The mosquitoes' whine built to a shriek, but she did not wave them away and was too numb to feel their stings. A breeze feathered the grass, stirring the sweet-syrup smell of Queen Anne's lace. Julia's gaze lifted to her weed-ridden property, a place she had hoped to transform into a paradise. She'd imagined a vibrant garden of roses and peonies, an arbor twined with purple clematis. Now when she looked at this yard, she no longer saw a garden.

She saw a graveyard.

— You could have asked for my advice before you bought this shack, — said her sister, Vicky, sitting at Julia's kitchen table.

Julia stood at the window, staring out at the multiple mounds of dirt that had sprung up like baby volcanoes in her back garden. For the past three days, a crew from the medical examiner's office had practically camped out in her yard. She was now so accustomed to having them tramp in and out of her house to use the toilet that she'd miss having them around when the excavation was done, and they finally left her alone again, here in this house with its hand-hewn beams and its history. And its ghosts.

Outside, the medical examiner, Dr. Isles, had just arrived and was crossing toward the excavation site. Julia thought her an unsettling sort of woman, neither friendly nor unfriendly, with ghostly pale skin and Goth-black hair. She looks so calm and collected, Julia thought, watching Isles through the window.

— It's not like you to just jump into something, — said Vicky. — An offer on the first day you saw it? Did you think anyone else would snatch it up? — She pointed to the crooked cellar door. — That doesn't even shut. Did you check the foundation? This place has got to be a hundred years old. —

— It's a hundred and thirty, — Julia murmured, her gaze still on the backyard, where Dr. Isles stood at the edge of the excavation hole.

— Oh, honey, — Vicky said, her voice softening. — I know it's been a tough year for you. I know what you're going through. I just wish you'd called me before you did something this drastic. —