The rhythmic thwack-thwack-thwack of the ceiling fan was the only thing keeping Rebecca Lane from falling into a heat-induced trance. Outside her storefront, the pavement of Main Street shimmered in the July haze, but inside "Lane’s Curiosities," the air smelled of lemon wax and old paper.
She found the spot—a weathered pier where the trees literally hung over the tide line. It was quiet, save for the gulls. There, carved into the railing of the old lookout, were two sets of initials: RL + MM . rebecca lane
She was currently elbow-deep in a box of "Assorted Textiles" when she found it: a small, velvet-lined case containing a silver locket. It wasn't the jewelry that caught her eye, but the folded scrap of parchment tucked behind the photo of a stern-faced sailor. The rhythmic thwack-thwack-thwack of the ceiling fan was
Rebecca felt a strange pull. She closed the shop early and drove toward the coast, where the dense cedar forests of the Pacific Northwest finally gave way to the spray of the Pacific. It was quiet, save for the gulls
