“Take the binoculars, young woman: they allow one to see in the dark, even an old woman like me.”

The binoculars were a lovely set of Rigel compact optics, with a nightvision feature usually used by hunters. “Did you buy these so you could see in the dark, ma’am?”

“I didn’t buy them originally to spy on my old home, if that’s what you’re asking: my grandson MacKenzie gave them to me when I still managed Larchmont. He thought they would be helpful to me since my vision was deteriorating, and he was correct.”

The glasses brought the dormers of the attic into sharp relief. I couldn’t make out great detail in the dark, but enough to see the skylight cut into the steep roof. The small windows underneath the eaves were uncurtained. The main entrance, where the local cop and I had both parked, was to the left, at right angles to the side facing Anodyne Park. Anyone coming onto the property from the road would be easy to spot from here, if you were looking, but if someone approached from the meadows at the rear, they would be shielded from view by the stable and greenhouse.

“I found empty bottles and so on when I was walking around,” I said, still scanning the house for any signs of light or life. “People are clearly coming onto the property now that it’s vacant. Do you think that’s who you’re seeing?”

“Oh, I suppose working people feel a certain triumph in having sex on the old Drummond grounds,” she said dismissively, “but I have seen lights flicker in the attic late at night. The skylight is revealing of what’s inside as well as what’s out. It was the servants’ common room when my mother managed Larchmont. As a child, I used to go up there and watch the maids play poker. She didn’t know about their card games, but children and servants are natural allies.

“After Mother died, I shut up the attic and moved the remaining staff to the third floor. I wasn’t entertaining on a grand scale, I didn’t use those bedrooms. Or all those servants Mother thought essential for running Larchmont as if it were Blenheim Palace.