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Fiona shoved her hands into her coat pockets.

“You were always on our list.”

Olivia waited.

Fiona sighed. “Eight.”

“I’m number eight?” So Dr. Price hadn’t been exaggerating.

“We should go inside.”

“Will tea and snacks be involved?”

“Yes.”

“Then I’m prepared to hear the rest.”

The office occupied one end of the old visitor center, which was being renovated around the people still trying to work in it. Half of the main room had been cleared, while the other half contained stacked boxes, rolls of wallpaper, two battered display cases, and a collection of old photographs leaning against the wall waiting to be rehung.

A radiator clanked beneath the window, warming the space, and someone had left three mugs beside the kettle, none of them matching.

Olivia felt more at home immediately.

Fiona filled the kettle as she talked. “Glenbrae closed in the nineteen-sixties. My grandfather worked here. So did his father. Malcolm and I bought the property twelve years ago after the company that owned it decided there wasn’t enough left worth saving.”

“And you disagreed.”

“We were full of hope.”

The kettle clicked off as Fiona poured boiling water over two tea bags.

“We were supposed to reopen in five years.”

Olivia looked around at the unfinished room. “I’m guessing that didn’t happen.”

She counted off on her fingers. “Roof. Drainage. Warehouses. Copper. Licensing. More drainage. A wall fell down.”

“An important wall?”

“They’re all important when they fall.”

Olivia smiled as Fiona handed her a mug.

“My brother will tell you buying the place was my idea.”

“Was it?”

“Yes, but he agreed, so I refuse to accept sole responsibility.”

A man appeared in the doorway at exactly that moment.

“I heard that.”

He was taller than Fiona and heavier through the shoulders, with the same dark eyes and a pair of green rubber boots spattered with mud nearly to the knee.

Fiona pointed at him with her mug.

“My brother, Malcolm. He handles production.”