I know that.”

I looked at him and felt that old ache that comes when someone you love disappoints you in an ordinary, preventable way.

“Did everyone leave?”

“Yes.”

“Where’s Vanessa?”

His mouth tightened.

“Inside.”

Of course she was.

He moved aside and let me walk in.

The house was quieter now, but the damage of occupation was everywhere.

Wet footprints on the wood floor.

A broken ceramic coaster by the fireplace.

Sticky fingerprints on the refrigerator handle.

A damp towel draped over a dining chair.

Somebody had used my grandmother’s mixing bowls and stacked them in the sink with grease still inside.

My chest tightened, but I kept moving.

Then I saw the cedar memory box.

It sat open on the entry table.

I stopped so suddenly Marcus nearly walked into me.

That box had belonged to my grandmother.

She kept letters in it, old photographs, and a small velvet pouch containing family jewelry that she considered sentimental rather than valuable.

Things she never wore but never let out of her sight.

“Why is that open?” I asked.

Marcus looked confused.

Then alarmed.

“I didn’t open it.”

I crossed the room and looked inside.

The letters were disturbed, corners bent.

The velvet pouch was untied.

My stomach dropped as I emptied it into my palm.

The pearl earrings were there.

The silver brooch was there.

The sapphire ring my grandmother wore every Christmas was gone.

For a second I couldn’t breathe.

“Marcus,” I said, and my own voice sounded strange to me, thin and sharp.

“Grandma’s ring is missing.”

His face drained.

“No.”

“It was in this pouch.

I know it was.”

He took one look at my hand and swore under his breath.

“Claire, I swear I didn’t touch that box.”

“Then who did?”

We both turned toward the hallway.

Vanessa was standing there.

She had changed clothes.

The white sundress was gone, replaced by leggings and an oversized sweater like she was trying to wrap herself in innocence.

But her chin was still high.

“You’ve got some nerve,” she said.

I stared at her.

“Where is the ring?”

Her eyebrows shot up.

“Are you serious right now?”

“Very.”

She let out one short laugh.

“So I’m a thief now too?”

Marcus turned to her.

“Vanessa.

Did you open that box?”

She folded her arms.

“I moved it off the floor because one of the kids almost knocked it over.

That’s all.”

“It wasn’t on the floor,” I said.

Her eyes flicked to me, then away.

Barely noticeable.

But I saw it.

So did Marcus.

“Did anyone in your family touch it?” he asked.

“How would I know? There were children running everywhere because this place is apparently a museum where no one is allowed to breathe.”

That did it.

I pulled out my phone.

“I’m calling the police.”

Marcus lifted a hand like he wanted to stop me, then let it fall.

Vanessa’s expression changed for the first time.

Only slightly.

But enough.

“Don’t be dramatic,” she said.

“Dramatic was forging messages and stealing someone else’s house for the weekend,” I said.

“This is documentation.”

Her voice sharpened.

“You cannot seriously call the police over a misunderstanding.”

“A misunderstanding doesn’t produce fake texts,” I said.

“And it doesn’t make a ring disappear.”

Marcus looked at her with