I put my arm in between them. “Guys, stop. We can’t start fighting now.” I turned to Melissa. “Yes, this is probably crazy. Maybe it’s only affecting Liz because she’s the most open out of all of us. Open to good . . . and bad. She was a pediatric nurse and always took care of the sickest little ones. You don’t get involved in a career like that without a big heart.” Then, to Jess, “Hands to yourself.” I looked at the bag. “What did you bring?”

She nodded and opened it, pulling out a large hunting knife. “We might need protection.”

“Are you nuts?” Melissa said. “Why do you even have that?”

“I’m from Wisconsin,” she said flatly. “Deer-hunting season. I got it at Mills Fleet Farm.”

At one of our wine nights, Jess had tried to explain the lore of Fleet Farm. Peppered all over Wisconsin, apparently the stores were something of a cross between a Home Depot for Wisconsinites (read: hunting and fishing); a Kohl’s, with casual clothing; and a grocery store. You could buy a new crossbow, a pair of kicky capri pants, and a case of beer all in the same location. Adding another layer to the mythology was that there were also Farm & Fleet stores that sold similar items, yet there was no connection between the owners.

“Fleet Farm?” Melissa shook her head. “I can’t do this.”

“You are doing it. We all are.” I stepped aside and gestured toward the red wagon I had behind me. In it was the leftover fence wood from my backyard, nails, and a hammer.

We’d agreed to meet that night at 2:00 a.m., after everyone was asleep, and try to cover the pit as quickly and quietly as possible. We knew we didn’t want to be around her house at the witching hour of 3:00 a.m. and figured an hour was more than enough time to get it done. We had discussed asking Tim for permission but couldn’t imagine his reacting well. He’d probably ask us to sign liability waivers before entering the property. So we figured we would ask for forgiveness later after it worked.

Jess walked over and grabbed a side of the wagon while I lifted the other, as we thought it would make too much noise if we rolled it. Melissa didn’t offer to help but did silently follow us down the street to Liz’s backyard.

I took a deep breath, turned to Jess and Melissa, and nodded into the darkness before we crept into Liz’s backyard, back to where it had all begun.

—

“Watch out for those,” I said as I pointed to a root from the locust tree on the side of Liz’s house. The air held a faint odor of smoke, although the plumes from the chimney had stopped. It didn’t smell like wood burning. It was something more acrid, like burning rubber.