Daniel had driven over that morning to deliver it personally.
He stood beside us now, staring at the cabinet that his father had apparently thought important enough to remember for decades.
“Ready?” Owen asked.
Mrs. Parker nodded.
The key turned.
The lock clicked.
The cabinet opened.
Inside were old music stands, two cracked tambourines, a stack of folders, and enough dust to make everyone sneeze.
Owen’s shoulders dropped.
“That’s it?”
Mrs. Parker laughed.
“Real mysteries are often disappointing.”
Then Daniel pointed.
“Wait.”
Behind the folders was a narrow wooden case.
His father’s initials were carved into the lid.
T.M.
Daniel lifted it carefully.
Inside lay a tuning fork, a fountain pen, three photographs, and a sealed envelope.
Owen stared.
The envelope wasn’t addressed to Mrs. Parker.
It read:
For whoever finds this with Eleanor.
“That’s oddly specific,” Ms. Delgado said.
Mrs. Parker looked at Daniel.
He opened it.
Inside was a single page.
