“Tell Marcus he has twenty-four hours to return the collateral,” the voice said.

“Who is this?” I asked, my heart hammering against my ribs.

“He knows who I am,” the man said. “Tell him the cemetery isn’t the only thing we’re going to dig up.”

The line went dead.

I lowered the phone from my ear.

My hand was shaking, and the cold metal of the brass cemetery key in my coat pocket pressed against my hip.

“Who was that?” Marcus demanded.

His voice was too loud, a sharp bark that rattled the glass in the antique grandfather clock nearby.

“It was for you,” I said.

I looked at Aunt Caroline, who was standing near the parlor door, her fingers clutching a damp lace handkerchief.

“They said you have twenty-four hours to return the collateral,” I said to Marcus.

Marcus took a step toward me, his eyes wide and bloodshot.

“They said the cemetery isn’t the only thing they’re going to dig up,” I added.

The hallway went completely quiet, save for the sound of the wind rattling the heavy oak front door of Mercer House.