Nora came around to sit on a stool next to Margot, though Ray remained leaning on the other side of the counter. “Absolutely. The history is half the draw for visitors. Some days it feels like we’re less salespeople and more tour guides. Isn’t that right, Ray?”
“Mm.” Ray took a long drag of his glass of wine, draining it. He was breathing slightly too hard when he put it back on the counter.
Something’s off.
Margot felt her chest grow tighter as she glanced between the two managers. Nora was fidgeting, her hands moving in quick flicks as she adjusted her wineglass, folded a napkin, adjusted the glass again, and then brushed an invisible crumb off the counter. She held her smile in place, baring white teeth and red gums with an almost desperate surety. But when she looked closer, Margot couldn’t fail to notice how red her eyelids were and how, under a light layer of bronzing, her cheeks were blanched.
Ray was silent as he poured himself more wine. His body language was easy—slow movements, gently curving shoulders, one hand resting lightly on the countertop—but his eyes seemed glazed. As though he wasn’t actually seeing any of the things he looked at.
They’re panicked. Because of me?
No, Margot realized. They were holding close to her: Nora with her seat so near that their knees nearly bumped, Ray hanging over the counter. Almost like Margot’s presence was a comfort.
But something had unnerved them. Made them edgy. And Margot was fairly certain it had happened not long before she arrived.
Nora had seen Margot well before she reached the door. She must have been staring through the windows, scanning the landscape around them. Watching for something.
What’s happening to the people here?
“Nora…” Margot folded her hands together, pressing the palms against one another. “I’d really like to learn about the people who lived here before me.”
“Of course you would.” Nora reached forward to quickly squeeze Margot’s hand. “Of course. This must still be so new to you. We can help with that.”
“Start at the beginning.” Margot turned toward the photos on the walls. “Kant said my family bought the land hundreds of years ago.”
“He’s right.” The edginess still clung to Nora like cobwebs, but her smile was fuller again. She moved out of her chair, pulling Margot with her as they approached the wall of photos.
Nora reached a hand toward one of the framed images. Her eyes were very bright. “Here are the first private owners of Gallows Hill, Ezra and Louisa Hull.”
23
Ezra. The name was like electricity across Margot’s skin. It couldn’t be a coincidence. The first owner of the property. The name she’d heard wailed in the shed.