“How did you get that?” I gape.
“By the time I crawled out of the harbor, I saw your uncle driving away,” Leo explains. “I figured you were with him, since I didn’t see anyone else around, so I followed him back to his house. But when he got there and the hunters were with him and you weren’t, I realized what must have happened. He only stopped at the house for a second, then Daisy left, so I snuck in and found it on the table.”
“Why didn’t you stop me?” Daisy asks, a frown creasing her face. “I walked right past the table and didn’t notice anything.”
Leo shifts. “I got nervous you were on his side.”
“It’s a fair thought,” Quinn defends him. “You’re not exactly known for your loyalty.”
It’s enough to make the tension snap between them. “I’m sorry, okay?” Daisy says, desperation and anger twisting in her tone. “I’m sorry I lied to everyone about what happened between us because I was scared of how I felt about you. I figured it was easier to push you away before you did it to me, because I’m used to not being enough for the people I love most to stick around. But it was shitty, and it’s on my long list of things to repent for the rest of my life.”
Quinn’s jaw is set, but her eyes flick to Leo. I want to yank the note out of Leo’s hand, tell them to fix this later, but I need a team right now. A cohesive, not-giving-each-other-murderous-looks team.
“And I’m sorry to you, Leo.” Daisy’s voice quiets. “I should have never asked you to lie about that for me. I shouldn’t have come between your friendship. Or this one.” She gestures to me.
“It’s . . . fine,” Leo says, like he’s not used to being the one to forgive. “I’m sorry I let you.”
Quinn’s gaze softens at that, just for a fraction of a moment before hardening once more. “It is what it is. We have bigger things to worry about.” She nods to me.
I take the clue from Leo’s hand, scanning over the scrawl as I read aloud.
Dear Lily Love,
You’ve made it this far, and for that I am so proud. If only I could turn back the clock to tell you so. But I can’t, so I have one thing left to say—if you’re looking for lost things, pray to he who finds them.
Gram
“That’s easy,” Daisy says. “The church, right?”
“But geographically, that doesn’t make sense,” Caleb says. He tugs the map pieces out of his pocket since we trusted ours with him for the night. He holds his against the bark of an oak tree, and Quinn, Leo, and I take ours and do the same. He points to the church. “Look. It’s at the junction of all four pieces. If this is the last clue, it should be in Lily’s section.”
He’s right.
“Hold up,” Miles says, leaning over his shoulder. “You said the first clue was at the museum.” He points to the top left square. “The second was the deli.” His fingers moves to the top right. “Then the Ivy.” Bottom right. “Maybe Gram knew we were going to meet here. Or this is where Lily found the first piece, right? So maybe it started here.” He circles the bottom left, where we are now.
“And if you draw lines from the museum to the Ivy,” Daisy says. “And then from the deli to here. Then that—”
“Makes an X right over the church,” I realize.
“Shit, X really does mark the spot,” Quinn muses.
Everyone’s face brightens with hope. “Saint Theresa Church isn’t far at all from here.” Caleb turns to Leo. “Could we all go in the van?”
“Yeah,” he says, but he doesn’t look as convinced as the rest of us. “Are you sure?”
“Yes!” Daisy grabs his arm, pulling him toward the hedge. “We have to hurry!”
Quinn follows her, and while I don’t think things are magically fixed between them, a common goal certainly helps. Miles throws his arm across Caleb’s shoulders, both sharing a grin.
As I look at all of them, a realization slams into me. If we’re too late, and I don’t get the money or Rosewood Inc., or into FIT, I’ll be okay. Despite feeling shattered inside from my family falling apart, I have friends who will be there for me no matter what’s awaiting us at the church. And that’s enough.
But this isn’t just about me. They need that money, too.
I tug on my Converse, my heels probably gone for good. But as we walk toward the gap in the hedge, something pulls at me, as if Gram is whispering in my ear. This clue was for my corner of the map. It was meant for me. Would it really be so simple that everybody would know exactly what Gram meant? That a map would show it?
“Lily, we gotta hurry,” Miles calls softly from across the lawn. Pray to he who finds them. Jesus makes sense upon the big crucifix in Saint Theresa Church. It’s ironic, almost, that after all the terrible things my uncle has done, Gram would hide the fortune beneath he who sees all.
“Pray to he who finds them,” I breathe. My gaze falls on the twisted iron gate leading to the Anything but Roses garden.
And just like that, I understand.
“It’s not in the church!” I whisper-yell. I change direction so fast I have no time to see if they’re following me. “It’s here. It’s been here the whole time!”
I burst through the gate, kicking away vines and roots in my path. Footsteps sound behind me as all of us crowd the small space, enclosed in the familiar white stone walls. I stare up at Saint Anthony, his vacant marble eyes gazing back. What have you seen? I had asked earlier this week. If only he could have responded.
Everything.
“It’s gotta be here somewhere,” I say. I press my palms to stones in the wall and shove flowers aside with no regard for what happens to them. “Gram only wanted us to think it’d be at Saint Theresa Church, because that is the center of town—anyone would think it’s there. But that’s why Gram banned everyone from the manor. It’s been here the whole time. Anthony is the patron saint of lost things. And Uncle Arbor wouldn’t think of that because he rarely came into this garden. But I would, because—” My voice breaks. “It’s my favorite place on earth.”
“What are we looking for?” Miles asks, walking the perimeter.
“I don’t know,” I reply honestly. “Either another clue, or a briefcase full of money, or—”
“Maybe it’s buried,” Daisy says, falling to her knees. “I mean, Gram couldn’t have just left it out. What if it rained? It must be beneath us.”
I look at Leo. “You’ve taken care of this garden for months. You’ve never seen anything?”
He shakes his head as Quinn and Caleb get on their knees, too, clawing at the soft earth.
“It’s not anywhere behind the flowers,” Miles concludes, finishing his perimeter check by the map carved on the back wall. That’s all the confirmation I need to drop to my knees and begin digging. Pain shoots up my hand, reminding me of my cut, but I keep going.
Leo and Miles join us, and with all of us on the ground, we make quick work of upheaving the first layer of grass and dirt. It’d make more sense to run to the toolshed and grab shovels, but every second feels so precious. As if a moment away will allow my uncle the opportunity to slip in and claim what he thinks is his.
I yelp as my fingers scratch along something rough and hard. Sweat coats the back of my neck as I pry, brushing dirt and tangled roots away. Something is here. Hard like stone.
The high walls surrounding us block out the waning moon. “I need light!” I say, heart pounding. A phone flashlight turns on, held by Caleb.
“What is it?” he asks. The others turn my way. I don’t reply, instead shifting backward so I can keep moving the earth away. His light catches on something protruding from the ground, no wider than my arm and at least the same in length. Definitely not a briefcase.
“Looks like some kind of lever?” Leo guesses, helping me push away dirt.
He’s right. With Quinn’s help, we unearth a long piece of stone pointing to Saint Anthony’s feet like the hand of a clock. We dig out some empty space beneath it, revealing that the end closest to the gate is still attached to something deeper in the ground.
“I think it’s a vault,” Caleb whispers.
Leo grasps the lever and pulls up. It doesn’t budge.
“Try pushing it,” Daisy says.
We do, pushing it deeper into the earth. Nothing.
“Not that way. Try clockwise,” she says, like it should have been obvious.
“Would you like to get down here and do it?” Quinn snarks back. I expect Daisy to roll her eyes, but she stoops next to us, placing her hands on the grimy surface and shoving it toward the right wall of the garden. I join her, then Leo and Quinn as Caleb and Miles get on the other side and pull. The eerie night air is full of our breathy groans and grunts, the lever not shifting.
But of course it isn’t. Gram said so herself.
“The other way,” I realize, pulling the final note from where I tucked it in the neck of my dress. “Gram said, ‘If only I could turn back the clock.’ It’s a clue, too. Counterclockwise.”
We reverse our efforts. It seems futile, and maybe I would have given up if this was three days ago. But now, I’m certain I’m right. I pull harder.
And, suddenly, it’s moving. A grinding sound accompanies it, like stone on stone. I keep pulling, my muscles straining with the effort as the massive lever swings as far as we can make it in the space we’ve carved out in the ground. A tiny click sounds when we complete a full ninety degrees, the air still.
“Ohhhkay,” Miles says, standing. “What was that supposed to—”
I lurch forward, the ground vibrating beneath us.
“Earthquake?!” Caleb yelps, grasping Miles for dear life.
“In Massachusetts?” Quinn questions, although she looks a little queasy.
But it’s not an earthquake, not at all. The ground is shifting. Well, kind of. The statue is shifting.
Saint Anthony slides forward into the spot we turned the lever and stops nearly nose-to-nose with me. I almost expect him to reach out and caress my cheek with a cold stone hand, but he’s still, whatever internal mechanisms the lever triggered now stopped. It’s as if he took four massive steps forward, crushed the little bit of ground we didn’t massacre, and took out some flowers with his move.
“Holy shit.”
I step around Saint Anthony at Quinn’s awestruck voice, so different from her usual tone. That’s when I realize everyone is staring down at the ground where the patron saint had been.
Caleb was wrong. It’s not a vault at all.
It’s a tunnel.