Someone had been texting him from a burner number—a bunch of messages, all weird.
"There’s a chess set in the coffin. Don’t take it out. I put it there."
"If you’re worried, check it. The chess set’s wooden, totally harmless."
"If you toss it out today, I’ll just have to make another one and find a way to slip it in again."
"If you don’t want me disturbing their rest, just leave the chess set exactly as it is."
"And one more thing—after you seal the coffin, light a candle for me, okay?"
Tarquin’s face was stone cold. He didn’t have to guess who sent it. It was the mystery man. Again.
He put his phone away and went to find the chess set.
He opened the box: inside was a hand-carved, wooden chess set. Even the letters on the pieces were scratched in by hand.
The pieces were a little rough, the letters uneven and downright ugly, some even misspelled.
The craftsmanship was nothing to brag about, but the thought behind it was obvious.
Hand-carved—way more meaningful than anything bought off Amazon.
Everyone knew Kendrick loved chess. It was his thing.
Tarquin had wanted to put a chess set in the coffin at the funeral, but Gideon wouldn’t allow it.
Gideon only cared about money and power. Hobbies like chess? Didn’t matter to him.
Tarquin stood there, chess set in hand, silent for a long time. In the end, he put it back in the coffin.
His dad liked it. That was enough.
Besides, he really didn’t want that guy coming around to mess with his parents’ peace anymore.
If he was right, Kendrick definitely wouldn’t want to see that man again. Accepting the chess set was better than seeing its maker in person.
Tarquin took a deep breath, pulled himself together, and started sorting through the rest of the stuff.
He was searching for something.
When he found a square plastic lunchbox that looked like it was from another era, relief washed over him.
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