She pushed open the door and stepped from the bright summer sunlight into a dingy space filled with shadows and stale air. The floors and the three remaining shelving units were covered in dust. Across the room stood the storekeeper’s counter. On top of the counter was a sealed mason jar filled with clear liquid.

Libby picked up the jar and cleaned off its metal lid. She had lived in this area long enough to know that this was moonshine and long past its shelf date for safe consumption. Either way it had to be toxic as hell. “Sierra, please tell me you didn’t buy this place.”

“I bought it!” Her voice echoed from a darkened back room seconds before she appeared. Sierra had changed into a black T-shirt, fringed jeans that hit midcalf, and red sandals with a thick cork sole.

“You’re serious?” Libby asked.

Sierra’s grin brightened, as it always did when she was a little panicked. “The good news is that I bargained the seller down considerably.”

“What about the bank loan to renovate the building?”

A small shrug lifted her shoulder. “I didn’t get the loan.”

“Why not? What about the land you inherited from Adam? Wasn’t that going to be your collateral?”

“The land is in a trust for the next ten years. His family feared he would marry a gold digger.” The bright smile dimmed for a split second and then returned. “Tanner thought I could take out a bank loan against the property, but as it turns out, it requires his father’s approval.”

Libby kind of sympathized with the man. This was not the soundest investment, and keeping the money in a trust would mean Sierra would have resources down the road. “You can’t persuade your father-in-law?”

“He won’t budge.”

She walked through the dusty room. “And this will be your sandwich shop.”

“It’s just what the area needs. There are enough pizza places in a twenty-mile radius, which is fine if you’re feeding kids or want an easy meal. But if you want a nice picnic lunch to take with you to one of the dozen wineries in the area, then you’ll come to me. Anything I sell will nicely complement a picnic basket. In fact, that’s what I’m going to call my place. Picnic.”

“Picnic.” She could kind of see it, but she already knew Sierra would be working long hours for marginal profits at best.

“Simple. Straightforward. How long until you launch?”

“Midfall. Or at least that was the plan. Now that I’ll be doing most of the work myself, it will likely be spring.”

“Negative cash flow for the next year.”

“Give or take.” Sierra lifted her shoulders in a slight shrug. “Hard work is not tough. Sitting and thinking is tough. I’ll do it all myself if it comes down to it.”

“No truer words.” She raised her camera and aimed it at Sierra. “Have you ever knocked down a wall?”

“No. But I’ll research it on YouTube.”

“Seriously?”

“That’s how you taught yourself photography.”

“Yeah, but there are no structural beams involved in taking pictures. Or electrical wires or plumbing that can kill you.”

“I can learn anything on YouTube,” she said brightly. “I have utter faith.”

“Okay.”

“Be happy for me, Libby. I need this.”

“I’m happy for you.”

It was one hell of a risk, but at least Sierra was not afraid to try.

Libby started clicking pictures. “Might as well start documenting this adventure. When HGTV sees your blog and comes a-calling, you’ll have plenty of before pictures.”

“Ohh, I like how you think.” Sierra rested her hands on her hips, angled her body sideways, and smiled broadly. “This is my best side.”

Libby snapped several pictures. “You should be on a magazine cover.”

Sierra shifted her pose so that she was looking directly at the camera, her arms crossed. “And just so you know I’m not totally crazy, I have a contractor coming by tomorrow. He’s going to make sure I don’t knock out the wrong wall and bring the entire building down. John Stapleton. We went to high school together.”

“Good, you know him.”

“We actually dated back in the day.”

“Oh, really?”

“Long story.”

“I won’t ask.”

“Better that way, but he’s still cute.”

Libby pointed to the mason jar. “Is that moonshine on the counter?”

Sierra held up the jar of clear liquid. “I believe so. There was a box of six hidden in a back closet.”

“Whatever you do, don’t drink it. No telling how old it is. You could go blind, if it doesn’t kill you first.”

Sierra laughed as she lifted the jar. “I’m not that crazy. I just found it curious. The original owner, Mr. Sullivan, must have had a taste for it. How did it go at Woodmont?”

“Elaine Grant has a fixer-upper project as well. She’s restoring a greenhouse that’s on her property.”

“The greenhouse. I have fond memories.”

“How could you know about the greenhouse? I never heard about it.”

“You were at boarding school. During high school, it became the place to visit at night when we were seniors.”

“Colton said something about that. How did you all manage to get inside?”

“It wasn’t easy. We had to hike along the river and then up the hill. It was always done on a dare.”

That explained the beer can Colton had found. “Why?”

“Because it’s cursed, darling,” she said, laughing. “The late Mrs. Carter—”

“Elaine’s grandmother.”

“I suppose. Anyway, her husband gave it to her as a wedding gift, as the story goes. Rumor has it that somewhere in the mid-1940s, she was complicit in killing a man.”

“Who?”

“That detail changes depending on who is telling the story. Family connections saved her from jail or real scandal. It’s said the dead man haunts the grounds—especially the greenhouse, because he knows she loved it so much.”

“You ever see the ghost?”

“Who needs to see a ghost to be spooked? There’s nothing like drinking Fireball while lying under that arched dome and trying to imagine spirits stalking the dark woods around us. Deliciously creepy.”

“You ever hear the name Sadie? Her name was scratched in the glass.”

“No, I never heard about her.”

“She must have been close to the Carters. The date under her name was 1942.”

“Very curious.”

“I feel deprived,” Libby said. “We never had any ghost stories at boarding school.”

“Oh, sweetie, I’m so sorry. Maybe when you’re at Woodmont again, you’ll finally get your wish.”

Boarding school had meant a great education, but it had created a disconnect between Libby and her friends, including her father. The summers would have been a chance to keep up, but her father had often sent her to Europe to study.

“Elaine’s invited me back for dinner tonight,” Libby said.

“My, aren’t you getting cozy with the landed gentry?”