Page 88 of The Christmas Spirits on Tradd Street
“No worries—I go a little crazy after just ten minutes staring at the bricks. Did you get very far?”
“Not really. I think it’s going to take another week.”
I made a move toward the dining room and he stepped in front of me, so that for a moment I thought he was trying to block me. Realizing his mistake, he stepped aside, then followed me into the dining room. I stopped in front of the table, surprised at what I saw. “You’ve got more than seventy-five percent of it done. Surely it won’t take that long to finish—especially since there are fewer pieces now.”
Anthony scratched the back of his head. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. Cooper was here for a bit early this morning before class—I guess he did more than I thought.”
“Why don’t you go take a nap?” I suggested. “You’ll be able to think more clearly once you give your brain a rest. And you’ll want to be rested for the progressive dinner tomorrow.”
“Is that tomorrow?”
“Yes, sadly. Unless it snows,” I said hopefully. “Although knowing the organizers, they’ll make it happen no matter what gets dumped on us from the sky.”
He looked longingly toward the stairs, as if already envisioning his bed and crawling into it. “Are you here to work on the puzzle?”
“No, actually.” I reached into my purse and pulled out the piece of paper. “Rebecca just gave this to me. This is the drawing Joseph Longo copied from Robert Vanderhorst’s desk. I just need to compare it to the one you found with the other papers in the garbage.”
Anthony followed me as I moved toward the front window with the large curved window seat. “Pretty clever hiding place, right? Even though it’s not even locked. Jack figured that besides Jayne having an alarm system, Marc wouldn’t have thought to look here.” I slid off the seat cushion, then pulled open the lid. “And apparently he didn’t figure it out.”
I reached inside and pulled out the box.
“Wow. So it’s been here the whole time? Very clever.”
“Pretty much the only thing that hasn’t been hidden is this.” I held out my hand, where the signet ring sat on my finger. “I think this belonged to a spy in the peacock spy ring—but I’m not sure. Still so much we need to figure out.”
Anthony was shaking his head. “So none of the pieces are coming together for you yet?”
“Not yet. As soon as Jack gets over this flu bug, I’m confident that he’ll see the connection. It’s how his mind works.”
“But you both think it’ll lead you to Lafayette’s treasure.”
“We certainly hope so. That would really be the answer toeverything for us. It would solve our financial issues, give Jack a brand-new book idea to start fresh with a new publisher and contract, and get Marc off our backs for good.” I looked at him closely. “What about you, Anthony? What do you hope to gain?”
He looked uncomfortable. “I just want to see him not get what he wants for the first time in his life.” He looked away, staring at the photographs on the table. “He’s always gotten what he wanted, regardless of who he might hurt in the process.” He indicated the box I was holding. “Let’s see if this tells us anything.”
I placed the box on the table and sat down. It took me only a few minutes to thumb through the documents until I found the drawing I was looking for. I pulled it out, then placed it on the table next to the one from Rebecca.
“They look the same until you see them together, don’t they?” Anthony said.
I nodded, then moved them around, perpendicular and then parallel, to see if that changed the perspective. It didn’t. I stared at them, knowing I’d seen something similar. Recently, even. Similar, but not the same. I was silent for a moment, trying to think of where I’d seen it, the memory dangling in front of me like a carrot.
I squinted, getting closer to the page from the archives, and saw something I hadn’t seen before. I tapped on the spot with my fingernail. “Anthony—can you see this? Does this look like anything?”
He leaned over the drawing, then looked at me with a grin. “It’s initials. S.V. Like on the brooch.”
I nodded excitedly. “Exactly. Samuel Vanderhorst, the metalsmith at Gallen Hall. Maybe this was the pattern for something he was working on.” I sobered a bit. “Which means it’s probably not going to help us. He made all the wrought-iron gates and fences at the plantation, so it would make sense that his sketches would remain either in the archives or in a Vanderhorst desk. Which makes me wonder why Marc was so eager to find our drawing.”
“Probably because he knew that our grandfather had made a copy of something he saw in Robert Vanderhorst’s desk, so it must meansomething, right?” Anthony picked up the pages, moving them around like he’d done with the photographs in the brick puzzle. When none of the sides matched up, he placed one drawing on top of the other, then held them up to the chandelier, turning the one on top several times before stopping. “It appears to be something like a primitive map—just lines and angles,” he said. “But they need to be converted to the same size so that they match up better. Maybe then we can figure out what it’s a map of.”
“It’s just...” I closed my eyes, desperate to remember.
“What?” Anthony prodded.
“I know I’ve seen this pattern before—or one very similar. And recently.”
“Where?”
I glanced up at the sharpness in his voice. “It’ll come to me. I just need to stop thinking about it. My subconscious does a lot of my thinking for me.”
