The Antique Locket

Grandma Rose's shop smelled of dust and forgotten dreams. It was a comforting smell, familiar like a warm hug, even though I hadn't been inside for years. After she passed, the shop, 'Rose's Curiosities,' was mine. I wasn't sure what to do with it, to be honest. I had a perfectly good life in the city, a steady job, a boring boyfriend. But the thought of selling it, of letting someone else's hands sort through her treasures, felt… wrong.

So, I quit my job. Liam, my boyfriend, thought I was insane. "An antique shop? Seriously, Clara?" he'd scoffed. I just shrugged. It felt right, even if it didn't make sense.

The first few weeks were spent cleaning. Mountains of dust, cobwebs thicker than yarn. And then, the sorting. That's when I found it. Tucked away in a velvet-lined box, at the back of a drawer overflowing with costume jewelry, was a silver locket. It was tarnished, almost black, but when I rubbed it with my thumb, a faint shimmer appeared. I opened it. Inside, a tiny photograph, a woman with laughing eyes and a mischievous grin. On the other side, a name: 'Eliza, 1948.'

I showed the locket to Mrs. Peterson, a regular at the shop, a woman with a memory like an elephant. "Eliza… hmm," she said, tapping her chin. "Now, that's a name I haven't heard in years. There was a scandal, back in '48. Something about a missing girl, worked at the mill. Never found, poor thing."

Missing girl? My heart pounded. I went to the local library, spent hours poring over old newspaper articles. Eliza Mayhew, vanished without a trace. The articles mentioned a possible suspect, a man named Frank, her fiancé. But the case went cold.

Back at the shop, I examined the locket again. Something felt off. It wasn't just the tarnishing, it was… heavier than it should be. With trembling hands, I pried open the back. And there it was, a folded piece of paper, yellowed with age. I unfolded it carefully. A handwritten note, scrawled in faded ink. 'Meet me by the river, midnight. Tell no one. - F.'

Frank. The fiancé. My blood ran cold. This was it. This was the answer. I called the police, told them everything. They were skeptical at first, a cold case from 1948? But they agreed to investigate. A week later, they called. They found something near the river, where the note suggested. Human remains. And a silver locket.

They never confirmed it was Eliza, but I knew. I felt it in my bones. Grandma Rose, all those years, holding onto this secret. Maybe she knew something, maybe she suspected. I don't know. But I know this: Rose's Curiosities wasn't just a shop filled with old things. It was a repository of stories, waiting to be told. And I, Clara, was the one who finally listened.