The house had been a humble one. The roof wasn’t caved in, but there were holes in it, and the porch was sagging. There wasn’t any glass in the windows. There was a listing two-car garage off to one side, with wide doors that hung ajar. Once it had been painted white, like the house. The whole thing was southern gothic picturesque decay personified.

The water in the drainage ditch was dark and would be very cold. There’d been a lot of rain the past couple of weeks. And I felt the raw chill of more rain coming.

I could tell from the inclination of Tolliver’s head that he expected me to walk down the side of the road to where the hill leveled into the valley. He expected that someone had dumped the body on the more accessible ground and had tossed its accessories off while driving upward into the mountains. And under other circumstances, that’s exactly what I would have done.

But there wasn’t any need.

The minute my foot had touched the ground, I’d known I was going to have news for Twyla Cotton. The buzzing was intense, increasing as I stepped closer to the eroded driveway. This was not the signal from a single corpse. I began to have a bad feeling, an awful feeling, and I was scared to look at Tolliver. He took my hand, wrapped it around the crook of his elbow. He could tell I’d decided to go into the tangled area that had been the yard of the old house.

“The ground is rough in there. I wish we’d worn our high boots,” he said. But I couldn’t register what he was saying. I watched a blue pickup pass, slowing down for the curve, fading away from view. It was the only other vehicle we’d seen on this road.

After the sound of its motor died away, I could hear only the increasingly irrelevant registers of the two live people and the increasingly more compelling signals of the dead. I walked forward, pulling Tolliver with me. Maybe he tried to pull me back a little, but I kept on going, because this was my moment—my connection with the power, or ability, or electrical short, that made me unique.

“You better get the flags,” I said, and he went back to get the lengths of wire topped with red plastic flags.

In the cold damp I stood in the middle of the former yard, between the fence and the ruined house. I turned in a circle, feeling the buzzing rising all around me, as they clamored to be found. That’s all they want, you know. They want to be found.

I tried to speak, choked, gasped.

“What’s wrong?” Tolliver asked distantly. “Harper?”

I stumbled to the left a couple of steps. “Here,” I said.

“My grandson? Jeff’s there?” Twyla had forged her way onto the property.