She picked up the bottom half of the stack, wondering what came after the tear stained letter. She found letters started but never finished, written with a different hand. It was much sloppier, and so much was scratched or crossed out, she could not read it. She also found newspaper clippings pasted to sheets of paper. One announced the marriage of Therese Arden to Alastair Farnum. Under it was a birth announcement for Addison Farnum. The next page had the marriage announcement of Abraham Milner to Elise Brighton, and then the birth announcement for Marion Milner. The second to last page was also a newspaper clipping, announcing the engagement of…

She tried to process what she was learning. “So my Grandpa bought the land from Ms. Maggie’s Grandpa… on her mother’s side,” she added to try and keep things clear. “He did indeed. After Abe’s wife died, he had a hard time being home. Ended up moving into the carriage house on the Farnum estate.” Mr. Timms let out a hard laugh. “Funniest thing ever, it was. He and Alastair Farnum, Marion’s father-in-law, became nearly inseparable. Two old widowers who never would have spoken to each other when they were young, suddenly spending all their time together playing chess.” And there was the AF that was the right age. Could…

Saturday afternoons at the diner tended to be quiet, just the regulars in, those who almost never cooked for themselves. Today was no exception, except that the diner was not actually quiet. Everyone who was there was still talking about the land sale, about what the influx of construction workers and then tourists would mean for the local economy. Just about everyone asked her what she thought about it. After all, the family diner certainly stood to benefit, and her family lived right near the property. There was plenty of speculation about whether or not the developer would want to buy her family home, too. And also plenty of advice,…

“That’s a lot of assumptions you’re making, Minuet.” Dorian almost never used her full name. She looked over at him as he pulled the car into the diner parking lot. “What do you mean?” “Well, one, you are assuming the guy these letters were sent to got them, and he left them in that shack. But the letters might never have been sent. The cousin she mentions giving them might have hidden them there. Her father might have caught on and actually hidden the letters there. Or she might have lost her nerve and never sent them, and hidden them there later.” He shut down the engine and turned to…

She gave her brother the top half of the stack. Her plan was to first do a quick glance through what was remaining in the hopes that maybe somewhere in the opening or closing there would be a name. But only a few letters down, she stopped. This one looked different than the others. Much of the ink seemed to be blotched. It was readable, but there were obvious small water stains covering the page.   November 1918 My Dearest, I write this letter, likely my last to you, with tears of joy and sadness falling from my eyes. My heart is rejoicing that this terrible war is over, that…

She pointedly looked away from her brother and picked up the first letter. She would not admit it, but she had been hoping for a stack of cash, too. While the supposed new tourist trap would bring money in to their family’s diner, starting with the construction crews brought in to build it, she knew their mother could use some extra money even sooner than that. And while she would not have been able to spend the money until she had found its owner, she could have hoped for a portion of it as a reward. But, instead of money, it was this stack of papers, letters it would seem.…

“Dorian.” Her brother was sitting in her room, but had gotten bored and had grabbed a book off her shelf. It had probably originally been his book. He looked up. “What?” “It turned. The key turned.” She almost could not believe it as she said it, so she turned the key back, heard the lock engage, then unlocked it again. “Well, open it.” Dorian appeared to be trying really hard not to take the box from her. She lifted the lid. Only it did not lift in all spots. The rust was really bad in a couple places and it was stuck. Dorian grabbed the letter opener they had used…

Disappointment filled her. She sighed and started to take the key out. “What are you doing?” “It won’t turn Dorian. It is not the right key.” “Maybe the lock is just rusted. Maybe you just need to turn it a bit harder. Let me try.” She shook her head, but let go of the key and turned the box toward her brother. “Grandpa collected keys, Dorian, but the chances we actually have the right key for this box aren’t exactly good. And the odds that it would be in the very first bag? It is not the right key.” “And what are the odds that a person can walk through…

After breakfast, Dorian followed her to her room to examine the lock box. He spent a few minutes trying to pry it open with a letter opener, but to no avail. Like she had done previously, he shook it gently, trying to get an idea of what was inside, but there were no sounds of metal on metal, no feelings of lots of little things shifting around, just more of one soft thunk each time the box was turned over. He mentioned the idea of just dropping it on the tile floor in the bathroom to see if that would break it open. She gave him a dirty look. “Just…

Dorian did not instantly become awake and interested. But he did stop trying to shove her away. He understood enough about the magic to know it had its own timeline, and there was not much point in trying to argue with it. “Out of my room, Mina.” She left. She knew her brother well enough to know he would not be falling back asleep. His curiosity would get the best of him. She just had to wait a few minutes. Her stomach rumbled. While waiting, she could make breakfast. She would even make breakfast for Dorian. He would be less grumpy with her that way. The tea kettle had just…