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Alex agreed to go, too. He'd avoided going near the old courthouse ever since his father, who had worked there for twenty years, died.
    He was all for tearing the building down. When they talked about it, he had said, 'Those beams have to be rotted through. They'll pour a fortune
    into that building, dressing it up with paint and paneling and new flooring, and then one day the whole thing will collapse anyway. It's stupid. Scout's right. A rec center would be just the thing. Even a parking garage for the new courthouse would make more sense."
    But she suspected his attitude had more to do with what had happened to his father than with the building itself.
    Although Maggie hadn't been inside the courthouse in a long time, she discovered that afternoon that with the evacuation process already begun, it was even more depressing than she'd remembered. So empty and desolate, as if it had already been abandoned.
    They spent less than an hour exploring the upper floors, where there was little activity and few people. Only the larger pieces of furniture remained in many of the offices. Their footsteps echoed hollowly on the bare, worn, wooden floors, and their voices rang out in the staircases. "It's kind of like a haunted house already," Helen murmured nervously, and no one disagreed.
    Maggie handed the renovation papers to a lone clerk on the second floor. Most of the staff was at the new courthouse, putting the finishing touches on their new offices. It wouldn't be long, Maggie was told by the clerk, before the peer jury would be put to work toting small supplies and books through the alleyway from the old building to the new. Moving vans would carry off the heavier things. Then the ancient, once-proud building
    would stand empty after almost a century and a half.
    They moved from floor to floor, past deserted offices with peeling wallpaper and high ceilings with water stains, through wide but dim corridors, and up and down wide, curving, wooden staircases whose railings shook and whose treads creaked ominously beneath their feet.
    Finished with the upper floors, Alex, who seemed surprisingly at home in the old courthouse, talked them into exploring the basement. Helen protested, but finally gave in because she was unwilling to remain upstairs alone.
    When they opened the door to the cellarway, Maggie, repelled by the strong, musty smell, took a step backward, and narrowly missed bumping into James Keith, just entering the building. Alice Ann "Chantilly" Beckwith was with him, as were two other friends, both as sullen-looking as James.
    "Oops, sorry!" Maggie apologizied. "I didn't see you."
    "Like that's a surprise," the girl snarled. But to Maggie's relief, the four kept walking.
    "She's here for her pretrial hearing," Lane said knowingly. "Phew," she said as she entered the enclosed, narrow stairway, "it stinks! Reminds me of the farm. That's practically the only thing I remember about the farm ... all those disgusting smells. I don't like being reminded of the farm." But she began descending the shaky, wooden staircase anyway.
    The others followed silently, heads bent against
    the sloping ceiling, their feet feeling carefully for the next step.
    Maggie was suddenly overwhelmed with the feeling that they were making a terrible mistake. Something about the basement -- the smell? The darkness? -- seemed to be warning them to stay away.
    She opened her mouth to voice the feeling, but before any sound could come out, she was at the foot of the stairs, and it was too late.
    The white limestone ceiling was so low, they had to walk with their heads down. Periodically, they had to step to one side to avoid floor-to-ceiling beams positioned in the middle of the corridors. Dank, dark water ran down the sides of the white walls, and scurrying noises sounded within them. There was no light at all and no one had thought to bring a flashlight. They had to feel their way.
    Maggie was never sure exactly how she became separated from the others,