“This chick we’re meeting, do you think she’s cute?” Bones winked at a pair of redheads who were walking along the street, headed in the opposite direction. One giggled and slowed a step, but her friend took her by the hand and hurried her along.
“I have no idea.” Maddock had followed up on the only lead Remillard could give them. Andrews’ daughter initially greeted his call with suspicion but, when he explained the situation and mentioned Remillard’s name, she warmed up enough to agree to a meeting.
“Did she sound skinny? I don’t like skinny women. Well, they aren’t my favorite.”
Not for the first time, Maddock wondered if Bones was doing all this just to get under Maddock’s skin.
The smell of fish hung in the hot air as they crossed beneath the Central Artery and downtown Boston unfurled before them. Crossing the high, uneven cobblestones that paved the area around Quincy Market, they stopped in front of Faneuil Hall.
Built in 1742, the three-story brick structure had served as both a meeting house and marketplace, and was one of America’s most renowned historical landmarks. A grasshopper weather vane, a tourist favorite in its own right, perched atop the golden dome and white cupola. Maddock and Bones found seats near the statue of Samuel Adams, cousin to John Adams and the original lieutenant-governor of Massachusetts, and settled into wait.
“I think this might be her.” Bones indicated an attractive young woman. “Nice.”
Maddock had to agree. She moved with a grace that made her seem to walk on air, rather than paving stones. She wore a tight T-shirt and snug fitting jeans with the cuffs up around her calves. She wore her black hair tied up in a ponytail, and clutched a battered leather satchel as if her life depended on it.
She stopped a few paces away and pushed her sunglasses up to rest atop her head, revealing pale blue eyes. “Mister Maddock?”
Before Maddock could reply, Bones stepped in, grabbed her hand, and held it gently. “That’s Maddock, and I’m his best friend, Bones. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Andrews.”
“You can call me Jillian.”
“Can I carry your bag for you, Jillian?” Bones reached for the satchel, but Jillian pulled it tight against her chest.
“No.” Her face tensed, then relaxed. “I’m sorry, it’s just, I don’t know you.”
“How about we sit down for minute?” Maddock patted the spot next to him. “We can get acquainted before we talk shop.”
Jillian nodded and settled down next to Maddock. Bones straddled a wrought iron armrest and looked down at them with interest.
“Like I said on the phone, we’re very sorry for your loss,” Maddock began.
Jillian smiled, tears brimming in her eyes. “Thank you. I just finished up at the funeral home. No memorial service, no burial, according to his wishes. He wanted his ashes sprinkled in Boston Harbor on Independence Day.” Tears welled in her eyes, so Maddock changed the subject.
They filled the next few minutes with small talk, Maddock and Bones telling Jillian about their service in the Navy, and she, in turn talking about her father and his interests. Finally, the conversation turned to the lantern.
“What can you tell us about this missing lantern?” Maddock asked.
Jillian exhaled, her face downcast.
“I moved back home not long ago, and I quickly realized the lantern was Dad’s passion, maybe you could call it his obsession.” She paused. “And I suspect it was his downfall.” She stared straight ahead, her eyes cloudy. “Some professors only want to write. Others just want to teach. Dad loved to search for history.”
“What set him on this particular search?” Bones asked.
“He was always interested in the history of Boston: how she was formed, how the natives handled the influx of colonists...”
“I could tell you how natives feel about colonists, but I don’t want to sound like my grandfather.” Bones’ smile didn’t reach his eyes.
One corner of Jillian’s mouth twitched, but she came no closer to a smile than that. “He was fascinated with studying how Boston evolved from colony to town to city, especially leading up to the American Revolution. That was his favorite period in history.”
“Mine too.” Maddock couldn’t get enough of Colonial America and the Revolutionary War.
“Anyway, Dad spent most of his time focusing on the single most important aspect of our country’s history: breaking away from King George and the throne of England. Of course, it all started April 18. 1775.”
Maddock and Bones listened as Jillian seemed to transform into a history professor. She spoke with the confidence of a well-educated woman. Maddock figured her to be in her mid-thirties. She touched on many of the things Remillard had told them, but they didn’t interrupt her. She seemed to find the experience cathartic, as if the retelling purged her painful memories.
“When the first lantern was rediscovered, he became a man possessed.”
Maddock scratched his chin and stared up at Samuel Adams. The mystery had taken hold of him, and he needed to solve it. He leaned back a little to get a better look at Jillian. Something told him that behind that pretty face laid a strong, determined woman. In spite of her grief and apparent fear, she clearly had not given up on her father’s research. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have met them today.
“I know our involvement in this is strange, but I gave your father my word that I’d find the lantern. I won’t deny, I’d probably want to do it anyway. I love the Colonial period and I’ve never solved a mystery before. I guess I just want to make sure you understand that we’re not trying to steal his glory or anything. I just want to see this thing through.”
Jillian narrowed her eyes and seemed to look through Maddock. “I don’t know why, but I feel like I can trust you. Besides, Dad had been getting weird phone calls. I’d feel better if I wasn’t alone in this.”
“So, you intend to search for the lantern?” Bones asked.
“I want to finish what he started.”
“Right now, the only possible lead we have is the Somerset. Is there anything else you can tell us? Anything to point us in the right direction?”
“Not much. He was paranoid about his project, so he kept his knowledge in his head. However, I have this.” Jillian opened the leather satchel and withdrew an item wrapped in a hand towel. She unwrapped it, and held it out for them both to see. Sunlight gleamed off its long silver surface.
“What is it?” Bones leaned in for a better look.
“It’s a butter knife.” Maddock frowned, wondering why she would show them this.
“It’s not just any butter knife,” Jillian corrected. She turned it, hesitated for half a heartbeat, and handed it to Maddock. “Look at it closely.”
The knife felt surprisingly heavy, but was otherwise unremarkable. He turned it over in his hands, and then held it up for a closer look. A pair of initials, clear as day, rested right above the hilt. “Whoa!”
“Did you see your reflection?” Bones asked. “I hate to break it to you, Maddock, but you’re not that handsome.”
“Take a look for yourself.” Maddock held the knife out so Bones could see the initials.
“What does P.R. stand for? Was this made in Puerto Rico?”
This time, Jillian did manage a smile. “Paul Revere. According to my father, this is a piece of flatware that he made for Samuel Adams sometime before the Revolution.”
“How did your father get his hands on it?” Maddock asked.
“He stole it.”
“Huh?” Maddock and Bones chorused a little too loudly for Jillian’s liking. She looked around, as if searching for eavesdroppers.
“Sorry,” Maddock said.
“It’s all right. I’m just on edge. Anyway, Dad stole this knife from the Paul Revere House.” She lowered her voice as she spoke. “I don’t know the whole story. He just said it was special, and he would put it to a better use than just lying there on display.”
“What was so special about the knife?” Maddock asked.
“There was something odd my father saw in it, though I don’t know what.”
“So he picked it up.”
“And ran with it. His research indicated that Revere made place settings for many important men of that time: John Hancock, John Adams, and James Swan. Pretty much all the Sons of Liberty.”
“It’s got a weird edge to it,” Bones observed. “Instead of the fine serrations on one side, like you’d normally see, the grooves are on both sides, and they’re kind of square.” He handed the knife back to Jillian. “What’s the connection between this knife and the lanterns?”
“That’s just it. He never told me.” Tears once again welled in her eyes. “And now he’s gone.”