The locket felt heavier than it should have. Celeste held it tightly in her palm as she and Adrian stood in the dim mezzanine of the Fairmont. The message inside it—Help—echoed in her mind.
Evelyn had left this behind. A plea, hidden under the floorboards, buried beneath decades of dust and neglect.
Celeste swallowed hard. "She knew she was in danger."
Adrian ran a hand through his hair. "It's not just that. She tried to leave something behind. A piece of the truth." He glanced at the locket again. "This changes things."
Celeste nodded. This wasn't just a haunting anymore. It was a crime—one that had never been solved.
And now, after all these years, Evelyn was still trying to be heard.
Back in the office, they laid the locket on the desk alongside the old fire report. Celeste turned the small silver piece over in her hands, studying it from every angle.
"We need to know more about Evelyn's last movements," she said. "We have the fire report, but I want to know who saw her that night—besides Nathaniel Wren."
Adrian sat back, thoughtful. "There were other witnesses mentioned in the report. Maybe one of them left behind some kind of statement."
Celeste tapped the paper. "There's a James Holloway listed. I remember reading his name before—he was one of the Fairmont's employees back then."
Adrian straightened. "What if he knew something?"
Celeste grabbed her laptop and started searching. She doubted James Holloway was still alive, but maybe he had a family—someone who had kept records, memories, anything that could help piece this puzzle together.
A few minutes later, she found an obituary.
James Holloway died in 1987.
But—
Her heart leapt.
He had a daughter.
It took a few more hours of searching, but by morning, Celeste had a name and an address.
Margaret Holloway, 72, Port Bellingham.
Celeste and Adrian arrived at her small home just outside the city limits, a modest brick house surrounded by towering fir trees.
Margaret answered the door cautiously, her lined face wary as she studied them. "Can I help you?"
Celeste cleared her throat. "Ms. Holloway, my name is Celeste Reed. This is Adrian Hawthorne. We're working on the restoration of the Fairmont Theater."
Margaret's expression didn't change, but something in her gaze sharpened.
Celeste hesitated, then held up the locket. "We found this hidden in the theatre. It belonged to Evelyn Harland."
Margaret inhaled sharply.
Then, to Celeste's surprise, she stepped aside. "Come in."
Margaret led them to a cosy living room, the scent of tea and old books filling the air.
She sat down, hands folded in her lap. "You said you found the locket at the Fairmont?"
Celeste nodded. "In the mezzanine. Under a loose floorboard."
Margaret exhaled. "That poor girl."
Celeste leaned forward. "Did your father know Evelyn?"
Margaret nodded slowly. "He worked at the Fairmont for years. He liked Evelyn. Said she was bright, kind." A pause. "And scared."
Celeste's heart pounded. "Scared of who?"
Margaret didn't answer right away. Instead, she stood and disappeared down the hall. When she returned, she held a faded leather notebook.
"My father's journal," she said quietly. "I think you should read it."
She placed it in Celeste's hands.
Celeste opened it carefully, flipping through the fragile pages.
And then—
She saw Evelyn's name.
April 30, 1948
"Evelyn came to me today. She's terrified. She says Nathaniel Wren won't leave her alone. She wants to leave town, but she's afraid he won't let her."
Celeste sucked in a breath.
Adrian read over her shoulder, his jaw tightening. "He was after her."
Celeste flipped to the next entry.
May 2, 1948
"Evelyn is hiding at the Fairmont. She begged me not to tell anyone. She said if anything happens to her, Nathaniel Wren is responsible."
A chill ran down Celeste's spine.
Then—
May 3, 1948
"The fire took Evelyn. But I don't believe for a second it was an accident. I saw Wren there that night. He left before the flames started. I told the police, but they won't listen. He has too much power. They're saying it was faulty wiring. But I know the truth."
Celeste's fingers trembled.
Margaret sighed. "My father never stopped blaming himself. He said he should have done more to help her."
Celeste shook her head. "He tried."
Margaret nodded. "And for years, no one believed him."
Adrian was quiet for a long moment. Then he exhaled. "We believe him."
Celeste closed the journal, her mind racing. They had proof now—proof that Evelyn had been running from Wren, that she had feared for her life.
And yet, he had never been investigated. Never been questioned.
Margaret studied them. "What are you going to do with this?"
Celeste swallowed. "Tell the truth."
Margaret smiled sadly. "Evelyn would have liked you."
Celeste's throat tightened.
She only hoped she could do right by Evelyn.
Because this wasn't just history anymore.
It was justice.
That night, Celeste returned to the Fairmont alone.
The locket rested in her palm, and James Holloway's journal was tucked safely in her bag.
She climbed the worn steps to the mezzanine, her heart pounding.
And then—
The air shifted.
A soft, whispering presence surrounded her, like a gentle breeze.
Celeste exhaled.
She held up the locket. "We found the truth, Evelyn."
A flicker of warmth passed through her—a feeling, not a sound. But somehow, Celeste understood.
Thank you.
The theatre fell silent.
For the first time since she had stepped into the Fairmont, Celeste felt at peace.
She turned to leave.
And behind her, just for a moment—
The chandeliers flickered.
A final goodbye.