Henry Dalca attended with his grandchildren.
Maribel cried when I gave her a permanent position managing the house.
Phoebe gave a speech.
Rebecca refused to.
“She would have hated speeches,” she said.
“Grandmother?”
“No.
Me.”
I laughed.
Near sunset, when most guests had left, Phoebe approached me carrying a small box.
“What now?”
She smiled.
“One final thing.”
I groaned.
“No more secret files.”
“No secret files.”
She handed me the box.
Inside was an old brass key.
I recognized it instantly.
The original key to Grandfather’s study.
The one Flynn had taken from my robe after I fell.
“How did you get this?”
“Police evidence was released.”
I held it in my palm.
For a moment, I was back on the marble floor.
Broken leg.
Blood in my eyes.
Flynn above me.
Cordelia holding the fake emerald.
I closed my fingers around the key.
Phoebe watched me.
“You know,” she said, “Everett once told me what he thought you would do with Bellweather.”
