Page 15

Jesus fucking Christ.

Nobody had told me how Gregory Crane had died, but the lack of (thank fucking God) blood spatter suggested that he hadn’t be stabbed or shot or beaten. And that rubbed-clean spot… I was pretty sure that meant they’d fucking hung him.

I broke down, sitting on the floor of the office where Gregory Crane had struggled for his life, right under where he’d taken his last breath and finally given up. All I could do was swallow back the sobs so that my tears were silent, because Elliot didn’t need to deal with me on top of everything else.

Fuck.

When I finally got my shit sort-of back together, I took my dirt and my button, wiped my eyes on the back of my hand, and went back to the desk to hunt for a folder or file that might hold a last will and testament.

I found it, eventually. It wasn’t in the desk, though.

Gregory Crane had a magical safe. The kind I wouldn’t have noticed if I hadn’t walked past it and felt that tell-tale tingle. I had a momentary flashback to Faith Oldham’s office, and I flinched involuntarily, half-expecting a mug to suddenly fly at my head.

Fortunately, no mugs, but I also didn’t have a witch or warlock with me this time who could undo whatever spell was keeping it locked.

The object in question was what looked like a decorative panel built into the back of the bookshelf—with a carved granite badger figurine in front of it. I remembered when Elliot found that—we were at some touristy bullshit place after spending the weekend camping at Governor Dodge or Kettle Moraine or Blue Mound or somewhere. I don’t remember if it was a birthday or Father’s Day, but Elliot had bought it for his dad.

I thought Elliot might want to see that it had clearly meant something to Gregory, so I picked it up, my fingers buzzing with the magic behind it. But it felt weird. Not the little badger—the tingling. Magic always felt a little like pins-and-needles, but this was more. Bigger. Stronger. Strangely compelling.

I couldn’t help myself.

I ran my fingers over the smooth inlaid wood.

And the damn thing popped open.

I’m no witch, but I knew enough to understand that Gregory had keyed the safe to open for me, and that brought a fresh wave of emotion that I quickly got back under control. I would have bet that the safe was also keyed to open for Elliot. Maybe even my parents or Henry. But the fact that he’d keyed it to me at all told me that I’d meant something to him.

I scrubbed at my eyes again, forcing back fresh tears because I didn’t have time for it. Elliot was waiting. I gently pushed the little door open the rest of the way.

Inside was a manilla folder that held the will, the deed to the house, and what looked like several stock certificates, along with a list of account numbers. The sort of shit you put in a safe.

On top of the folder, however, was a ring box containing both engagement and wedding bands. I was pretty sure they were Naomi’s. Talk about a fucking sucker punch. Shit.

It wasn’t like I was going to keep any of it from Elliot, though, so I grabbed the little box, the badger figurine, and the folder, tucked my baggies in my pocket, then went back to the kitchen.

Elliot had one full trash bag tied off and sitting against the door leading to the garage, although he was still trying to go through things, as I caught him staring for far too long at a bottle of mustard.

“Hey.”

He looked up at me, then grimaced down at the mustard.

“I found it.” I set the folder, little badger, and ring box on the counter next to a mostly-full jar of blackberry preserves. It took an enormous effort of will to keep my voice under control.

“Thanks.”

“What else can I do?”

“Um. Find me something to put this in? To take back. I guess.” He waved a hand at several containers on the table, including the preserves, some ketchup, a jar of peanut butter, some maple syrup with ‘Door County’ written on it in big red letters, and some other little jars of stuff I couldn’t immediately identify.

“If I were baskets, where would I be?”

Elliot thought for a minute. “Basement, probably.”

Half of the basement was a drying house for herbs. The other half was just a normal basement. Cement floor. Metal shelves. Some amount of dust, but not too much. Crates and storage bins. A washer and dryer—with plastic wash baskets. I grabbed the stack and brought them upstairs.

“These work?” I asked Elliot.

“Yeah, sure.”