Grandmother was resting, something she’d done every afternoon as far back as Reece could remember, and the house was particularly quiet with the housekeeper gone.Quiet didn’t apply to outdoors, though. Shortly after she’d come inside, Jones had driven past on his way out. An hour later, he’d returned, parking the truck in the middle of the driveway about even with the porch. Yes, she’d gone into Grandmother’s study to peek through the lace curtains. Behind him was another truck, bigger, loaded with pallets of brick and mulch, bags of concrete mix and some type of equipment. He and the driver had unloaded, shaken hands, then the truck left and Jones turned to the front yard.The equipment—a tiller, she guessed, not that she’d ever had the opportunity to need one—was noisy and distracted her from her reading. She’d finished four chapters of Southern Aristocracy without remembering a word.Now she closed the book and sighed loudly. It echoed in the salon, as if a dozen souls joined in.
