She pried it open. Inside: a small cellar lined with dusty jars of preserves and a leather-bound journal. The journal belonged to a girl named Clara, dated 1957. “They think I ran away,” one entry read, “but I hid what Papa stole from the bank. Under the wishing tree, in a tin box.”
Lexi glanced up at the old oak. Wishing tree. Every kid in town knew the legend—tie a ribbon on its lowest branch, and your wish would come true. lexi luna landscaper
Lexi Luna had always loved the feel of soil under her fingernails and the smell of rain-soaked earth. But she never expected her landscaping business, Luna’s Edge , to lead her to buried secrets. She pried it open