Chapter 1
Lin Coffin stood on her deck, both hands wrapped around a steaming mug of coffee. The
morning air carried the first hint of autumn—crisp and clean with just a touch of salt from the
nearby ocean. She inhaled deeply, filling her lungs with the familiar scent of home.
September had arrived on Nantucket, bringing with it a peaceful transition that Lin
treasured. The summer tourists were leaving, their numbers dwindling day by day. Streets that
had bustled with visitors in July and August still had plenty of tourists, but the town was slowly
returning to the off-season’s quiet rhythm. Even the harbor had fewer boats dotting its surface.
Lin took another sip of her coffee and gazed across her yard. The maples at the edge of
her property showed the first hints of gold at their tips. Soon the whole island would transform
into a palette of warm colors—russets, ambers, and deep reds against the ever-present blue of the
sky and sea.
Nicky, her small brown rescue dog, sprawled in a patch of sunshine on the deck, his chest
rising and falling in contented sleep. The darker patch of fur over his right eye twitched as he
dreamed, probably chasing squirrels or seagulls.
“Enjoying your morning, aren't you?” she murmured.
The dog opened one eye, thumped his tail twice against the wooden deck, and then
promptly returned to his nap.
Lin smiled. This seasonal shift always felt special to her—like the island was returning to
its true self after months of entertaining visitors. The beaches would empty, shops would adjust
their hours, and neighbors would catch up after the busy season kept them apart.
For Lin, the changing season brought a similar sense of returning. After years of helping
troubled spirits find peace, she'd learned to appreciate these quiet moments between supernatural
encounters. Her ability to see ghosts—inherited from her ancestor Emily Witchard Coffin—had
become an accepted part of her life rather than something to fear or question.
The crunch of tires on gravel pulled her from her thoughts. A familiar green truck with
“L & L Landscaping” painted on the door pulled into her driveway. Lin smiled. When she'd first
partnered with Leonard Reed to start their landscaping business, they'd debated whose name
should go first. Using their initials, each could think that their name was the first L. Leonard had
insisted they not use their last names because “Reed & Coffin,” he'd said, “sounds too much like
a funeral home.”
Leonard stepped out of the truck, his tall frame moving with the ease of someone
accustomed to physical labor. Even in his sixties, with hair more salt than pepper now, he carried
himself with strength earned from decades of outdoor work.
“Morning, Coffin!” he called, lifting a hand in greeting. “Perfect day to talk about plants,
isn't it?”
“Every day is perfect for that,” she replied, raising her coffee mug in salute. “Come on
up. I've got a fresh pot.”
Leonard climbed the steps to her deck, pausing to give Nicky a gentle scratch behind the
ears. The dog rolled over lazily, presenting his belly for more attention.
“Shameless.” Leonard chuckled, obliging him with a quick belly rub before straightening.
“Coffee?” Lin offered.
“Thought you'd never ask.”
Lin went inside to pour him a mug, returning to find Leonard settled in one of the
Adirondack chairs, breathing deeply of the morning air.
“Heather says hello,” he said, accepting the coffee. “She’s buried in paperwork for that
big case she’s handling.”
“Tell her I said hi back. We should have dinner soon—it’s been too long.”
Leonard said, “She’d like that. She said something about trying a new recipe she found.”
Lin sat in the chair beside him. “So, what brings you here so early? We aren’t scheduled
anywhere until later.”
A smile spread across Leonard’s weathered face. “I’ve got something special to discuss.
Just got the call yesterday afternoon.”
“Oh?” Lin raised her eyebrows. “Another new client?”
“Not just any client.” Leonard's eyes sparkled with excitement. “The Peterson House.”
Lin nearly spilled her coffee. “Really? I heard the place finally sold, but I didn’t know the
new owners were looking for landscapers already.”
“Apparently, they are. Emma and Ryan Smithson—young couple from Boston bought it.
They’re planning to turn it into a bed and breakfast.”
“A B&B? That’s perfect for an antique house.” Lin’s mind raced with possibilities. The
Peterson House was one of Nantucket’s historic gems—a stately Federal-style home built during
the island’s whaling heyday. It had stood empty for nearly a year after Margaret Peterson-Hayes,
the elderly owner of the property, had moved to a smaller home across town.
“The Smithsons want to restore the gardens to something historically accurate but
functional for guests,” Leonard continued. “When they asked around town for recommendations,
three different people gave them our names.”
Lin felt a surge of pride. After years of hard work, their reputation had become solid on
the island. “When do they want us to start?”
“They’re hoping we can come by today to have a look; just to walk the grounds and think
about possibilities.” Leonard sipped his coffee. “I told them we’d take a look and we’ll meet with
them tomorrow. They aren’t on-island today. Up for it?”
“Absolutely. The Johnsons canceled their appointment yesterday, so my morning is free.”
Lin’s mind was already filling with ideas. “I’ve always loved that property. Those old beech trees
along the drive must be two hundred years old.”
“The back garden is a mess,” Leonard said, “but the bones are still there with old stone
paths and a fountain that needs work but could be beautiful again.”
“This could be one of our most interesting projects yet,” Lin said, excitement bubbling in
her voice.
“That’s what I thought.” Leonard’s eyes crinkled at the corners. “It’s right in your
wheelhouse—history and beauty combined.”
They spent the next half hour discussing their current projects—the Martins’ new
perennial border, the community garden expansion near the elementary school, and Mrs.
Hoffman’s endless quest for the perfect hedge configuration. The conversation flowed easily
between them, the rhythm of their partnership comfortable after years of working together.
Lin realized, not for the first time, how fortunate she was to have Leonard in her life.
When she’d returned to Nantucket after years away, she’d been adrift—searching for purpose
and healing from old wounds.
Initially, Lin thought Leonard might be a suspect in a murder, and she’d felt shame for
thinking such a thing when she found out he was innocent. After getting to know him, she
proposed the idea of a business partnership, Leonard accepted, and a deep, meaningful friendship
had grown between them.
“I can tell you’re thinking deep thoughts, Coffin,” Leonard observed, breaking into her
reflection.
Lin smiled. “Just grateful, that’s all. For this.” She gestured around them—at the peaceful
morning, the thriving business they’d built, and the island that had welcomed her home.
“Getting sentimental in your old age?” Leonard teased.
“At thirty-three? Hardly.” Lin laughed. “But sometimes it hits me how much has changed
since I came back. How different everything is.”
Understanding showed in Leonard’s eyes. “It’s a good different, though.”
“Very good different,” Lin agreed, touching the horseshoe necklace that hung at her
throat—the tangible connection to her ancestor Emily, who had shared her ability to see beyond
the veil between worlds.
Lin had stopped fighting her gift and had learned to use it to help those who lingered
between life and death. In doing so, she’d found purpose and built a life filled with people she
loved—Jeff, her husband; Leonard, her friend and partner; Viv, her cousin and confidante; and so
many others who formed the tapestry of her island life.
“We should head out soon if we want to do a quick survey before heading to our other
clients,” Leonard said, checking his watch.
Lin stood. “Let me change and grab my notebook. Five minutes.”
True to her word, Lin emerged from the house shortly after, having traded her lounging
clothes for work attire—sturdy jeans, a light blue button-up shirt, and comfortable boots. Her
long brown hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and she carried a leather-bound notebook—a gift
from Jeff on their first anniversary.
“Come on, Nick,” she called the dog, who had barely moved from his sunny spot.
The drive to the Peterson House took them through the heart of Nantucket. The
cobblestone streets of the downtown area gave way to wider roads and then to the smaller
neighborhoods of the island.
“Heard from Jeff lately?” Leonard asked as they drove.
Lin smiled at the mention of her husband. “He called last night. The renovation project
on the mainland is going well, but he’s ready to come home. He said he misses the Nantucket
air.”
“Can’t blame him there. How much longer?”
“Just through the weekend. He’ll be home Monday.”
Leonard said, “Heather was asking if you two want to join us for dinner next week.
Nothing fancy, just a cookout while the weather’s still nice.”
“Sounds perfect,” Lin replied. “I’ll check with Jeff, but I’m sure he’d love to.”
They turned onto a tree-lined drive, and the Peterson House came into view. Lin felt a
little flutter of excitement. The house stood proud against the September sky—three stories of
classic Nantucket architecture with weathered gray shingles, white trim, and black shutters. A
widow’s walk crowned the roof, offering what Lin knew would be spectacular views of the
surrounding countryside and distant ocean.
Leonard parked in the circular gravel drive, and they both stepped out, taking a moment
to look around.
“Always loved this place,” Leonard murmured. “Came here once as a boy. Old Mr.
Peterson hired my father to repair some stonework.”
Lin knew the connection to island history that buildings like this represented. For
Nantucket natives, these grand old homes weren’t just tourist attractions or real estate
investments—they were part of a shared heritage, each with stories and memories woven into
their foundations.
They began a slow circuit of the property, Leonard taking photos while Lin made notes
about the existing plantings and landscape features. The front yard featured formal beds now
choked with weeds but still showing the ghost of their original design. Ancient hydrangea
bushes, their blooms faded to rusty pink, lined the pathway to the front door.
“These are salvageable,” Lin noted, gently touching one of the woody stems. “With
proper pruning, they’ll come back beautifully next year.”
As they rounded the house to the back garden, Lin felt a shift in the air—not the chill that
usually signaled a ghostly presence, but something like… anticipation. The space opened before
them—nearly an acre of what had once been formal gardens, now overgrown but still hinting at
former glory.
Stone pathways wound between untamed beds. A fountain stood in the center, dry and
silent, its basin filled with fallen leaves. Beyond the immediate garden, the land sloped gently
toward a small pond barely visible through the tall grasses.
“Look at those old roses.” Leonard pointed to a tangle of canes climbing over what might
have once been an arbor. “Heritage varieties, I’d bet. We could take cuttings and propagate
them.”
Lin wrote in her notebook. “And that old apple tree—it needs serious pruning but looks
healthy otherwise.”
They continued their survey, identifying plants worth saving, structures needing repair,
and spaces where new elements could be introduced. Lin found herself increasingly excited
about the project’s potential. This wasn’t just landscaping—it was restoration, bringing back to
life something beautiful that had been let go.
“What do you think about keeping the formal structure near the house,” she suggested,
“but transitioning to something more natural as you move toward the pond? Give guests different
spaces to enjoy.”
Leonard smiled. “I like that. Maintain the historical integrity while adding some modern
sensibility.”
As they walked back toward the front of the house, Lin felt a surge of contentment. Her
life had found its rhythm on this island—a blend of everyday work she loved and the occasional
extraordinary encounter with those who lingered beyond life. For now, though, she was happy to
focus on the living, on plants and soil and design.
The Peterson House stood solid and welcoming in the September sunlight, its windows
reflecting the blue sky and passing clouds. Lin, touching her horseshoe necklace briefly out of
habit, allowed herself to hope that this project might be just what it appeared—a chance to honor
history through new growth.
Later that evening, Lin spread her preliminary sketches across her dining table. Outside,
twilight softened the edges of her garden, and somewhere in the distance, a gull called its
goodnight to the day. Nicky snored softly at her feet as she worked, sketching ideas for the
Peterson House gardens—plans for new life in an old place, unaware of what truly awaited her
there. ...
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