The Weeping Way Finder (Episode 2)
The Lost & Foundry: Where Relics Have Hidden Echoes
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Have you ever been drawn into a mystery that demands you uncover hidden secrets? What would you do if a haunted relic beckoned you toward a forgotten past?
Share your experience with the irresistible pull of lost history.
“There, that ought to do it,” Finn says, tightening the last screw of the new night latch. He wanted to replace the knotted wood planks that passed for a back door, but Cassandra convinced him all she really needed was to keep it from springing open at all hours. Satisfied with the lock, Finn opens the door to inspect the aged hinges.
The keeping room at the rear of Cassandra Wilkins’ antique and second-hand store, The Lost & Foundry, served as the kitchen when this was her great-grandparents’ home. From their son, Elias Voss, it passed to his daughter, Elinor, before it was willed to her daughter. Cassandra never knew the Voss family: they were all gone before she was out of diapers, including her mother.
Raised by her father on the opposite side of the globe, Cassandra discovered the deed in her name after his death. Wondering if she’d learn more about her mother, she moved to Haven’s Hollow and was now heading into the penultimate winter before she could call herself a “true local.” As much as she likes living in the sleepy seaside village, her search for family history has only yielded dead ends.
“These screws don’t want to turn,” Finn grunts, abandoning the screwdriver to test how the door swings. When she arrived three years earlier, he took an instant liking to Cassandra. Owning the only construction firm in Haven’s Hollow, he ensured she had a modern flat on the second floor even though her tight budget barely covered the main floor renovations. Underneath his leonine, surly exterior, Finn Harrison has the disposition of a lamb, but chooses only to show it to those who know him best.
Finished with the hinges, he closes the door and digs a thick hand into his pocket, drawing out a pair of keys and setting them on the keeping room’s long pine table. “I made two copies.”
“Two?” Cassandra asks, taking a tentative sip of her morning tea.
Timing the drinking is half the enjoyment. There is a very narrow window between too hot and too cold, and it is ever so slightly different for each blend. Chamomile, peppermint, and black teas are best enjoyed just under boiling, but Cassandra has learned green tea or an oolong like she’s having this morning are much better when cooled a bit longer.
“I notice you’ve got someone upstairs,” Finn stumbles. “I just figured…”
Cassandra hasn’t said anything to her friend about the eleven-year-old boy who used the broken door to sneak into the shop the week before. Rather than sending Marlowe back out on the street, she asked him to be her night watch while she tries to find out where he belongs. Cassandra senses Finn’s awkwardness is masking jealousy; however, she isn’t quite ready to hear his thoughts on her taking in a runaway.
“Oh, it’s nothing like that. I hired a temporary guard while the door’s been loose. Gus wasn’t really up to the job on his own,” she looks up to see her fat orange tabby’s gold eyes glaring down at her. The cat rises from his perch on the mantel above the old hearth—one of the many details Cassandra hadn’t let Finn touch, insisting The Lost & Foundry needed to preserve some of its original character.
“He seems to be taking it well,” Finn’s voice is a little warmer.
“He’s far more upset about the new diet the vet recommended. I think he’s been gnawing at the leather on one of the steamer trunks to compensate.” Her feline familiar sniffs at his empty bowl in the former fireplace and yowls his way into the shop, his tail swishing behind him.
“So, uh…who’s the new employee, then?” Finn asks, leaning against the door.
“A friend of Vivian’s,” Cassandra lies, knowing a mention of her librarian friend and secretary of the Historical Society will cool his interest. “He’s new in town, and I know what that’s like.”
“Ah. Well, as long as it’s not too crowded up there. I built it for you.”
“We work different shifts, ships in the night and all that,” she smiles.
Cassandra can’t bear the thought of hurting Finn with the truth. He’s never asked for anything more, no matter what other feelings he may harbor. Like the brother she never had, he is there when the pipes leak and he claims to enjoy the odd jobs like refinishing furniture or fixing clockwork. Still, she wonders if it wouldn’t be kinder to let him know her interests lie elsewhere.
“It can’t hurt to have a spare. Keep it in the till, and I’ll use it when I watch Gus…if you still need me to, that is. By the way, if you want more security around here, just say the word. I’m glad to install some cameras or motion lights.”
“CCTV? In Haven’s Hollow? What would the Historical Society say?” Cassandra teases. “Besides, anyone who came in would find inventory that talks back and run right back out again,” she adds, knowing how foolish Finn finds the notion of haunted objects.
Cassandra, on the other hand, can’t deny the truth.
Human emotions are powerful things and people leave traces of them on their possessions. Not all objects are lucky enough to be treasured, and some are imbued with a story waiting to be told. While Finn prefers to cling to reason, Cassandra has no choice but to listen when one of her antiques whispers of unfinished business.
Bringing up Vivian Crenshaw and objects possessed by memory is enough to get Finn moving, his desire to keep the peace outweighing his interest in explaining away the supernatural forces with which Cassandra wrestles. The broad-shouldered construction worker stashes his tools in the box he keeps on the shelves he built next to the hearth, a modern detail designed to look like an original.
“The Hollow is plenty safe, but there are bad folks here, same as anywhere else. Promise me you will remember to use this latch?” Finn wags his finger in mock menace before making a show of unlocking it and opening the alley door. He’s startled to reveal Chet Williams, head ranger from the nearby Thorne Forest, holding a large cardboard box.
“Whoa! Morning, Ranger,” Finn says, awkwardly shaking the hand Chet had raised to knock.
“Morning, Builder,” Chet replies, stepping past Finn to set the box on the table. “Hi Cass—here’s the stuff I called about. I’m not sure there’s much you can sell, but I bet the Historical Society will take anything you don’t want.”
The Haven’s Hollow municipal building’s main floors house the library, city hall, and sheriff’s office, while the musty attic is bursting with the Haven’s Hollow Historical Society’s sprawling archives.
“One person’s trash, as they say,” Cassandra says, hiding her surprise at hearing something in the box crying softly. She suspects she’ll want a bit more caffeine before the memories bound to whatever it is creep into her second sight.
“I was just leaving anyway,” Finn pecks Cassandra on the cheek before clapping Chet a bit too firmly on the shoulder and stepping out into the alley. “You know, a motion light wouldn’t be a bad idea, just think about it,” he adds before the new latch clicks into place.
“I always appreciate new inventory, Chet. Would you like a cup of tea?”
“No, thanks. Never cared for the herbal stuff. I’m too hooked on the beans,” he jokes. “We’re getting ready to paint the ranger station and most of these are things that have turned up or been lost in the woods. At the very least, I thought these might be good for the shop,” Chet says, showing her some sepia-tinted postcards with views of Thorne Forest.
“You know, Vivian would love to get her hands on the originals if you have them.”
“Might be in here,” he rummages through the box, extracting a faded leather scrapbook. “The early years of the park’s history, recorded by the first rangers.”
“Oh, she will have a field day!” Cassandra is excited by the prospect of having something to give to her friend for a change. Unlike Finn, Vivian doesn’t doubt Cassandra’s gifts and routinely brings her things with a story that needs to be heard.
“You can take all the credit,” Chet says. “Let me know if you find anything of value, maybe the park can claim it as a charitable donation.”
“Tough times?”
“They can’t break up the forest since the land was donated with that stipulation, but the budget gets smaller every year and there’s so much upkeep, even on a hundred year old wilderness preserve.”
“I suspect the Historical Society could take a break from raising funds to restore the municipal hall and put on an exhibition about the history of the park or something like that.”
Chet’s eyes brighten, “That’d be wonderful! People don’t spend as much time outdoors as they used to—most of my visitors are four-legged.” Gus meows sharply from the doorway to the shop. “Not that there’s anything wrong with that! Hello to you as well, mister whiskers. I’d better be off, it’d be just my luck to miss the one person coming for a hike today.”
Waving goodbye and latching the door behind him, Cassandra hears the soft weeping again and sighs, knowing it will only grow more persistent now that it has caught her attention. Rummaging through the box, she withdraws faded patches and sashes that must have been part of a youth program. Under binoculars and pocket knives, at the very the bottom, she finds the source of the crying: an antique compass with a hinged cover.
The brass shell is warm in her hand and inside, the floating needle spins wildly before pointing towards the cellar door in the corner of the keeping room. On the cover, she sees engraved initials and the inscription: “Find your north star.”
“North is the other way,” Cassandra tells the compass. Placing it on the table, the needle swings back to the correct direction. “Curiouser and curiouser.”
When she touches it a second time, a powerful wave of sadness crashes over her, the compass pointing again towards the basement door. The air around her begins to swirl as the keeping room disappears and a vision transports her into to the heart of a forest. Looking down, the hand holding the compass is masculine with thick fingers. The opposite hand takes the way finder, this one covered by a glove so the needle shows true north. The hiker reorients himself before letting the brass touch his uncovered hand again to confirm whatever he is seeking lies to the southeast. He's spinning back and forth, scanning the horizon before the birdsong in the forest rings like a bell and Cassandra is back in the keeping room, realizing she’s heard the sound of the shop door.
“Well, that’s a start,” she sets the compass aside and tends to her first customer of the day.
Activity at The Lost & Foundry keeps her busy throughout the day with a steady stream of customers. A set of bird sketches from the collection of an avid ornithologist go to a couple who also ask for directions to Thorne Forest. Soon after, Cassandra sells a gilded screen decorated with shimmering dragons to a young man shopping for his fiancée’s birthday, touched to know the one-time token of a true love will fan a new flame.
Later in the day, Gus perks up from his favored wingback chair and scurries into the keeping room, rattling the porcelain on a nearby table just as an elegantly dressed older gentleman walks in from the street.
“Good afternoon, welcome to The Lost & Foundry,” Cassandra greets the tall man wearing little glasses with dark lenses.
“Thank you,” he pockets the glasses, revealing sparkling hazel eyes. “Your store is new to me. It seems a great deal has changed since my last visit to Haven’s Hollow.”
“It must have been a while indeed, we’re in our third year,” Cassandra smooths her long blonde hair over her shoulder.
The stranger gestures that he’ll have a look around, taking his time exploring and humming to himself. From behind her, Gus hisses softly. Cassandra glares at him, her green eyes urging the cat to behave. From the man’s attire, she can tell this is someone for whom money is no object and she can’t afford to lose a potential sale.
Across the shop, he spots her most recent acquisition: a silver hairbrush that once belonged to the subject of a local ghost story, Evelyn Harrogate. Cassandra learned the truth after hearing her wedding dress screaming for revenge only the week before.
“This is looks as though it might have been a set. Do you have any of the other pieces?”
Cassandra hesitates, not wanting to reveal that she has the matching mirror upstairs in her flat. Whatever special power she has that allows her to hear stories carried by personal effects also prevents her from seeing herself reflected in a looking glass; however, after releasing the ghost from the wedding dress, Cassandra caught sight of herself in Evelyn’s mirror. Not a true reflection, she saw herself in the glass opening the locket they both wear, something she’s never been able to do in real life. Since seeing her reflection with a secret, she has been too preoccupied—not to mention hesitant—to take another look.
“There was a mirror but, sadly, the glass isn’t quite right.”
“Pity,” he says, moving on to peruse the necklaces and rings in the jewelry case, asking to see several pieces. Clearly a seasoned appraiser, he eventually selects a trio of her highest-priced items: a gold ring set with a sapphire stolen from a Burmese princess, a pair of diamonds that once hung from the ears of a Hollywood star, and a bracelet set with opals and serpentinite mined in the Andes. “Any issues of provenance? I don’t want to be caught up in any sort of scandal.”
“I have all the records you’ll need. The opals are fair trade, though the sapphire came from Myanmar and, like most gems dating back to the colonial era, it has a dubious origin story. It might take me a moment to pull everything together; would you mind waiting?”
“I do have another appointment to keep,” he tuts after a look at his expensive watch. “If you would be so kind, could you mail the records? I’ll leave my card and you can compile them at your leisure.”
“That would be fine,” she agrees, carefully placing the jewelry into boxes and wrapping them into a parcel. “My name is Cassandra Wilkins.” She pauses, expecting him to introduce himself.
Instead, he offers her a black embossed card identifying him as The Collector with an address in the capital. “Pleasure to meet you, Miss Wilkins. Please don’t hesitate to reach out should the mirror be reparable. I’d be happy to take them both.”
Nodding, Cassandra can hardly contain her excitement at unloading three pieces of jewelry at once. Marlowe has increased her grocery budget significantly, and this windfall will take the pressure off for a couple of months, if not longer.
Closing up the shop at the end of the day, she heads to her flat where her preteen night watch is cooking dinner. Insistent on contributing to the household, her young friend now does the shopping and washing up as well. Left to her own devices, Cassandra routinely forgets to eat and is appreciative of his efforts, experimental as some have been.
“What have you prepared tonight, chef?” she asks, bracing for another concoction on toast. Though skeptical at first, she did have to admit that dark chocolate and avocado made a tasty combination, though not a new favorite.
“Macaroni and peas,” Marlowe smiles at her, plating up bowls of steaming elbow noodles, dotted with green and pink from bits of ham, glistening with butter and cheese.
Seated at the small bistro table she hardly used before he arrived, she tells him about the day’s sales and the arrival of the compass. More than Vivian, Marlowe understands Cassandra’s gift, showing a bit of it himself. Besides a warmer place to sleep, the boy first entered the shop after hearing the screaming of the haunted wedding dress. She feels a slight responsibility to help him learn to listen to inanimate objects without going mad.
“Can I take a look?” he asks, clearing their plates.
“You may, but please be careful. I don’t know enough about how it affects people yet, and I wouldn’t want you to get hurt.”
“I will, I promise,” he says over the sounds of washing dishes. “Gus will keep an eye on me,” Marlowe adds when Cassandra begins to help with the drying.
That night in her dreams, she sees through the hiker’s eyes once again. Pacing through the woods, switching the compass between the naked and ungloved hands, he walks endlessly in an increasingly desperate search. The birds begin to sing the music box melody that normally haunts her dreams as the hiker tumbles over a ridge, waking Cassandra with a hypnic jerk.
With her hair damp and heart racing, she knows she won’t be returning to sleep. Clutching the broken locket to ground herself, her clock says it is still hours before dawn. She decides to shower, calling down to Marlowe that he’d better leave the compass to her. Freshly bathed, Cassandra brushes her long blonde hair without the aid of a mirror’s reflection and dresses for the day. After brewing a pot of strong black tea to compensate for her lack of sleep, she opens her laptop. Hoping to learn more about Thorne Forest, she finds virtually nothing beyond the park’s official website.
As the sun rises, she brews another pot, carrying it down to the keeping room where she finds Marlowe and Gus batting a small metallic something back and forth across the pine table. Despite being demoted, the corpulent orange fur ball has taken a liking to his replacement.
“What’s Gus brought you now?”
“It’s a screw from something, but he won’t tell me what.” Marlowe hands it to her, but Cassandra doesn’t recognize the golden fastener either. “It’s too big to be from anything but furniture.”
“And what about the compass?”
“I could hear it crying now and then. When you held it, it pointed at the cellar door?” Cassandra nods, taking her first sip from the second pot. “For me, it just spun in circles.”
“Very interesting, but let’s both keep our hands off of it for now. Once I figure out what it has to say, perhaps Finn can fix it. Anything else to report Mr. Nightwatch?”
“Someone was in the alley last night. Not long before you woke up, I heard voices.”
“Probably just a delivery for Ollie’s Diner. Were they talking about produce or something like that?”
“No, just a name: Ellie, Lenore, something like that.” In spite of the warmth from the tea, a chill runs down her spine: had he heard someone saying her mother’s name? “Don’t worry, I scared them off. Then Gus started batting the screw around and here you are.”
“Another great night on the job, Marlowe. Why don’t you head upstairs and shower before you get to bed?”
The boy smiles and gives her a little hug before heading upstairs, Gus jumping down to follow. Sitting at the keeping room table, Cassandra hears their footsteps on the stairs before they fade beneath the cork underfloor and carpeting Finn assured her would silence the creaks of an old house.
Hoping for a spark of recognition, Cassandra pages through the scrapbook while the compass weeps. A pictorial history of its conversion from a private estate, nothing jumps out as familiar from what she’s seen in her vision. Checking the time, she pulls out her cell phone to text Vivian. Cassandra knows the secretary of the Haven’s Hollow Historical Society will appreciate the new acquisitions, priming her to take up the challenge of a fundraiser for Thorne Forest. Cassandra accurately gauged her interest when the reply is near-immediate: “Uncanny! Was on my way to see you anyway—XX"
A few minutes later, her red-haired friend breezes through the door in a cloud of peony perfume. Dressed in her usual mix of prim blouse and neutral woolen, Vivian’s violet eyes betray the sparkle that hides beneath the dull façade of a small town librarian. “Dearest, you look like you had a long night. Something misbehaving?” she asks, kissing Cassandra on both cheeks.
“Chet brought by some things they found cleaning out the ranger station. There’s a compass that won’t stop crying, but it’s nothing like the wedding dress.”
“Small miracles,” the librarian smiles. Pouring herself a cup of tea, Vivian rifles through the box, beginners with the sashes. “I wonder why they stopped making these! After I went on a school trip, I was so proud that I wore it every day for at least a month.”
“You’re welcome to wear one around town if you’d like,” she jokes. “Chet wouldn’t say it, but the forest could use a little extra publicity. If you won’t be a walking billboard, maybe the Historical Society could do something to help?”
Vivian claps her hands with excitement, “Heavenly idea! We’re meeting to plan the spring calendar soon. I’ll make time to put together a proposal that’ll beat the pants off anything Helen Daniels comes up with.”
While Cassandra doesn’t understand the whole story, she knows her friend’s rivalry with the Historical Society’s Treasurer stretches back to high school.
“There’s a scrapbook, too. It looks to be full of the first-person accounts you’re always after. Consider it a donation.” Vivian is in awe as she pores over the photographs and surveyor’s maps. “Now you said you were on your way over already. What can I do for you?”
Vivian closes the scrapbook and takes a deep breath, “I may have made an error in judgement last night. I think I covered it okay, but I wanted you to know before you hear from anyone else. You didn’t happen to mention something to Finn about hiring a friend of mine who is new in town, did you?
Cassandra grimaces, “Ah me, I forgot to text you after the compass arrived. You know my little stowaway? Finn thought I had a new boyfriend and I didn’t want him to be jealous.”
“You mean you don’t have a thing going with Finn Harrison? Girls always go ga-ga for him, he was never home on a Friday night in high school.”
“He isn’t really my type, but I don’t want to hurt him.”
“Well, now we have two problems: Tuffy and I were out with Mother when we ran into Finn and he asked me about my friend working in your shop. Even if Finn bought my story, I know my brother did not.”
The eldest in Vivian’s family, Tobin Crenshaw is the county sheriff. Better known by his hated childhood nickname, Tuffy is also a by-the-book lawman and it would not be good for him to start asking questions about the new night guard at The Lost & Foundry.
“What a tangled web we weave,” Cassandra trails off as Vivian slides a flyer from her satchel across the table. Though a little out of date, the boy in the picture is definitely Marlowe. It seems his name is Jacob and he has been missing for two weeks.
Vivian squeezes Cassandra’s hand, “Unfortunately, Tuffy’s got a memory like a steel trap: he still remembers the name of my best friend from second grade even though I have no memory of Shannon Mulligan with the brown pigtails.”
“Not my finest falsehood, I admit,” Cassandra sighs. “I know the boy belongs somewhere else, but he has gifts like mine. He heard Evelyn’s dress and he can sense which items carry stories.”
“This says he’s in the foster care system, so at least his parents aren’t waiting up nights.”
“I know I’m hardly the motherly type, but I feel a duty to help him understand what makes him different. I could have used that kind of guidance as a child.”
“I suppose it’s not out of the ordinary for new residents to come by the library looking for a pulse on the community. I’ll say you were mistaken about him being a friend—there are a few things Tuffy doesn’t know about Vivvy! As long as he doesn’t start asking around about new leases, we should be fine.”
“Thank you, I really appreciate it,” she squeezes her friend’s hand in reply, the moment between them lingering until Vivian catches sight of her watch.
“Ope, I’ve got to dash! Sorry about the confusion and thanks for the new project,” she says as she fits the scrapbook, patches, and sashes into her satchel. Kissing Cassandra on both cheeks she adds, “Have fun with the crying compass.”
Alone in the keeping room, Cassandra wonders what to do about the growing number of things that need her attention. Starting with the easiest, she opens her filing cabinet to look for the estate records and acquisition ledger entries to correspond with the jewelry she sold the day before. Sliding the pages into a manilla envelope, she pens a note of thanks to their new owner before stamping and sealing it—one down.
Next, she texts Finn to ask what kind of motion lights he might recommend, figuring he’ll be happy to feel needed and stop worrying about who else might be staying with her. The extra security will, of course, make her night watch redundant, but she’ll have a bit longer to deal with that particular issue.
She can’t do anything about Marlowe until the day is through, which leaves her with an inquisitive sheriff and a crying compass. Figuring she’ll let Vivian take first crack at the former, Cassandra turns her attention to the latter. Wrapping her hand in her sleeve, she closes her eyes and wills the brass navigator to help her understand more. Soon lost in the kaleidoscopic memory of a hiker lost in the woods, she recognizes a landmark from the sepia postcards.
Before she can put any more of the pieces together, the bell on the shop door brings her back to The Lost & Foundry. It’s just after eleven on a Thursday, the time when Dolores Hubbard comes in after her weekly appointment to have her hair set. Close to one hundred, she’s still sharp as a tack and insists on her standard outing, despite now needing her grandson to drive her old station wagon. Instead of her usual scan around the books, Mrs. Hubbard stops short at the sight of the postcards of Thorne Forest.
“Where did you find these?” she shuffles through them with a smile. “Not much left from my day anymore.”
“Ranger Parker brought them by, thinking they might make some tourists happy, you’re welcome to them if you’d like.”
“No, no, I have far too much junk at my house as it is. You know when I was little, most of Haven’s Hollow belonged to the Thorne family,” she says, flipping through the images. “The last of them, Edwin, donated the whole of it. That’s why the municipal building isn’t in the center of town, it’s the old family mansion.”
“How did it the park come to be?”
“Tragedy. Rumor has it, Edwin got one of his serving girls in the family way and they were going to run off together, but she disappeared into the woods, never to be heard from again. A lot of people thought he murdered her to keep it quiet, but he spent years wandering those woods until the day he died.”
Cassandra leans over the counter, interested beyond measure in the details Dolores has been holding onto for the whole of her long life and wondering if she’ll let Vivian interview her to record more of her stories.
“The tale didn’t become a local legend, probably because the city didn’t want to publicize the windfall too broadly. This town’s got enough secrets to fill the Library of Alexandria. In his will, Edwin gave the forest on the condition that the land remain untouched. They put in trails and built the ranger station, but otherwise it’s the same as it was then.”
Mrs. Hubbard’s grandson Derek pokes his head into the shop and whisks his grandmother away before Cassandra can ask anything further. Alone again with the postcards, she recognizes several locations from her vision. Pulling up a map of the park on her computer, a plan begins to take shape that will solve two of her three remaining problems. After printing a copy, she draws a circle on the map, and places a quick phone call before brewing a pot of gunpowder green tea.
When the bell on the shop door rings a while later, Cassandra is expecting him. “Hello Sheriff, thank you for dropping by so quickly.”
“Cass,” he nods. “You said you had some information about a missing person?”
“Would you care for some tea?” She invites him to take a seat in the keeping room next to the compass and the map of Thorne Forest.
Tuffy examines the compass while Cassandra fills two cups, “‘To E.T. From E.V. Find your north star.’ Looks broken, it’s pointing toward downtown and that’s due east.”
“I think I can get it to work again,” she slides into a chair across from him, wondering what the compass believes Tuffy is looking to find. “Now, I realize this is a little unconventional, but I hope you’ll hear me out.”
“My sister has mentioned your, uh, particular specialty. I’m not sure I buy it, but I’m bound to follow up on a tip when I get one.” He removes a notepad from his breast pocket and looks at her expectantly. “You think this can help us find a body?”
“I do. E.T. stands for Edwin Thorne, who died after years of looking for a woman that went missing close to one hundred years ago. I think he ensured the land couldn’t be touched hoping that she would be found someday.”
“You got all that from this old thing?”
“Well, Dolores Hubbard helped fill in a few gaps,” Cassandra admits. “Here’s where I think you’ll want to center your search, just beneath this ridge.”
Tuffy slowly folding up the map, tucking both it and his notepad back into his breast pocket, and looks around awkwardly, noticing the shiny latch, “New lock?”
“You know how Finn is, always looking for things to fix. As much as I hate to admit it, that charming old door is probably due to be replaced. For now, he convinced me to put in a new latch.”
“One of my deputies found signs of a vagrant living in the alley. You’d mention to me if there was anything I should know, wouldn’t you?”
“Of course,” Cassandra isn’t lying. Tuffy doesn’t need to know about Marlow, at least not yet. “Even with the alley door not latching properly, nothing has gone missing from the shop.”
“We pride ourselves on keeping Haven’s Hollow safe, but we don’t live in a world where people can leave their doors unlocked anymore. You should consider more security, a woman on her own and all…”
“I can take care of myself, thank you, Sheriff. Let me know if you find her, won’t you?”
With a gruff nod, she sees him out the door before texting Vivian to explain what happened since her early morning visit. While waiting to hear news from Thorne Forest, the compass’ weeping gets softer, suggesting Edwin’s sadness is beginning to give up its hold.
In the late afternoon her cell phone rings, “Cassandra Wilkins! Do you realize what you’ve done!?” Vivian’s whispering from the library’s tiny office barely contains her exuberance. “I just overheard on the radio, Tuffy’s called for a forensic anthropologist. They discovered human remains after an ‘anonymous tip’ told them where to look. Way off the trail and half-inside a cave, it’s no wonder no one ever found them.”
“I’m just glad Edwin found her after all this time.”
“This will make one heck of a fundraiser for the park.”
“Not to mention good press for the Historical Society,” Cassandra adds.
“This will definitely knock Helen down a peg or two. I’m off to the meeting after work, wish me luck!”
Ringing off, Cassandra takes her time closing up the shop. There’s one problem left on her list and she’s not looking forward to facing it.
After only Gus as a companion, she’s enjoying having Marlowe around, but she also cannot pretend she hasn’t seen the flyer. As much as she doesn’t want to frighten him away, it’s well past time for the boy to tell her more about where he is supposed to be. She fidgets with her locket and hums the music box melody that plays in her dreams to center herself.
After drawing the shade, outing the lights, a little light dusting, and collecting teacups and saucers onto a tray, she can’t avoid it any longer and retrieves the flyer. Placing it underneath one of the teapots, she braces herself for a difficult conversation with a few more bars of the familiar song she’s never heard anywhere except emanating from her subconscious.
The tray of tea things clatters to the floor and the air fills with the sounds of shattering porcelain as Cassandra realizes the strange man who bought the jewelry was humming it as well.
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Ohhh…. What an ending to the chapter!! ☺️