The Secret Society of Demolition Writers by Marc Parent

made it difficult for Brian to fully grasp the story.
    “Do you remember anything else about the story?”
    “No, that is what I know. I tell you what I know.”
    “Did he say who made these safes? Anything about the manufacturer?”
    “I did ask him this and he say he could not find out. He said it was a big mystery, yes. He tried to learn. The safe came on a boat from France—this is long time ago—and there are no records anymore. In the war the Germans came and destroyed these records. He found nothing because he was like you, with questions.”
    Pepin made a spitting noise in the phone as if to signal the finality and the fruitlessness of searching for the origin of the Le Seuil safe.
    “I have my work now,” he said.
    “Yeah, okay,” Brian said. “Thank you for your help.”
    “You show a picture of the door of the safe on the website,” Pepin suddenly said.
    “Yes, that’s right.”
    “You took the door off and leave it off?”
    “Yes . . .”
    Brian slowly hung up, even as he could hear Pepin’s voice on the line exhorting him to be cautious. He thought about the girl he had seen in the house on the island. He thought he now recognized her eyes. He picked up the phone again and called his wife at work. As soon as she heard his voice she whispered that she was really busy. She wanted to talk to him but the phone was ringing off the wall. Her job was to take reservations for the most popular restaurant in town.
    “Real quick then,” he said. “I have to know. It’s a girl, right? We’re having a girl.”
    “Why are you asking now?”
    “Because I need to know right now.”
    “I’m not going to tell you. You told me not to tell you.”
    “I need to know, Laura. It’s important. Just tell me. Is it a girl?”
    There was a long pause before she answered.
    “Yes, it is a girl, Brian. You are the father of a daughter named Lucy.”
    “Okay, thanks.”
    He knew it was a significant moment and Laura was expecting more from him but it was all he could think to say. He put the phone down. He turned away from the workbench and looked at the old blue blanket that covered the door of the Le Seuil safe.
    He knew what he had to do.
    ROBINETTE ANSWERED THE DOOR. This time Brian did not go to the service entrance.
    “Look,” Robinette said before Brian could speak, “I am sorry for any inconvenience this may have caused you. The police asked me for a list of names. Yours was on it. End of story.”
    Brian noticed that there were deep lines under Robinette’s eyes now. He looked weary and defeated, even though he had gotten his daughter back.
    “I’m not here about that,” Brian said. “I don’t care about that.”
    “Then what do you want? You can’t just show up here and—”
    “I want to talk to your daughter.”
    “What? No, you’re not going near her. She’s been through enough. We’re moving.”
    “I have to talk to her.”
    “I’m going to call the police if you do not leave my property.”
    “I want to talk to her about the ghost. About the little girl.”
    Robinette closed his mouth and just stared. Brian saw recognition in his eyes. It was recognition of something that maybe Robinette wasn’t sure he believed himself. Then he changed when he saw the ploy.
    “The police told you,” he said.
    “No, the police wouldn’t talk to me. I know because I saw her too. When I was here I saw her.”
    “I don’t care what you think you saw, I want you out of here.”
    He started to close the door but Brian put his foot into the threshold and stopped it.
    “Her name is Lucy. I saw her, too, and I
need
to talk to your daughter.”
    “Why? She’s been through enough. First she lost her mother, now this. What can you possibly say to her?”
    “I can tell her who Lucy is.”
    Brian pushed on the door and Robinette moved back without resistance. Brian walked by him and headed to the stairs.
    “Where is she?”
    “In her room. She won’t come out.”
    Brian went up the stairs and