Free Acceptable Risk by Robin Cook

North Street, passing the Witch House again, and turned right on Orne Road. As they passed the Greenlawn Cemetery Kim mentioned that it had once been part of the Stewarts’ land.
    Kim directed Edward to turn right onto a dirt road. As they bumped along, Edward had to fight with the steering wheel. It was impossible to miss all the potholes.
    “Are you sure we’re on the right road?” Edward asked.
    “Absolutely,” Kim assured him.
    After a few twists and turns they approached an impressive wrought-iron gate. The gate was suspended from massive stanchions constructed of rough-hewn granite blocks. A high iron fence topped with sharpened spikes disappeared into the dense forest on either side of the road.
    “Is this it?” Edward questioned.
    “This is it,” Kim answered as she alighted from the car.
    “Rather imposing,” Edward called as Kim struggled to open the heavy padlock securing the gate. “And not that inviting.”
    “It was an affectation of the age,” Kim yelled back. “People with means wanted to project a baronial image.” After removing the padlock, she pushed the gate open. Its hinges creaked loudly.
    Kim returned to the car and they drove through the gate. After a few more twists and turns the road opened up to a large grassy field. Edward stopped again.
    “Good Lord,” Edward said. “Now I understand why you said baronial.”
    Dominating the enormous field was a huge, multistoried stone house complete with turrets, crenellations, and machicolations. The roof was slate and pockmarked with fanciful decorations and finial-topped dormers. Chimneys sprouted like weeds from all parts of the structure.
    “An interesting mélange of styles,” Edward said. “It's part medieval castle, part Tudor manor, part French château. It's amazing.”
    “The family has always called it the castle,” Kim explained.
    “I can see why,” Edward said. “When you described it as a huge, drafty old place, I had no idea it was going to look like this. This belongs down in Newport with the Breakers.”
    “The North Shore of Boston still has quite a few of these huge old houses,” Kim said. “Of course some of them have been torn down. Others have been recycled into condos, but that market is flat at the moment. You can understand why it’s a white elephant for me and my brother.”
    “Where’s the old house?” Edward asked.
    Kim pointed to the right. In the distance Edward could just make out a dark-brown building nestled in a stand of birch trees.
    “What’s that stone building to the left?” Edward asked.
    “That was once a mill,” Kim said. “But it was turned into stables a couple of hundred years ago.”
    Edward laughed. “It’s amazing you can take all this in stride,” he said. “In my mind anything over fifty years old is a relic.”
    Edward started driving again but quickly stopped. He’d come abreast of a fieldstone wall that was mostly overgrown with weeds.
    “What’s this?” he asked, pointing at the wall.
    “That’s the old family burial ground,” Kim said.
    “No fooling,” Edward said. “Can we look?”
    “Of course,” Kim said.
    They got out of the car and climbed over the wall. They couldn’t use the entrance since it was blocked by a dense thicket of blackberry bushes.
    “Looks like a lot of the headstones are broken,” Edward said. “And fairly recently.” He picked up a broken piece of marble.
    “Vandalism,” Kim said. “There’s not much we can do about it since the place is vacant.”
    “It’s a shame,” Edward said. He looked at the date. It was 1843. The name was Nathaniel Stewart.
    “The family used this plot until the middle of the last century,” Kim explained.
    Slowly they walked back through the overgrown graveyard. The farther they went the more simple the headstones became and the older they got.
    “Is Ronald Stewart in here?” Edward asked.
    “He is,” Kim said. She led him over to a simple round headstone with a skull and crossed bones