. In the early twentieth century, there was a mini-housing boom that lasted from 1907 to 1914, during which the north side of the town grew. The small port was widened in 1910, again in 1916, and once more in 1922; combined with the quarries and phosphorous mines, excavation was extensive. The railroad was started in 1898, and spurs continued to be built in various areas of the county until 1912. A trestle over the river was completed in 1904, and from 1908 to 1915 three major factories were constructed: a textile mill, a phosphorous mine, and a paper mill. Of the three, only the paper mill was still in operation-the textile mill had closed four years ago, the mine in 1987-so that seemed to eliminate the other two as possibilities.

He checked his facts again, made sure they were correct, and restacked the books so Lexie could shelve them. He leaned back in his chair, stretched the stiffness from his body, and glanced at the clock. Already, it was coming up on noon. All in all, he thought it was a few hours well spent, and he glanced over his shoulder at the open door behind him.

Lexie hadn't returned to check on him. He sort of liked the fact that he couldn't read her, and for a moment, he wished she lived in the city, or even someplace near the city. It would have been interesting to see the way things might have developed between them. A moment later, she pushed through the door.

"Hey there," Lexie greeted him. "How's it going?"

Jeremy turned. "Good. Thanks."

She slipped into her jacket. "Listen, I was thinking about running out to grab lunch, and I was wondering if you wanted me to bring you something back."

"Are you going to Herbs?" he asked.

"No. If you thought breakfast was busy, you should see the place at lunch. But I'd be happy to pick up a to-go order on my way back."

He hesitated for only an instant.

"Well, would it be all right if I came with you to wherever it is you're going? I should probably stretch my legs. I've been sitting here all morning, and I'd love to see someplace new. Maybe you could even show me around a bit." He paused. "If that's okay, I mean."

She almost said no, but again, she heard Doris's words, and her thoughts became muddled. Should I or shouldn't I? Despite her better judgment-thank you very much for that, Doris-she said, "Sure. But I've only got an hour or so before I have to get back, so I don't know how much help I can be."

He seemed almost as surprised as she did, and he stood, then followed her out the door. "Anything at all is fine," he said. "Helps me fill in the blanks, you know. It's important to know what goes on in a place like this."

"In our little hick town, you mean?"

"I didn't say it was a hick town. Those are your words."

"Yeah. But they're your thoughts, not mine. I love this place."

"I'm sure," he agreed. "Why else would you live here?"

"Because it's not New York City, for one thing."

"You've been there?"

"I used to live in Manhattan. On West Sixty-ninth."

He almost stumbled in midstep. "That's just a few blocks from where I live."

She smiled. "Small world, isn't it?"

Walking quickly, Jeremy struggled to keep up with her as she approached the stairs. "You're kidding, right?"

"Nope," she said. "Lived there with my boyfriend for almost a year. He worked for Morgan Stanley while I interned in the NYU library."

"I can't believe this . . ."

"What? That I lived in New York and left? Or that I lived near you? Or that I lived with my boyfriend?"

"All of it," he said. "Or none of it. I'm not sure." He was trying to fathom the thought of this small-town librarian living in his neighborhood. Noticing his expression, she had to laugh. "You're all alike, you know that?" she said.

"Who?"

"People who live in the city. You live your life thinking that there's no place in the world as special as New York and that no place else has anything to offer."

"You're right," Jeremy admitted. "But that's only because the rest of the world pales in comparison."

Glancing over at him, she made a face that clearly telegraphed, You didn't just say what I think you said, did you? You didn't just say what I think you said, did you?

He shrugged, acting innocent. "I mean, come on . . . Greenleaf Cottages can't exactly compare to the Four Seasons or the Plaza, can it? I mean, even you've got to admit that."

She bristled at his smug att.i.tude and began to walk even faster. She decided then and there that Doris didn't know what she was talking about.

Jeremy, however, wouldn't let it go. "Come on . . . admit it. You know I'm right, don't you?"

By that point, they'd reached the front door of the library, and he held it open for her. Behind them, the elderly woman who worked in the lobby was watching them intently. Lexie held her tongue until she was just outside the door, then she turned on him.

"People don't live in hotels," she snapped. "They live in communities. And that's what we have here. A community. Where people know and care about each other. Where kids can play at night and not worry about strangers."

He raised his hands. "Hey," he said, "don't get me wrong. I love communities. I lived in one growing up. I knew every family in my neighborhood by name, because they'd lived there for years. Some of them still do, so believe me, I know exactly how important it is to get to know your neighbors, and how important it is for parents to know what their kids are doing and who they're hanging out with. That's the way it was for me. Even when I was off and about, neighbors would keep tabs on us. My point is that New York City has that, too, depending on where you live. Sure, if you live in my neighborhood, it's filled with a lot of young career people on the move. But visit Park Slope in Brooklyn or Astoria in Queens, and you'll see kids hanging out in the parks, playing basketball and soccer, and pretty much doing the same thing that kids are doing here."

"Like you've ever thought about things like that."

She regretted the sharpness in her tone the moment she lashed out at Jeremy. He, however, seemed unfazed.

"I have," he said. "And believe me, if I had kids, I wouldn't live where I do. I have a ton of nephews and nieces who live in the city, and every one of them lives in a neighborhood with lots of other kids and people watching out for them. In many ways, it's a lot like this place."

She said nothing, wondering if he was telling the truth.

"Look," he offered, "I'm not trying to pick a fight here. My point is simply that kids turn out okay as long as the parents are involved, no matter where they live. It's not like small towns have a monopoly on values. I mean, I'm sure if I did some digging, I'd find lots of kids that were in trouble here, too. Kids are kids, no matter where they live." He smiled, trying to signal that he didn't take what she'd said personally. "And besides, I'm not exactly sure how we got on the subject of kids, anyway. From this point on, I promise not to mention it again. All I was trying to say was that I was surprised that you lived in New York and only a couple of blocks from me." He paused. "Truce?"

She stared at him before finally releasing her breath. Maybe he was right. No, she knew he was right. And, she admitted, she'd been the one who escalated the whole thing. Muddled thoughts can do that to a person. What on earth was she getting herself into here?

"Truce," she finally agreed. "On one condition."

"What's that?"

"You have to do the driving. I didn't bring a car."

He looked relieved. "Let me find my keys."

Neither was particularly hungry, so Lexie directed Jeremy to a small grocery store, and they emerged a few minutes later with a box of crackers, some fresh fruit, various kinds of cheese, and two bottles of Snapple.

In the car, Lexie set the food at her feet. "Is there anything in particular you'd like to see?" Lexie asked.

"Riker's Hill. Is there a road that leads to the top?"

She nodded. "It's not much of a road. It was originally used for logging, but now it's mainly deer hunters. It's rough, though-I don't know if you want to bring your car up there."

"No big deal. It's a rental. And besides, I'm getting used to bad roads around here."

"Okay," she said, "but don't say I didn't warn you."

Neither said much as they headed out of town, past Cedar Creek Cemetery and over a small bridge. The road was soon lined with ever-thickening groves of trees on both sides. The blue sky had given way to an expanse of gray, reminding Jeremy of winter afternoons much farther north. Occasionally, flocks of starlings broke into flight as the car pa.s.sed, moving in unison as if tethered together by string.

Lexie was uneasy in the silence, and so she began describing the area: real estate projects that had never come to fruition, the names of trees, Cedar Creek when it could be seen through the thicket. Riker's Hill loomed off to the left, looking gloomy and forbidding in the muted light.

Jeremy had driven this way after leaving the cemetery the first time and had turned around about here. It had been just a minute or so too soon, he learned, because she told him to turn at the next intersection, which seemed to loop around toward the rear of Riker's Hill. Leaning forward in her seat, she peered out the windshield.

"The turn is just up ahead," she said. "You might want to slow down."

Jeremy did, and as she continued to stare, he glanced over at her, noting the slight indentation of a frown line between her eyebrows.

"Okay . . . there," she said, pointing.

She was right: it wasn't much of a road. Gravel and rutted, kind of like the entrance to Greenleaf, but worse. Exiting the main road, the car began to lurch and bounce. Jeremy slowed even more.

"Is Riker's Hill state property?"

She nodded. "The state bought it from one of the big timber companies-Weyerhaeuser or Georgia-Pacific or something like that-when I was a little girl. Part of our local history, you know. But it's not a park or anything. I think there were plans to make it into a campground at one time or another, but the state's never gotten around to it."

Loblolly pines closed in as the road narrowed, but the road itself seemed to improve as they moved higher, following an almost zigzag pattern to the top. Every now and then, a trail could be spotted, which he a.s.sumed was used by hunters.

In time, the trees began to thin and the sky became more noticeable; as they neared the crest, the vegetation looked more weathered, then almost devastated. Dozens of trees had snapped in half; less than a third still seemed to be standing upright. The incline grew less steep, then flattened out as they neared the top. Jeremy pulled over to the side. Lexie motioned for him to turn off the engine, and they stepped out of the car.

Lexie crossed her arms as they walked. The air seemed colder up here, the breeze wintry and stinging. The sky seemed closer as well; clouds were no longer featureless, but twisting and curling into distinctive shapes. Down below, they could see the town, rooftops cl.u.s.tered together and perched along straight roads, one of which led to Cedar Creek Cemetery. Just beyond the town, the ancient, brackish river looked like flowing iron. He spotted both the highway bridge and a picturesque railroad trestle that rose high behind it as a red-tailed hawk circled overhead. Looking closely, Jeremy could just make out the tiny shape of the library and could even spot where Greenleaf was, though the cottages were lost in their surroundings.

"The view is amazing," he finally said.

Lexie pointed toward the edge of town and helped him zero in on where to look. "See that little house over there? Kind of off to the side, near the pond? That's where I live now. And over there? That's Doris's place. It's where I grew up. Sometimes when I was little, I'd stare toward the hill imagining that I could see myself staring down from up here."

He smiled. The breeze tossed her hair as she went on.

"As teenagers, my friends and I would sometimes come up here, and we'd stay for hours. During the summer, the heat makes the house lights twinkle, almost like stars. And the lightning bugs-well, there are so many in June that it almost looks like there's another town in the sky. Even though everyone knew about this place, it wasn't ever too crowded up here. It was always like a secret place that my friends and I could share."

She paused, realizing that she felt strangely nervous. Though why she should be nervous was beyond her.

"I remember this one time when a big thunderstorm was expected. My friends and I got one of the boys to drive us up here in his truck. You know, one of those big-tired things that could make it down the Grand Canyon, if need be. So we all came up here to watch the lightning, expecting to see it flickering in the sky. We didn't stop to consider that we'd put ourselves at the highest spot in any direction. When the lightning started, it was beautiful at first. It would light up the sky, sometimes with a jagged flash, other times almost like a strobe light, and we'd count out loud until the thunder boomed. You know, to see how far away the lightning was. But the next thing we knew, the storm was on us. I mean, the wind was blowing so hard that the truck was actually rocking, and the rain made it impossible to see anything. Then the lightning started striking the trees around us. Gigantic bolts came down from the sky so close that the ground would tremble, and then the tops of pines would just explode into sparks."

As she spoke, Jeremy studied her. It was the most she'd said about herself since they'd met, and he tried to imagine what her life was like back then. Who was she in high school? One of the popular cheerleaders? Or one of the bookish girls, who spent her lunches in the library? Granted, it was ancient history-I mean, who cared about high school?-but even now, when she was lost in the memories, he wasn't quite able to put his finger on who she'd been.

"I'll bet you were terrified," he said. "Lightning bolts can reach fifty thousand degrees, you know." He glanced at her. "That's ten times hotter than the surface of the sun."

She smiled, amused. "I didn't know that. But you're right-I don't think I've ever been so terrified in my entire life."

"So what happened?"

"The storm pa.s.sed as they always do. And once we collected ourselves, we drove back home. But I remember Rachel was holding my hand so hard that she left fingernail marks in my skin."

"Rachel? That wouldn't happen to be the waitress at Herbs, would it?"

"Yeah, that's the one." Crossing her arms, she looked over at him. "Why? Did she put the move on you at breakfast this morning?"

He shifted from one foot to the other. "Well, I wouldn't call it that. She just seemed a little . . . forward is all."

Lexie laughed. "It doesn't surprise me. She's . . . well, she's Rachel. She and I were best friends growing up, and I still think of her as a sister of sorts. I suppose I always will. But after I went off to college and New York . . . well, it wasn't the same after I got back. It just changed, for lack of a better word. Don't get me wrong-she's a sweet girl and she's a lot of fun to spend time with and she hasn't got a mean bone in her body, but . . ."

She trailed off. Jeremy looked at her closely.

"You see the world differently these days?" he suggested.

She sighed. "Yeah, I suppose that's it."

"I think it happens to everyone as they grow up," Jeremy responded. "You find out who you are and what you want, and then you realize that people you've known forever don't see things the way you do. And so you keep the wonderful memories, but find yourself moving on. It's perfectly normal."

"I know. But in a town this size, it's a little harder to do. There are only so many people in their thirties here, and even fewer who are still single. It's kind of a small world down here."

He nodded before breaking into a smile. "Thirties?"

She suddenly remembered that he'd been trying to guess her age yesterday.

"Yep," she said with a shrug. "Getting old, I guess."

"Or staying young," he countered. "That's how I think of myself, by the way. Whenever I get worried about aging, I just start wearing my pants lower, flash the waistband of my boxers, wear my ball cap backward, and walk around the mall listening to rap."

She gave an involuntary giggle at the image. Despite the chill in the air, she felt warm with the recognition, unexpected and yet strangely inevitable, that she was enjoying his company. She wasn't sure she liked him yet-in fact, she was pretty sure she didn't-and for a moment, she struggled to reconcile the two feelings. Which meant, of course, that the whole subject should best be avoided. She brought a finger to her chin. "Yes, I can see that. You do seem to regard personal style as important."