“Or his mother,” Julian replied, pushing open the heavy chapel door.

The damp night air hit us, smelling of wet earth and salt from the harbor.

We walked quickly to his sedan, our shoes clicking on the wet gravel of the driveway.

The drive to the Caldwell Estate was completely silent.

The headlights cut through the thick fog rising from the water, illuminating the ancient oaks that lined the road.

My hands gripped my purse in my lap, the iron key pressing hard through the leather.

“If they are already there, we must be cautious,” Julian said, keeping his eyes on the road.

“We will use the kitchen entrance,” I said. “The overgrown rhododendrons will cover our approach.”

We turned onto the long, winding driveway of the estate.

The massive stone house loomed in the darkness, a dark silhouette against the grey night sky.

No lights were visible in the front windows.

It looked completely abandoned, but as we rounded the bend, I saw a single black SUV parked near the old carriage house.

“That is not Graham’s car,” I whispered, my chest tightening.