“We’re cleaning out Cass’s closets,” she announced to the dining room when she went for breakfast, which was, this early in the day, just Hannah, Noelle, and Mrs. Matthews.

“All of them?” Noelle asked in horror. “Do you know how many clothes Cassiopeia Carrigan owned?”

Hannah cleared her throat. “That’s, um, a big job.” Miriam watched her fiddle with her teacup handle and then actually sit on her hands. “Are you sure you want to take the lead on that project?”

Miriam came out of her panic-driven productivity haze enough to recognize how big of a step this was for her cousin, letting her be in charge of this.

“Let me rephrase.” She sat down next to Hannah. “I connect to people through their belongings. Seeing what people left behind as little discarded treasures is so much a part of my work. I missed a big chunk of Cass’s life, but I think going through her things might help me feel close to her again. And, I might be able to use some of her stuff for the tree lighting, which would give us a chance to share her with our community one last time.”

Hannah took a conspicuously long time chewing her breakfast sandwich.

Noelle winked at Miriam and stepped in. “You know, her stuff is taking up the entire top floor. If we started clearing it out, eventually we could rent out that floor and get a lot of guest space back.”

Miriam watched as Hannah absorbed this information. “That’s true, and I don’t have time to do it,” she said, finally. “Take Noelle with you, or you’ll get trapped under a pile of feather boas and we’ll never find you again.”

The top floor, which Cass had kept as her personal domain, looked like the inside of a fortune teller’s tent from a silent film.

“Cass always did regret that she never ran away with the circus,” Miriam said appreciatively.

“Too much sustained human interaction, not enough closet space, is what she told me.” Noelle agreed.

Wooden beaded curtains sectioned the rooms off into various spaces. Cass’s California king mattress, on a massive brass filigree bed frame draped in tulle, took up the entire center of one room. Tiny white twinkle lights (“That hypocrite!” Miriam gasped) hung haphazardly from every post.

Seamstress dummies stood in one corner, hats and ancient mink coats piled seven or eight high on each. Framed photos spanning nine decades covered another wall. One room was filled with clothes racks, from which hung pristine dresses, wool slacks, cashmere sweaters, and more scarves than Miriam had known currently existed on the planet.

One entire room was just shoes.

“Shit,” Miriam said. Kringle meowed in agreement next to her, having apparently followed them to help. “What are we going to do with all this stuff? Some of it has tags from 1957.”