“I actually stopped in hoping you could help me with directions,” she said.

“Sure. You on your way to the college? Or out to the bed-and-breakfast?”

“No, actually, I’m looking for the farmhouse the Gray family used to own. I’ve got an address, 202 County Road, but couldn’t seem to find it. Maybe the address I’ve got is wrong, but—”

“No, you’ve got the address right. The house isn’t there anymore. Stood empty for a long time, no one wanted to touch it. People said it was haunted. I imagine if any place was going to be haunted, it would be that house. I think houses hold memories, don’t you?”

Helen nodded, said, “Absolutely.”

“Anyway, it fell into neglect, then a doctor from out of state bought the place last year, had it all torn down—the house, the barn, everything—so he could build a fancy log house with a whole wall of windows.”

“Oh yes, I saw that,” Helen said.

Aggie nodded, stepped over to a table full of knickknacks. “One of those big prefab things trucked in. He put in a pond, stocked it with trout so he can fish whenever he wants. He comes up a few weekends a year. Place sits empty most of the time.” Aggie’s voice dripped disdain. She began to fiddle with a collection of old brass bells on the table, arranging them from largest to smallest.

Helen nodded sympathetically, said, “That’s too bad. People should be fixing up the old farmhouses, not tearing them down.”

“It’s a rotten shame, if you ask me,” Aggie continued, still moving the old bells around. “The Gray place, it had history. Some of it a bit dark, mind you, but that house, it had character.” She leaned down, gave Mulligan a pat on the head. The dog leaned into her. “Isn’t that right, Mulligan?” Then she looked up at Helen and asked, “Why were you looking for it, anyway?”

“I’m doing a history project. A family tree of sorts. I’m trying to trace any living relatives of the woman who used to live on the land my husband I bought in Hartsboro. Apparently, Ann Gray was her granddaughter.”

Aggie shook her head. “Terrible what happened. It’s kind of local legend around here. The worst crime ever to happen in Elsbury—well, the only crime really, if you don’t count a few breaks-ins and the gas station being robbed.”

Mulligan squeaked his toy, and Helen leaned down to give his ears a scratch.

“Do you know any details about what happened?”