Lonesome howls of distant red wolves drift through the night. Yearning for Jane's company, Snow wanders into the garden. An aromatic mix of boxwoods, pine, and roses fills his head with longing. Something soft as moth wings brushes his face. Wrapped in her rose embroidered shawl, Jane floats among the roses, an illusion of grace above her own grave. William Snow, retired judge and widower, returns alone to Snow's Rest, his ancestral home, grieving for Jane, the love of his life. Along the way, truth reveals itself in fleeting glimpses as a series of deaths come under suspicion. Not believing in ghosts, Snow begins to understand why some people do.