He crossed his arms, pinned me with a look, and then shook his head. “I suppose I should be glad you bounce back from trauma so quickly.”

“I have to, don’t I?” I said as I hopped off the planter. “Given how quickly the traumas come these days. It’s that or assume the fetal position and wait for the white coats.”

I looked out toward the lake again. As he turned, he blinked, and then stared at the gorgeous ruined terraces, green-choked fountains and pools, an endless cascade of gardens and patios and water features leading down to the shore of Lake Michigan.

“Did I say it was amazing?” I said. “I’m serious, too. I want one of these.”

“With a five-million-dollar trust fund? You’d be lucky to get a house on the lake at all.”

“Your pragmatism will not deter me. I don’t want a house, anyway. I just want this.” I waved at the terraces. “I’ll find my own ruins, where I can hide away with a book and a bottle of wine and contemplate the impermanence of empires.”

“Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair?”

“Nothing beside remains. Round the decay of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare the lone and level sands stretch far away.” I gazed out at the sands below. “Fitting, don’t you think? And deservedly so.” After what happened here, I meant. The girl was right. The beauty I saw here was the revenge of nature, destroying the claims of interlopers and murderers.

“You could possibly buy the property with your trust,” he said. “I suspect there would be significant back taxes, but the trick would be to first secure the right to sever the property and obtain development permits and then divide it and sell most of the land for vacation condos. If done right, you could even turn a profit.”

I smiled at him. “Very practical. And not the nature of fancies at all, Gabriel. I wouldn’t buy it, and I’d certainly never sell it for development. I’ll just bring my book and my wine and trespass like ordinary folk.”

He nodded and looked out at the view. “If the girl is gone . . .”

“I’m pretty sure she didn’t send those e-mails.”

“Though it sounded as if she gave you some idea what you were brought here for.”

I hesitated.

“Olivia . . .” He moved in front of me, blocking both the sunlight and the view.

I started down the marble steps. “To your left and to your right, you’ll see what appear to be matching horse fountains, though I don’t know why horses are leaping out of water.”

“They’re kelpies. Look at the hooves.”

Long feathers of hair covered their lower legs and hooves, like the spats on a Clydesdale. When I looked closer, though, the hair was seaweed, and under it the “hooves” were actually frog-like feet.

“I remember a story about kelpies,” I said. “They lure children to the water, and when the kids climb on their backs, they can’t get off again. The kelpies ride out to sea and the children are drowned. The story I heard was about ten children. Nine climb on. The tenth refuses, but he makes the mistake of reaching to touch the horse’s nose. His hand gets stuck, and he hacks it off to escape just as the kelpie leaps back into the sea.”

“That’s a charming bedtime tale.”

“Did I mention I was raised by serial killers?”

“Alleged serial killers.”

I smiled. “Right. Sorry. And honestly, I don’t think Pamela is responsible for the more gruesome tales of my youth. Definitely not Todd.”

“Why definitely?”

I shrugged and continued down the steps. “I’m pretty sure I found the stories on my own.” I turned to head out across the next terrace. “Ahead, you’ll see the lily pond—” I stopped. “Shit. Lily pond. Ricky.”

“Interesting word association.”

Hopefully, I didn’t blush. I busied myself pulling out my cell phone and typing in a text, and then . . .

“No signal,” I said. “Do you . . . ?”

He checked. “The same. Did he have classes today?”

“No, he’s free. I guess he’ll just be well-caffeinated by the time we’re done.” I stuffed my phone back into my pocket. “Okay, as I was saying, the next stop on the tour is the lily pond, which is completely overgrown. If you look beyond the sunken gardens, you’ll see vandalized statues. The historical records call them herms, which is technically inaccurate. A herm is a column with a head and, well, Hermes is a fertility god, so you can guess what else they had. These ones were clothed, much to my twelve-year-old self’s bitter disappointment.”

He shook his head as he followed me down more steps.

“The swimming pool is way down here,” I said. “Right at the beach side.”

“The girl said you were here to find something. What?” When I sighed, he said, “Did you really think I’d be distracted?”

“Hoped.”

“The fact that you are reluctant to tell me indicates the message was not a positive one. There’s some sort of danger, isn’t there, if you go looking?”

“She said that I’ll be hurt, but not physically.”

“Doesn’t that matter?”

I walked down the last few steps to the beach.

Gabriel continued. “Seeing something that leaves a mental or emotional mark is no different from tripping and breaking your ankle on the way to see it. In fact, I’d suggest it’s worse.”