Page 76 of Pretty Nightmare

That smile is partly about being thankful that she won’t be asking any more questions about Indie, but also because we finally found our prize.

“That’s it,” Maggie says. She jumps down into the hole with me, then reaches for the light and lowers it to where my shovel is still in the dirt.

It takes another ten minutes to remove enough dirt around the tiny marble coffin before we can see the edge of the heavy lid.

“Jump back up now,” I say, pointing at the ground above her head. “I need some room.”

“You just don’t want me to see it.”

“Neither here nor there. I can’t lift the lid off if you’re crowding me.”

She sighs heavily, always frustrated when we’re in the middle of some important job and she gets sent to the sidelines. But she doesn’t argue. Just places her foot in my palm when I offer a leg up, and climbs out of the hole. But she hangs her head over the side and lowers the lantern as far as she can.

Not for my benefit, but hers.

She wants to see.

The lid is heavy marble. The coffin is more like a sarcophagus in that nature. But it is small and after I get the tips of my fingers into the groove, it comes off easily.

I set it aside and reach for the lantern, taking it from Maggie and lowering it over the open coffin.

“That’s not a body.”

“No,” I say, crouching down and reaching for the stack of folders and yellow envelopes encased in plastic. “It’s not.”

“You knew, didn’t you?”

I nod, but don’t say anything. I didn’t know that my twin brother, Aiden, wouldn’t be in here. But I did know there was something more than him inside, if he was. This was the last place these things could possibly be.

“So that’s what you were looking for?”

“I dunno. But it’s something, anyway. Here.” I hand the plastic packet to Maggie. “Hold on to it. I’m coming back up.”

I slide the lid back on the coffin, then toss the shovel over the side and climb out of the hole. I sit down and dangle my legs into the grave. Maggie sits next to me with the lantern, eager to learn new secrets.

“Are we gonna look at them now?” She glances up at me with a stoic expression, all business.

I nod. “Yup. Right now.”

She rubs her hands together. “OK.” I can hear the satisfaction in her voice.

Did I turn her into an inquisitive kid who lives for secrets? Or is this just who she is?

I guess I’ll never know.

Because she loves a good secret. Getting one, keeping one—doesn’t even matter. She is my little vault.

But I have been training her. I started back when she was two. First, she needed to learn how to swim. That’s kind of important when you live on a yacht. Then I taught her to catch fish. Later, she learned to rock-climb. I had a climbing wall built in the yacht gym. It wasn’t high, but when you’re three years old, high is relative.

Then I took her hiking, and camping, and taught her McKay skills. How to track things. How to build a fire. How to find her way in seven different forests in five different countries.

She learned to cartwheel and then front and back flips. And when I had to go to Europe for six months just before she turned five, I put her into dance and ice skating classes.

She’s athletic and graceful. Strong, but still a little on the willowy side. Like her mother.

She hasn’t learned to shoot yet. But it’s coming up soon. McKay has an old .22 rifle left over from Indie’s childhood days that will be perfect to start on this fall.

No archery. But I did try that out with her last year. She’s just not physically able to draw the bow back yet.