I ran my gloved palms along the floor back into the closet until I hit the wall. I then reached to either side, tiptoeing my fingers along the edge, searching by touch, until I found what I was looking for. Hinges.

I jerked back on my heels and pressed down on the floor. It sprang up under my touch. Near frantic, I forced my hands underneath the panel of wood and thrust it up.

A small metal box lay tucked in the subfloor.

“Yes.” My voice, though quiet, seemed to ripple through the stillness of the house.

I lifted the container, ignoring the cobwebs clinging to its sides. I sat back into a cross-legged position and set it down in front of me. It probably wasn’t wise to stay in the house any longer than I had to, but I had to know what was inside. Now. I jiggled the rusty lid until it came up, creaking in protest.

It was filled nearly to the brim with two thick files of paper. I pulled the first out and opened it up.

Constance’s will.

I quickly flipped through it. Even though I wasn’t a lawyer, I didn’t need to be to see that the sole beneficiary of the estate was, in fact, the town. Exactly as Rip had claimed.

I pulled out the next folder.

Rippert Graves Senior’s Last Will and Testament.

I read each page carefully this time. By all accounts, this was the document that had torn the Graves family apart, but there were no earth-shattering revelations. It read like a traditional will. Nothing left out. Everything had been left to Constance. No surprises.

This couldn’t be it.

I flipped the final page over to gather the document back up. The motion caused a small envelope to drop into my lap. It had been attached to the will with a rusty paper clip. I picked it up, and turned it over, to see Constance’s name written in script on the front.

I carefully pulled out the sheets of paper and brought my flashlight up to the faded handwriting, my heart beating painfully in my chest.

I had to read the letter slowly.

Truthfully, I didn’t want to believe what was written in those pages. I found myself going over every sentence, questioning every word. I wanted to reject all of it. The implications were too terrible. Too sad. But the more I read, I knew I couldn’t deny what it was telling me. All the pieces fit.

When I finally reached the end, I rocked back on the hand I had pressed to the floor and looked into the darkness of the house, searching for the spirit hidden from my sight.

“Constance,” I whispered, “how could you?”