“What’s wrong?” Her eyes narrowed. “Wait a second. You haven’t told Owen about this either?”
I winced again. “I haven’t told anyone anything, except you. I wanted to actually know what I was talking about before I spilled the beans. But all I have is this.” I waved my hand over the faded photos and cracked mementos. “Not exactly a whole lot of beans to spill.”
“Still,” Bria said, “it all has to mean something. Fletcher wouldn’t have buried all these things in Deirdre’s casket if they weren’t important. If it wasn’t some kind of message.”
I sighed. “You might be right, but I have no idea what he was thinking. Not this time.”
Bria picked up the folder and stared at Deirdre’s icicle-heart rune again. “Well, whatever Fletcher was trying to tell you, I have a bad feeling about this, Gin.”
My gaze dropped to the photo of Fletcher holding Finn, and Deirdre with that cold, blank look on her face. “Yeah. Me too.”
3
Bria promised to tell Finn that Owen and I would be crashing the party tomorrow night. Then she bundled up, and I walked her to the front door. The snow had stopped while we were talking, leaving three inches of white, fluffy powder coating the ground.
I waited until I heard her car pull out onto the road at the bottom of the ridge before I shut the door and headed back to the den.
I stopped in the doorway and stared at the casket box, where the two letters from Fletcher were hidden under Finn’s baby blanket. But instead of tossing the blanket aside and ripping into my letter, I sat down on the couch and carefully went through all the photos and other items again.
I studied each image in turn—not just the pictures themselves but all the corners, edges, and backs, in case Fletcher had scribbled a note or left some other clue I hadn’t spotted. Nothing.
I did the same thing with the diamond-less engagement ring, the empty perfume bottle, and the broken cameo. Once again, a big fat lot of nothing. No runes, no symbols, not even a maker’s mark stamped on any of them.
I pulled the baby blanket out of the box and ran my fingers over the fabric, but it was just a blanket, the cotton so soft and thin you could practically see through it. Three strikes, and I was out.
Except for the letters.
I put the blanket down and finally pulled the two letters out of the box. I studied the envelopes as carefully as I had everything else, but they were plain except for the single word on each of them. Gin on one and Finn on the other, each written in the old man’s distinctive, spidery scrawl.
Finn’s letter wasn’t mine to open, so I wrapped it back up in the baby blanket and set it aside. I turned the other envelope over and over again in my hands, as though I might suddenly see something different besides my name inked on the front. Then I picked up my knife and sliced open the top, trying to ignore the sudden churning of my stomach.
A single sheet of paper was tucked inside. The faint scent of peonies tickled my nose as I pulled out the letter and unfolded it, reading the old man’s words.
Gin,
If you are reading this, then I am gone—but Deirdre Shaw is back in Ashland. I don’t know exactly what brought you to her grave. If you found the file hidden in my office, if Deirdre made some move against you, or if something else entirely drove you to look in her casket. But you’ve found the box. The things inside are all that I have left of Deirdre. Small, hollow, fragile things, but I hope that you’ll share them with Finn when the time is right.
I could tell you many stories about Deirdre. How we met. How happy she made me. How much I loved her.
How the bitter bite of her betrayal almost destroyed me.
But none of that really matters. All that matters is that she is back in Ashland, which means that she is a danger to you and especially to Finn. No matter what she says, no matter what she does, no matter what lies she tells, remember this—the only person Deirdre Shaw has ever cared about is herself.
And her rune perfectly matches her own cold, cold heart.
Watch out for Finn. He’ll need you after everything is over and Deirdre has done whatever foul, manipulative thing she’s planning. Give him the second letter once she’s gone. You’ll understand why then.
I love you both so much.
Now and always,
Fletcher
I read the letter a second time, then a third. Fletcher hadn’t given me any specifics, but he didn’t really need to. Deirdre being a ghost for so long told me the most important part of the story: she didn’t care enough about her own son to tell him that she was alive.
Curiosity burned in my heart, and my fingers itched to grab Finn’s letter and slice it open, but I pushed down the urge. Fletcher had wanted me to save it for Finn, and I would honor the old man’s words and wishes.
Even if I still had no idea where Deirdre Shaw was. Or when or even if she might appear in Ashland—and Finn’s life.
*