“TAKE THE PLATE AWAY. SHE’S NOT EATING UNTIL SHE APOLOGIZES,” MY BOSS’S FIANCÉE SAID TO HIS EIGHT-YEAR-OLD DAUGHTER—BUT I KNEW WHY THE LITTLE GIRL HAD BEEN HIDING BREAD IN HER SLEEVES.

I wiped my hands on my apron and walked into the dining room.

Beatrice was sitting in the sunlight, looking out the window at the gardens. On the table in front of her sat a small, intricately carved wooden box.

It was dark mahogany, polished to a high shine, with a tiny brass keyhole on the front.

“What is this, Beatrice?” I asked gently, taking the seat next to her.

“It belonged to Claire,” Beatrice said softly. “She gave it to me the week before she died. She told me to keep it hidden, and to only open it when the house was safe again.”

My breath caught. “Is it safe now?”

Beatrice smiled, reaching out to pat my hand. Her skin was warm. “Yes, my dear. Thanks to you, the wolves are gone. It is safe.”

Daniel walked into the room, holding Ivy’s hand. They both looked at the box with quiet reverence.

“Mom,” Daniel said softly. “You’ve had this the whole time?”

“I have,” Beatrice said. “But there’s a problem.” She sighed, tapping her finger against the brass lock. “Claire never gave me the key. I’ve searched my entire room, the sunroom, everywhere. I don’t know how to open it.”

Daniel frowned, reaching out to examine the lock. “I can pry it open with a screwdriver from the garage.”

“No,” Ivy said suddenly.

We all looked at her.

Ivy let go of her father’s hand and stepped up to the table. She stared at the wooden box, her brow furrowed in deep concentration.

“Mommy didn’t lose the key,” Ivy said confidently. “She hid it where only I could find it.”