to his new neighbors. They had been fixing up the old house and

 yard for a couple of weeks now, but he hadn't had time to

 welcome them yet.

    The original owners of the house had given up the fight

 against disability and old age and moved to Florida, and

 everyone in Cameron Park, an old, picturesque neighborhood in

 Raleigh, waited with bated breath to see if the new owners would

 be acceptable. They were.

    Young and energetic, Scott, Kim and their toddler, Caroline,

 fit right in. Their neighbors sighed with collective relief and

 set about prying into the newcomers' private lives, discussing

 their renovations to the house, and delivering casseroles. Simon

 just hadn't had time yet.

    Then he remembered that one of his Aunt Rae's Winner's Circle

 pies lingered in his freezer, waiting for a special occasion. He

 had expected that occasion to include himself, but he would

 sacrifice to welcome his new neighbors. After gently defrosting

 the pie in the microwave, he dropped it by the house on his way

 to the gym.

    When he delivered it into Kim's hands, he noticed some

 restraint in her thanks. She took the pie from him almost

 reluctantly.

    "Is something wrong?" he asked.

    "I'm not sure we're staying in this house," she said.

    Scott put down his rake and joined them.

    "Don't let it get to you, hon'," he said to her. "I'm sure

 we'll find an explanation."

    Kim glanced over at their blond 3-year-old, playing on the

 new swing hung from an old maple in the front yard.

    "Something has happened that has really spooked me," Kim said

 to Simon. "I haven't been able to sleep for two days."

    "What?" Simon asked, desperately curious.

    "We found a baby's grave in the back yard," Scott said.

    "Good Lord," Simon said.

    "Exactly," Scott said.

    "Can I see it?"

    "Certainly," Scott said, leading Simon around the side of the

 house.

    The back yard reminded Simon of a forgotten piece of family

 silver, found tarnished and dented in a cupboard, that had been

 polished up and proudly displayed on the living room

 mantelpiece.

    The couple's work had transformed the area from an overgrown,

 neglected space into a warm, inviting garden. New plantings of

 impatiens and hostas edged the uneven brick walkways. Pine straw

 spotted with carefully spaced periwinkle plants surrounded the

 old mossy stone pavers of the terrace. Hot pink petunias circled

 a marble birdbath that was cracked from its base almost to the

 lip of its bowl. The brick and stone neoclassic garden shed

 supported a twig trellis between chipped Doric pillars. A marble

 rabbit missing one ear napped under honeysuckle just beginning

 to climb the trellis.

    "It's lovely back here," Simon said.

    "Thanks. We've worked hard on it," Scott said. "Come over

 here. Here's the grave."

    He pulled back a thick clump of liriope edging the terrace,

 revealing a marble stone roughly 15 inches square, cracked on

 the diagonal. It read, "William, son of Eula and Earl, Nov. 12,

 1948 - December 22, 1948. Our precious angel."

    "How awful," Simon said. "Is there a baby buried under the

 stone?"

    "Don't know for sure," Scott said. "Taking up a shovel and

 investigating doesn't appeal to me much."

    "Of course not," Simon said. He pictured a tiny box enclosing

 a tiny skeleton. Just then the lone cloud in the bright spring

 sky drifted in front of the sun, and the little back garden

 darkened perceptibly.

    "I don't think it's ever been legal to bury someone in a

 residential neighborhood," Simon said. "And the grave's tucked

 away in a corner. How strange. Almost as if it was secret."

    "I called the Pearsons in Florida. They knew nothing about

 it. Never noticed it."

    "They were both crippled. Didn't do any yard work."

    "Kim wants to go to a hotel tonight," Scott said, "then call

 the police Monday. Or the coroner? I don't know whom to contact

 about this, exactly."

    Kim came around the side of the house, trailing Caroline, who

 was heading for her sand pile.