The wind blew a stray piece of dry corn husk across the driveway, scraping it against the limestone foundation.

“The house is quiet,” Nate said, turning back toward the porch steps.

We went back inside and shut the front door against the cold night air.

The dining table was still covered with dirty glass plates, greasy serving spoons, and the used linen napkins Judy had brought in her basket.

In the middle of the table, beside the empty roast beef platter, sat the wooden frame with the bluebird card and the printed county tax deed.

I picked up the gravy boat, carried it to the sink, and turned on the hot water until steam rose off the stainless steel basin.