Edith hmphed and turned toward the safe. “I can’t remember the last time I touched this thing. The rooms all have their own now, and no one pays cash anymore.”
Valerie hovered behind her, her heels bouncing against the floorboards. “Please tell me you can open it.”
Edith squinted through her bifocals and twisted the key. The mechanism groaned like it was waking from a forty-year nap before giving a rustyclick.
“Ha!” Edith crowed, stepping back. “Got it on the first try.”
Valerie leaned forward, then slowly pulled the heavy door open. Inside was mostly empty. Just an old watch, some envelopes, and a few other trinkets. She sorted through the contents carefully, the soft jingle of metal echoing through the room.
When she reached the bottom, her shoulders sank. “It’s not here.”
Edith peered into the safe and shook her head. “It was a good idea, although I never heard about anyone turning in a ring.”
“I don’t know where else to look.” Valerie slumped to the floor, curling her knees to her chest. “Grant, what if we can’t solve this? We’re so close.”
Her voice cracked on the last word, and I felt it like a bruise. Her spirit used to drive me crazy, that effervescent ambition that never seemed to dim, and now, watching it drain from her face twisted something in my gut. I hated that I couldn’t fix it.
I wandered toward one of the storage racks, dragging a hand through my hair. “We tried, Spells. I’m sorry.”
The words tasted bitter. That selfish part of me had wanted to fail, and now that we had, it felt wrong—like we’d come this far only to walk away. I kicked a fallen receipt near my boot, watching it flutter against the wood.
Then something red flickered at the edge of my vision—a faint blush of color near the floor, barely there, justa sliver beneath the shelving unit. I frowned, crouching lower until my fingers brushed smooth wood.
“Hold on,” I said, brushing away a web that clung to my wrist.
It came loose with a puff of dust: a small wooden doll. Its paint was chipped and faded, the once-bright features of a woman’s face, hardly visible beneath the grime. I scraped my thumbnail along the surface, revealing the delicate outline of a pair of hand-painted figure skates.
One of those eerie premonitions crawled up my spine. The kind that whispered maybe we weren’t done after all. Whether it was fate or dumb luck, at this point, I didn’t care which.
Valerie knelt beside me. “Is that—?”
“A nesting doll.” I turned it over in my palm. The wood was cold and rough with age. A buzz of something—recognition, maybe—formed in my mind. “You said Daniel Keene was a toymaker, right? And Natalie was a professional figure skater?
She nodded, her eyes bright with renewed curiosity as I carried it into the lobby. I set it gently on the desk beneath the glow of the Christmas lights.
“Ever seen one of these before?”
“Yeah… maybe. A long time ago,” Valerie said, stepping beside me.
“My grandmother gifted me a set a while back,” I said. “It’s rumored to have been in the Delaney family for years.”
It had been the one thing she gave to me instead of Matt. Maybe it was her way of saying I belonged. Funny—years later, I was still looking for proof.
Both women leaned in as I twisted the doll at its seam. The wood rasped in protest, then came apart with a soft pop, revealing another hidden inside.
“The first nesting dolls were crafted in the late 1800s,” I continued, rolling the next one in my hand. “They’re meant to symbolize continuation. Generations inside generations. Family. Strength. The things that last when everything else fades. Like your cherries.”
Valerie’s lips curved faintly, but she didn’t look away.
The air filled with the rhythmicclick-click-clickof each hollow piece sliding open.
I turned the next one, smaller still. The paint grew brighter the deeper I went, the colors preserved in the dark all these years. It hit me—how easy it is to get someone wrong—and how damn lucky you are if you get the chance to look again.
When I looked up, Valerie was watching me. Not the way she does when I annoy her or make her laugh, but like she finally saw me—like maybe I’d gotten something right for once.
I hesitated at the final doll. “And sometimes,” I managed, the words jammed behind my ribs, my voice rough in my throat when I looked back at her, “they just mean love.”
Something in Valerie’s eyes shifted, and for a second, it wasn’t about the ghosts at all.
