Rebecca’s breath hitched. Her grandfather’s name was Richard 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. rebecca lane
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. Rebecca’s breath hitched
Should we delve deeper into in her grandfather's secret archives, or It wasn't the jewelry that caught her eye,
Rebecca was an accidental archivist. She hadn’t intended to spend her thirties cataloging the forgotten junk of a dying town, but when her grandfather left her the shop, she found she couldn’t bear to let the stories inside go to the landfill.