4
So he was a ghost. There couldn’t be any other explanation.
Danica sat at the dining room table, shaking, a glass of water next to her. When she’d run back into the house, she’d thought about pouring herself some more wine. But that was a stupid idea. She needed her wits about her — what was left of them, anyway.
Someone had shot him. One of her long-ago Wilcox ancestors? From what she’d heard through the family grapevine, they did sound as if they were hard men, used to getting their own way and not worrying too much about any civilian laws they might break to get ahead. Danica figured she could be objective about those family members when examining the problem, since that was all so very long ago. It was entirely possible that one of the Wilcox relatives wouldn’t scruple at shooting
