Nate had put up wildlife cameras in the yard. He’d started with one he got at the general store, then had gone online and ordered two more crazy-expensive motion-activated night-vision cameras that he’d set up in the trees at the edge of their yard—to “maximize coverage,” he said. It seemed a little weird that he’d blow what must have been over a thousand bucks on this setup when they were supposedly over budget with house stuff, but far be it from Olive to understand what made grown-ups do the things they did. He’d connected the cameras to his laptop wirelessly so he could constantly check the feed. He’d hung salt licks and put out special deer pellets. He was determined to catch the deer on video or get a photo of it. But so far, he hadn’t been successful. He’d gotten some great shots of skunks, a porcupine, even a coyote. But no deer.

“I know where the bricks came from,” he said as he reached them now. His face was serious, his mouth a tight little line.

“What?” Helen asked. Olive looked down at the brick she was holding, like she was concentrating extra hard on getting every speck of old mortar off.

“You left the search engine open on your laptop, Helen. And the pages you’ve been looking at are all right in the history. Donovan and Sons? That’s where the bricks came from, right? The mill where there was a fire that killed all those women?”

Olive looked at the brick she was holding in her hand, looked at the black sooty stains, wondered if bricks could be haunted.

“Well, yeah, but—”