“Warren saw you down by the north ridge yesterday.”

“I was walking,” I said. “I don’t have the key on me.”

Lydia stood up, closing her laptop with a soft click.

“I think we should stop this conversation for tonight,” Lydia said.

“The county office opens at eight tomorrow morning.”

“I will file the injunction then,” she added.

“You are making a massive mistake, Ms. Crane,” Marcus said, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper.

“I am doing my job,” Lydia replied.

She packed her computer into her leather bag and looked at me.

“I should get back to town,” she said.

“I’ll walk you to your car,” I said.

I wanted to get out of that room, away from Marcus’s suffocating presence.

Aunt Caroline was still weeping quietly in her chair, Warren handing her a clean handkerchief.

Marcus did not move as we walked out.

He stood by the fireplace, watching me with dark, hollow eyes.

I led Lydia down the grand hallway, the portraits of our ancestors staring down at us.

The air in the foyer was cold, smelling of old wax and damp stone.