Chapter 3: A Name From a Grave
"Clara," Lily said.
"My mama's name was Clara Voss."
The room did not gasp.
It went perfectly, unnaturally still.
Edna's hand went to her mouth.
The pendant was still clutched in her other fist, both halves pressed together, the joined locket biting into her palm.
The well-dressed man — his name was Douglas, Douglas Hale, and he had stood in this house many times as though he owned the floors beneath him — took one step backward.
Just one.
But Edna saw it.
"Douglas." Her voice came out low.
"You knew her."
"Edna, this is not the place—"
"You knew Clara Voss."
He smoothed the front of his jacket.
"I knew a great many people over the years.
That name means nothing to me."
Lily's chin came up.
Small as she was, something in her expression shifted.
"She said you would say that."
Douglas looked at the child for the first time directly.
"Excuse me?"
"My mama.
She said if I ever found the woman with the other locket, and if there was a man nearby who went pale when he heard her name — she said he would lie.
She said to show you this too."
Lily reached into the small canvas bag hanging from her shoulder.
She pulled out a folded envelope, worn along the creases, the paper softened from years of handling.
She held it out to Edna, not to Douglas.
Douglas moved first.
"You don't need to open that here—"
"Don't." Edna's voice was quiet but it stopped him completely.
She took the envelope from Lily's hands with steady fingers and looked at the writing on the front.
*For Edna.
When the time is right.*
She recognized the handwriting instantly.
Her breath left her in a slow, careful stream.
"This is my sister's writing," she said.
The word landed on Douglas like a physical thing.
His shoulders pulled back.
His mouth opened and then closed again without sound.
"Your sister has been g0ne for twenty-two years," he said finally.
"Whatever that letter says, it was written by a woman who was unwell.
A woman who—"
"Who what?" Edna looked up from the envelope.
"Finish that sentence, Douglas.
Please."
He didn't.
Several guests had drifted closer without meaning to.
A woman in a blue dress had her champagne glass suspended halfway to her lips.
A silver-haired man near the fireplace had stopped pretending to look at the bookshelves.
Edna turned back to Lily.
"How old are you, sweetheart?"
"Eight," Lily said.
"Eight and a half."
Edna did the arithmetic quietly and immediately.
Her face didn't move, but something behind her eyes did.
"Who brought you here tonight?" she asked.
"Who brought you to this house?"
"My neighbor Mrs.
Patton drove me.
She's waiting outside.
She said I had one hour." Lily glanced toward the door and then back.
"She didn't want to come in."
"Smart woman," someone murmured near the fireplace.
Douglas turned sharply but couldn't identify who had spoken.
"Edna." Douglas stepped forward again, his voice lower now, almost careful.
"Whatever you're thinking, I need you to hear me first.
Let me explain before you—"
"Before I what?" She slid the envelope into her own bag, against her chest.
"Before I read it?
Before I ask questions?
Before I find out why this child exists and why I've never been told?" She looked at him steadily.
"Sit down, Douglas.
Or leave.
Those are your two choices right now."
His jaw worked.
He did not sit.
But he did not leave either.
Edna knelt back down to Lily's level.
Her knees ached but she stayed there.
"Are you hungry?
Have you eaten tonight?"
Lily shook her head.
"Then you'll come with me to the kitchen.
We'll get you something proper." She stood, took the little girl's hand, and looked once more at Douglas over her shoulder.
"This conversation isn't finished," she said.
"It's barely started."
She walked Lily toward the back of the house without waiting for his response.
Behind her, she heard Douglas pick up his phone.
His voice dropped to nearly nothing, but she caught three words before she turned the corner.
May you like
*Deal with it.*
She kept walking.
