“Marcus Mercer, you need to come with us to the station,” Vance said.

Marcus didn’t move at first.

He looked at the front door, then at Aunt Caroline, who turned her face away from him.

The rain outside grew heavier, drumming against the slate roof like a distant, steady march.

Marcus slowly reached into his coat pocket and pulled out his car keys, dropping them onto the hall table.

The metal clinked against the wood, a sharp, final sound.

“This isn’t over,” Marcus said to me as the deputy stepped up to guide his arms behind his back.

“You think you’ve saved this place, but you’ve just signed its death warrant.”

“I saved our history,” I said, my hand closing around the heavy brass key to the cemetery gate in my pocket.

Vance took Marcus by the elbow and led him out into the rain.

The red and blue lights of another police cruiser began to flash through the bare oak trees down the driveway.

Aunt Caroline sank into the velvet armchair in the parlor, weeping quietly into her handkerchief.