CHAPTER 38
Mr. Mosby stuffed all the treasure into a duffel bag.
“This comes at a most convenient time,” he said. “Dr. Hingleburt needs more financing for his research into the original Bill of Rights.”
He tapped an app on his phone.
“My car will be here in five,” he said, keeping his pistol up. “No way am I riding that crazy horse out of here. Gentlemen? For services rendered.”
He tossed a gold coin to one of the mounted Civil War reenactors who snatched it in midair.
“What’s this for?” the guy asked.
The guy side-armed the coin back at Mosby and dinged him in his riding helmet.
“Don’t want it,” he said. “That treasure ought to go into a museum or something.”
“Hear, hear,” said Uncle Richie.
“Fine,” said Mosby, pocketing the gold coin. “More for me to donate to Dr. Hingleburt.”
He looked at Tommy, Storm, Beck, and me.
“Wait a second. If he’s Richie Luccio, you four must be the Kidd brats.”
“We prefer ‘the Kidd kids,’” I said. “It has a certain zing to it.”
“This old fool is your great-uncle!” laughed Mr. Mosby. “And your mother is the one giving the good professor, Dr. Hingleburt, so much grief about his incredible new finds.”
“That’s my niece,” said Uncle Richie, proudly. “Susan Luccio Kidd. Smartest kid in her class, from kindergarten to graduate school.”
“Only because she never had a class with me!” bragged the little blowhard. “And, if she’s so smart, tell her to back off. There’s a new America dawning. She could get hurt, sticking her nose where it doesn’t belong.”
“Oh, I don’t tell Susan anything,” said Uncle Richie, smiling broadly. “She can handle herself quite well without any assistance from me. Why, I remember this one time, when she was only six years old, we were together in the land formerly known as Persia, searching for Ganj-e Badavard—‘the treasure brought by the wind’—which, of course, was the name of one of the legendary eight treasures of the Sasanian king Khosrow II…”
Uncle Richie didn’t get to finish that story.
A rumbling SUV came crashing through the forest.
“So long, fools!” said Mr. Mosby. “My ride is here.”
“Is that an Uber?” I asked. Because I had to.
“Ha! Uber is for ordinary people. And, as you know, I am extraordinary! This is a Suber-Duber! They’ll pick you up anywhere, even in the woods.”
Milton T. Mosby tossed his duffel into the backseat of the SUV, climbed in, and took off.
“You folks want us to chase after him?” asked one of the reenactors on horseback.
“We could turn him over to the police,” said another.
“We know the sheriff,” said the third.
“No need,” said Ms. Johnston, sort of surprising the rest of us. “Let him enjoy his treasure. It’s small potatoes.”
“Small potatoes?” I said.
“Hello?” said Beck. “Earth to private jet lady. That loot is worth millions!”
“Five and a half million dollars, to be precise,” I reminded everybody.
The three horsemen whistled.
Ms. Johnston grinned. “Like I said, small potatoes.” She turned to the reenactors. “Good night, gentlemen. I would suggest you not answer any more of Mr. Mosby’s phone calls.”
“Yes, ma’am,” said one. “We’re sorry for any inconvenience and loss of treasure we may have caused you and your friends. Y’all have a good rest of your night.”
The three men rode off into the Virginia night.
Ms. Johnston waited to make certain they were far enough away that they wouldn’t hear what she said next.
“This is our lucky day!” she finally announced.
“Seriously?” I said. “We just found one of the long-lost American treasures…”
“And then we lost it,” said Beck.
“My lucky day was when I met you,” said Tommy, trying his best to get his groove thing going.
Ms. Johnston ignored him. Again.
“That bag full of coins and candlesticks is practically worthless compared to your next assignment,” Ms. Johnston said with a laugh.
“Assignment?” I said. “What is this? School? Treasure Hunting 101?”
“No. I texted a photo of our find to the Enlightened Ones the minute you dug it up. They were mightily impressed. They want your help recovering one more lost treasure. Find it, and the twenty-million-dollar recovery fee will be yours. Except, of course, for one third of it, which will be mine!”