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Cam had chosen a recipe that didn’t involve a burner to hopefully summon their ghost: Pimiento Deviled Eggs, which Ada had written were “perfect for when you’re feeling just the tiniest bit Luciferian, and absolutely must be served with champagne.” Cam already boiled the eggs, which she had stashed in a lidded plastic container, as she had the other ingredients, including a jar of red peppers and a bag of shredded cheddar cheese. Out came a small cutting board, a melamine bowl, and a kitchen knife in a plastic sheath. She began chopping and mixing while Francine and Avery held their flashlights so Cam could see.

“Can I help?” Avery asked dutifully, and Cam smiled. They both knew the answer would be no.

“Just keep that light here so I don’t cut off my finger,” she said. That would be just what they needed.

Cam added measured squirts of mayonnaise and mustard from plastic jars, amusing herself by considering what Ada would have thought of such conveniences. Back in her time, she would have had to whip eggs and oil and grind her own mustard seeds. As she stirred everything together, the familiar warmth spread across the kitchen.

“It’s her!” Francine said.

“Hi, Ada,” Cam said, and with those words, the now-familiar ghost appeared to one side of the table. She was wearing the same pink dress and bobbed hairstyle as before, back at Birdie’s house. But this time, Ada looked more substantial. And Cam swore she could see just a hint of a luminous sparkle coming off her aura, like bubbles from a fizzing champagne. Cam held her breath, hoping that Ada would be able to say something more than she had previously. Another “find it” wasn’t going to be very helpful.

The whispers were back and louder than before, starting in an indecipherable buzz. But out of the cacophony, the women heard Ada’s message: “It’s here! IT’S HEEEEERRRRRE!” Ada’s voice sounded excited, though it had the same desperate edge that had so affected Cam.

“All right, Ada,” Cam said, her voice shaky with eagerness. “You’re going to have to help us. I know you can move things just a little. Where is it? We’ve gone over every inch of this place. Please, we want to help you!”

In a flash, Ada disappeared, and the thrum in the air quieted as quickly as if someone had just snapped off a television. The momentary warmth was gone, and they were left in the chill of the silent basement.

The three women looked at each other, disappointment evident on their faces. After a beat or two, they startled at a noise behind them. A cabinet drawer had fallen open.

Cam approached it. The face of the drawer on the lower part of the unit opened into a storage bin, a kind that she knew was often used to hold potatoes or onions. She had investigated it just a few minutes ago and hadn’t seen anything out of the ordinary. But Ada seemed to have sent her a sign.

“Flashlights, please?” Cam asked, and her accomplices lit the drawer while she reexamined it. She prodded the sides and opened and closed it a few times.

“Wait, here’s an idea,” Francine said. “I’ve seen furniture pieces like this before. Check to see if you can lift the drawer out.” She maneuvered her light to shine on the top of the bin.

Cam used both hands to move the bin upward, and as she did, she felt it unhook from the massive cabinet. She carefully wrested it out, and once it was free from its housing, she examined the bottom and back. Nothing.

“Wait, look.” Avery had turned her light from the drawer itself back to the hole where it had been sitting. “I think there might be something in there.”

Cam placed the drawer on the brick floor and followed Avery’s light. She could make out what looked like the corner of a page. Cam reached into the recessed bottom of the cupboard, praying that there were no rodents keeping Ada’s stash company. Her fingers closed around a sheaf of papers, and she drew her arm back out.

“What is it?” Francine asked. “Is it a draft?”

Cam used the edge of her sleeve to clear the fuzz of dust that had gathered on the top page, instantly recognizing Ada’s elegant script.

The Silver Foal

Book Two

of the Stormy of Silver Cove series

By Ada Poulson

“This isn’t a draft of Stormy,” Cam said. “Oh my God, it’s way better than that. It’s a sequel.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Cam gingerly flipped through the pages. Each one was filled with Ada’s flowing handwriting, just as both the cookbook and the original manuscript for the first book had been. Surely this would be enough to prove Marshall Merriweather was a fraud and Ada was the author of not just one book, but two! Marshall had famously claimed he had been too grief-stricken after Ada’s death to ever write again. Well, here was the proof that would catch his century-old lie.

Cam was momentarily awed by their discovery, and she imagined Ada placing these papers here where Marshall would likely never find them. Then she had taken ill so suddenly and had died before she could get them out in the world, somewhere safe from her husband.

Cam handed the bundle to Francine and went back to the cabinet and stuck her arm back in, trailing her fingers along the wooden base, feeling for anything more that Ada might have secreted there. They brushed against something else solid, and she drew out a small, dust-covered leather book fastened by a strap bearing a small lock.

“A diary,” Avery said.

Cam tried to open it, but the lock held fast. As the three of them leaned in to examine it, a sharp rap against the window made them all jump again.

“Was that Ada?” Cam asked, and as she looked to the high-up window, she could make out faint blue and red lights coming from the direction of the street that definitely didn’t seem like they were from a Christmas display.