December 11, Wednesday

FROST CRUNCHED beneath my boots as I traced the labyrinth's path, following the stones Sawyer had so carefully reset. The morning sun cast my shadow ahead of me, stretching and shrinking as I turned each corner.

I felt lighter somehow, knowing Rose's final resting place. The mystery had consumed so many lives, caused so much pain. But now, finally, there was a kind of peace in knowing she had found hers.

"You're doing a fine job with this place."

I turned to find Muriel standing at the gate, her silver hair glowing in the winter light. Her patchwork coat had been supplemented with a bright purple scarf that made her look like an exotic bird.

"Thank you." I smiled, genuinely pleased to see her. "Though I can't take credit for the labyrinth – that's all Sawyer's work."

She shuffled through the gate, her walking stick tapping a gentle rhythm. "I meant the whole cemetery. You've been a good caretaker. Better than most."

"Even with everything that's happened?"

"Especially with everything that's happened." She shook her head. "Those Benson girls... young people today are so eager to be special, they forget the difference between light and dark magic."

I watched as she made her way to one of the oak trees, stooping to gather large acorns into her ever-present sling bag. "What are those for?" I asked.

"Flour," she said, her gnarled fingers sorting through the fallen nuts with surprising dexterity. "Soak them to remove the tannins, then dry and grind them. Makes good bread if you know what you're doing."

I crouched beside her, fascinated. "I had no idea you could eat acorns."

"Everything has a purpose, if you know how to look for it." She held up an acorn, turning it in the sunlight. "Even the bitter things can become sweet with the right preparation."

"Like people?"

Her knowing smile creased her weathered face. "Exactly like people. Take you, for instance. You came here bitter, running from pain. But look at you now – solving mysteries, making friends, falling in love."

Heat crept up my neck. "I wouldn't say—"

"Of course you wouldn't." She patted my hand. "But some of us can see clearly, even with old eyes."

I helped her gather more acorns, enjoying the simple task and her quiet company. "I'm glad I got to know you, Muriel."

"I'm glad too, Graveyard Girl." She straightened with a soft grunt. "It's not often someone comes along who can see the magic in ordinary things. Most people are too busy looking for grand gestures and dark curses to notice the real magic."

"Like acorn flour?"

"Like acorn flour. Like friendship. Like love."

I walked her to the gate, our breath visible in the cold air. Before she left, she pressed something into my hand – a small loaf wrapped in brown paper.

"Acorn bread," she said. "Made with last year's harvest. Share it with someone special."

I clutched the gift, touched by her thoughtfulness. "Thank you, Muriel."

She waved her walking stick in farewell, then shuffled away, leaving me standing at the entrance to the labyrinth with her bread and her wisdom.

Looking down at the ancient pattern of stones, I realized Muriel was right. The real magic was in the simple things… a lesson I kept learning over and over since arriving in Irving.