"Let's put it this way," she said. "You're stuck. Pay the tax bill or let the town take the place and call it a day. Or try to sell it. New Englanders are pretty damn weird when it comes to old houses. Maybe some-one'll buy it."

"I'm not sure I want to sell it."

"Tess! You've had this place for over a year and haven't stepped foot in it."

"That's because I kept thinking Ike would show up and want it back, or want more work for it, or his sister would. Lauren Montague is the workhorse for the Beacon Historic Project-I'm not sure Ike told her what he was up to."

"He could transfer the deed on his own?"

"Apparently. I did promise him I'd do more work-we were to discuss specifics the day he stood me up. I haven't heard from him since."

"Think he's dead?"

Tess winced at Susanna's frank question and jumped back to her feet, staring once more at the cen-turies-old tombstones below. There were more people buried there than had markers. Her throat was tight as she thought about Ike. He was in his mid-forties, so filled with life and energy it was impossible to believe he was dead. Yet, that was what most people as-sumed-that his recklessness had caught up with him and he'd gone overboard or walked off a cliff. Not on purpose. Ike would never commit suicide.

"Taking off for months at a time without telling anyone is within his pattern of behavior," Tess said. "The police haven't declared him a missing person or anything. I don't know if Lauren has sounded the alarm." She glanced over at Susanna. "It's not something I've pursued."

"Well, dead or alive, he signed the place over to you. I assume your accountant factored it into your last year's income taxes, and now obviously the property tax assessors have caught up with you. So, that cinches it. You can't avoid reality. The carriage house is yours. What you do with it is up to you."