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As Jake walked down the sidewalk with Vanessa beside him, he tucked one of his thumbs into the belt loop of his khakis and resisted the urge to whistle to himself.
Now this was making great television. He caught a glimpse of a orange-and-blue mural some street artist had chalked on the pavement. Bryce and the others walked a few paces behind them. The ratings for this episode were going to be astronomical. He’d just given an update to Sara via text and she’d been very enthusiastic about their findings, especially the love letter angle, which was a big relief.
He grinned to himself. Sure, they’d chased after treasure before, but somehow, something about this felt different. Felt closer to real, somehow. Like he could almost feel those pearls sliding through his fingers... Then again, didn’t he always feel this way when he was on the hunt?
Yep, definitely. But did that really matter? Nope, not in the slightest. His grin widened.
Vanessa gave him a worried glance as they headed along Pearl Street toward the intersection with Wall Street. “You do know that Rivington’s coffee house isn’t there any more?”
“That’s the fun part. We get to figure out what part of the existing building might have what we’re looking for.”
Vanessa nodded, but didn’t say anything else.
This part of Lower Manhattan was definitely older. He could tell by the way the street had narrowed and the buildings had become, for the most part, shorter. Glass and steel structures co-mingled with the decorative brickwork of older buildings.
“I’d guess none of this was here during the Revolution.” Jake looked around.
As they neared the intersection, a girl in a neon green T-shirt rushed up to them and shoved a flyer in Jake’s direction. He smiled, shook his head and side-stepped the girl. She spun around in the opposite direction to confront a gaggle of tourists who ate ice cream cones.
“Nope.” Vanessa replied. “These older buildings are from the 1800s. Even the street was renamed.”
“Really?” His smile dimmed slightly.
Vanessa nodded. “During the Revolution, Pearl Street was called Queen Street. But after the war, the Americans decided to take out references to the monarchy.”
“Understandable.” Jake indicated the upcoming intersection. “Looks like there’s a few businesses on the ground floor of these buildings.”
They came to a stop where Pearl crossed Wall. “Well,” Vanessa said as she looked up from the documents referenced on her phone, “I think we’re here. If my interpretation of source material is correct, this current building stands on several Colonial-era lots. Which means one of its entrances should be where the coffeehouse once stood.”
He squinted and tilted his head while he studied the building faced with beige stone. “Maybe part of the original coffeehouse might still be intact. Under all...that...somewhere.” He frowned. This could be trickier than he’d thought.
“It’s certainly a spot you wouldn’t be able to miss,” Vanessa said slowly.
The street frontage where the coffeehouse once stood was now sided in electric blue sheet metal. A sign over the door read Chiara’s Nail Salon & Day Spa.
“Which, I hope, will work in our favor.” Jake swallowed and tried not to think about what might happen if it didn’t, as he headed to the entrance.
Vanessa followed him up the steps. The door was painted sunflower yellow. He opened it and a bell chimed overhead.
A petite woman with long black hair barreled out. “Do you have an appointment?”
“Nope, I actually don’t,” Jake said. “But I was hoping—”
“No appointment, we can’t help you.” The woman gave him a stern look and shooed him out the door.
Jake’s gut tightened.
“We—” Vanessa started to say but the woman shook her head.
“We’re very busy. You need to come back later. Make an appointment.”
Jake took a calming breath before he threw a glance at the camera. “Well,” he addressed his audience, making an effort to keep his tone light, “looks like I’ll have to—” Just then, his phone buzzed and vibrated. “—Maybe this is the answer. Let’s find out. Hello?”
“Jake. Hi.” It was Sara. He signaled to Bryce to stop filming him, so the cameraman turned and began to take some wide shots of the street and the surrounding buildings.
“I have some bad news.”
Jake’s stomach dipped. “I’m listening.”
“Have you checked your social media lately?”
“Not since yesterday,” Jake said slowly. His heart rate accelerated. “Why? Should I?”
A pause. Then. “...Just check it.”
Jake closed his eyes a moment, took a deep breath and pulled up his social media app.
Can this guy be for real? one commenter said. He’s totally making everything up. No one finds lost treasure that easily. He plants everything beforehand then just acts like it’s a real discovery.
Jake flinched. What? Sure, there were some preparations the team had to make, a bit of pre-planning and some organizing of details, but they never planted anything beforehand. He ground his teeth. The show wasn’t fake.
He scrolled further. Faster. His heart sank even more as his free hand tightened into a fist. It was all the same. Hundreds of re-posts and comments and snide remarks.
Near the bottom, he saw someone had tagged him in a video. He studied the background. That was...at Park Avenue, from the other day.
Oh. His stomach twisted. That nanny who’d been with her friends must have posted the video. The tagline of the video read: Jake Ford A Forgery?
He swore under his breath.
Vanessa must have noticed something wrong, because she came over to him and put a hand on his arm. “What is it?”
Without saying a word, he handed her his phone.
Her eyes widened as she read the comments and saw the video.
“How can so many people be saying all this? It’s not true. Is it?”
Jake felt a dart of irritation. “Of course it’s not true.” He made an effort to steady his voice. Calm down. He sighed. “I thought the Internet trolls had decided to leave well enough alone after that incident a few months ago. But that’s the Internet for you. No delete button. Not only that, you put something up there, people think it must be true just because it’s online.”
Vanessa nodded.
His lips compressed as he re-dialed Sara. “I see what you mean, Sara.”
“This could put all the good work we’ve done for this episode in jeopardy,” she said.
Jake’s frown deepened. “We have to look on the bright side of things.” He raked a hand through his hair, slumped against one of the graffitied window sills, and closed his eyes. He let the phone drop from his ear as he tried not to let more frustration and, if he was honest with himself, something that bordered on despair, creep in. This whole thing could fall apart right here, right now and he—
“Jake?” Sara said, her voice tinny and far away. “Are you still there?”
He put the phone back up to his ear and exhaled quietly. “Yep. Still here.”
“Listen, if more trolls get wind of this, it could easily blow up even more.”
He pinched the bridge of his nose. “So what do you see as a solution?”
“We need to step up the production schedule,” Sara said. “That means you have just two weeks to come to some sort of conclusion about this 355 business. Any suggestions? I’m open to them.”
“You’re right.” Jake pushed away from the wall and straightened. He wasn’t going to let a bunch of Internet trolls who spread lies about him and the show, get the better of him. Or this historical mystery investigation. He had a responsibility to keep searching, discover the answers. That’s what counted. That’s what he needed to concentrate on.
He wasn’t going to let anything or anyone stop him. Especially because they were going to get to the bottom of this mystery. They would find those lost pearls. They would change history. He owed it to himself and his fans to keep going. He was going to make the best damn episode ever.
“I’m not going to let this show go down without a fight. Those trolls—they’re just blowing hot air. All we have to do is find the pearls, prove these rumors all wrong. And the way to do that? We make the best episode ever. From here on out, we document everything. Every piece of footage counts. We have to let our audience in more than ever before. We fight these lies that way.”
He ended the call and took a deep breath. Turned back to Vanessa. “Let’s figure out our next step.”
*
VANESSA SWALLOWED HARD at Jake’s words. They wanted to film everything now? But this wasn’t about her. She took a calming breath, and watched as Jake put his phone back into his pocket.
It was admirable of him, really; he didn’t let some random people’s opinions, or the threat of losing something he’d worked so hard to gain, stop him. Her heart skipped a beat as he met her gaze.
“Where do we go next? Any ideas?” Jake said as they stood on the steps.
Vanessa pulled her brows together. “I’m not sure. If we figured things right, then the love letter, if it survived, should be here somewhere. But it seems like we’ve hit a dead end.”
Jake gestured at the building then folded his arms across his chest. “Certainly looks like that. I mean,” he drummed his fingers as he studied the building. “Whole thing’s been redone.”
“Unless...That’s it,” Vanessa said as realization dawned. “It’s so obvious I didn’t even think about it. And the lady said it, plain as day.”
“What?”
She grinned at Jake. “I’m going to get my nails done.” She pulled out her phone and punched in the number on the sign.
“Good thinking,” Jake said. He rolled his shoulders. After a moment, he said, “I’ll just—Hmm. It’s a day spa, too.” He glanced at the camera crew then back toward the building. “You know, we’ve all been working pretty hard. I don’t know about them but I could really use a massage.” He rubbed his neck. “I think I slept wrong on the plane flying back from Myanmar. Besides, divide and conquer, right? This is like, research. The more eyes we have in there, looking around, asking questions, the better. If you’re getting your nails done, you can look around and ask there. Me and the crew can look around and ask the staff who work with us.”
Vanessa’s heart stuttered as she nodded wordlessly. She would not imagine Jake shirtless. But despite her best efforts, her mind drifted back to the show’s opening credits.
Him diving off the waterfall without a second thought. The way the water droplets skimmed his back muscles, how sunlight glinted off his broad shoulders. The lush jungle around him. His bare feet. That gleam in his eyes as he looked back at the camera right before he jumped...
Her cheeks heated and she avoided eye contact with Jake. “Um, right. Makes sense.” She turned slightly away from him. The better to block him from view. Maybe then she would stop this ridiculous daydreaming. He was an actor. She already knew how that ended. It was best to stay professional...
Fifteen minutes later, she found herself on a comfortable tufted yellow stool by one of the tall windows as her manicurist chatted away.
But as Vanessa made small talk with the woman, she couldn’t help but track Jake’s movements as he first directed the crew to another room and then stepped into the day spa part of the building, himself.
She admired his confidence. His efficiency. Even the way he joked and laughed with the crew like they were his best friends. She smiled to herself. They probably were his best friends. The man just really loved life. Which was, of course, why he was such a perfect fit as the show’s host.
After he left the room, her gaze lingered for too long on the place where he’d stood. Her heartbeat sped up. Her mind slid again to that opening scene. The clean, efficient way he dove off those rocks. The big grin on his face as he’d surfaced in the pool below.
What would it be like to feel that free, that open, that in love with life? He was sort of inspiring, she realized. If he could do that, be that free and open, maybe she could too?
Maybe she didn’t have to find herself hiding behind the scenes so often, using history and antique documents as a way to hide herself from the world. Maybe she was selling herself short by doing that?
She paused. Maybe she could learn something from Jake Ford.
Right now, though, she had a job to do. She pulled her mind back to the manicurist. “Do you know anything about this building’s history?”
The woman shrugged. “Not really. Just know that it’s old. Divided up between various businesses. Guess the owners bought this section of the building years and years ago. Had it totally gutted and completely renovated. Everything got torn out, right down to the studs.”
Vanessa leaned forward. “And when they did that work, did they find anything...old? Any papers or artifacts or anything?”
The woman’s eyes drifted up and to the left as she thought. Shrugged again. “No.”
*
AS JAKE UNBUTTONED his navy blue shirt and placed it on the sunflower-yellow chair by the massage table, he rolled his shoulders again. His mind drifted back to Vanessa. How she’d turned away from him ever so slightly outside the building.
His heart pinched. Had he done something wrong? Said something wrong to Vanessa?
He lay face-down on the massage table. A moment later, the attendant tapped on the door and he called for the person to come in.
“So,” the woman said, “do you have any sore spots?”
He told her about his neck and she set to work.
Then again, why did the thought of if he’d said or done something wrong to Vanessa bother him so much? They were just colleagues. That’s all they’d ever be. All they ever could be. His schedule was far too crazy, and he was gone for way too many days out of the year, to make anything work...
He shouldn’t be entertaining thoughts like this. He really shouldn’t. She was a source. That was all. Besides, in not very long, he’d be gone, out of New York. Flying 35,000 feet over yet another continent.
A strange sort of sadness filled him at that thought. Didn’t he deserve to have love in his life? Didn’t he deserve the love of his life?
Maybe not. Maybe his kind of lifestyle, his love of freedom and adventure, meant he couldn’t have both freedom and love?
He sighed. Who would want to be basically stuck in a permanent long-distance relationship with him? Relationships were tough enough without the added stress of long distance.
Why was he thinking this all of a sudden? Oh, he knew exactly why. It was all because of Vanessa. His heart thudded as he recalled the way her eyes glowed as they’d unraveled the riddle. The way she was so invested in, and so passionate about, history—just like he was. Warmth surged through him.
He admired her, he realized with a jolt. Admired her intelligence, her diligence, her drive. She basically single-handedly ran a museum. He smiled. She was different than the other women he’d dated before.
His mind drifted to their time in her apartment. That sweet pea scent of hers. Her long legs as she’d crossed them that first day when he’d interviewed her. Her big green eyes. Those long, dark lashes. The fullness of her lips...
As the massage therapist kneaded his back muscles, the tension and stress started to melt away. His mind drifted further and heat filled him. And for a moment, he allowed himself to imagine it was Vanessa’s hands on his bare back, her soft touch, her fingers caressing his skin, stirring his soul and touching his heart. Whispering his name. Making him feel things he’d never—
“There you go,” the attendant’s words broke into Jake’s thoughts. He startled slightly and gave his brain a mental shake.
After a minute or two to bring himself back to the reality of the room he was in, he slowly sat up and then stretched. “Thank you.” He ran a hand across the back of his neck. “Feels a lot better now.” He hopped off the table, put on his shirt and started to button it.
“Oh. I almost forgot. We’re doing research for a television show. Do you know much about this place? It looks like it’s been pretty much totally gutted.”
The woman nodded. “Yeah. The existing structure with the stone exterior’s been here awhile. Not sure of the dates. But in the renovations of it, I do know they keep some usable pieces and parts of older, pre-existing buildings. This section where the salon is still has a bit of the original Colonial structure.”
“When they did all that, they ever find anything?” He finished buttoning his shirt. “Papers, documents, that sort of thing.”
The woman put a hand on her hip. “Not that I...Oh. Wait a sec. A few months after I started working here, I heard one of the owners say that they’d found some sort of antique journal. From, I think something like the 18th century.”
Jake’s ears perked up.
“I can’t quite—hmmm. Think I recall them saying something about donating it to the archives or something at the New York Public Library.”
“Awesome. This is great. Thank you. How much do I owe you?”
“You can pay at the front,” the woman said.
“Sure thing.” Jake paused and pulled two twenties from his wallet. “But I’m feeling extra generous in my tipping today. Appreciate the information.”
The woman laughed. “Thanks much. Well, have a good day.”
“You too,” Jake said, as he stepped out of the small room and back into the salon.
Vanessa stood by the front door, studying the view out the window. “Hey,” he said as he approached. She looked over her shoulder. A hint of...something...flickered in her eyes as she saw him.
“Hi,” she said, her tone a little flat. “I guess we hit a wall, then huh? They’ve completed gutted everything and no one I spoke with out here knew anything about the building’s history.”
He placed a palm on her shoulder. “Don’t give up yet. I have good news.”
*
THURSDAY AFTERNOON, on the corner of Fifth Avenue and West 42nd Street, Vanessa smiled when she caught sight of the huge stone lions on either side of the steps of NYPL’s main branch.
“Patience and Fortitude,” Vanessa said to Jake as they headed toward the library’s entrance.
“I always thought they were aptly named,” Jake replied. “People like us need that when conducting research.”
People like us...Vanessa’s heart fluttered. Did he...No. It was just a figure of speech. Right?
She tucked her hand into the pocket of her peach shorts. “Exactly.” They reached the top of the steps. “I wonder what sort of documents they found at Rivington’s?”
“Well, after my production assistant called and arranged things with the manuscripts and archives division here so we could have permission to film inside the library, she didn’t tell me, exactly.”
“Oh?” Vanessa adjusted the strap on her messenger bag, which contained her laptop.
“Yep. That way my reactions are natural and real.” Jake slid Vanessa a glance. “So I’m not sure, myself. But we’re about to find that out.” Jake gestured for Vanessa to go first through the door. They walked into the entrance hall of the Beaux Arts building together, with the TV crew not far behind.
“Man, I haven’t been in here in forever. This place is something else.” The polished stone floor gleamed. Tall, ornately carved candelabras gave the area a soft glow, and two large stone staircases sat off to the left and right.
“Oh, that’s cool,” Jake said as he read the signage. “I didn’t know there was a map room in this branch.”
“Yeah. I’ve been in a time or two,” Vanessa said. “Lots of historic maps in there.”
“I never would’ve guessed,” Jake deadpanned.
Vanessa swatted him on the arm.
They followed the signs up to the manuscripts and archives division on the third floor, and into Room 328, with the film crew not far behind.
Jake headed over to the staff member who approached, and shook the man’s hand. “Hi, I’m Jake, and this is Vanessa.”
“Jake, Vanessa, hi. We’ve been expecting you. I’m Aaron.”
“Great, and nice to meet you.” Jake said. “I was told you’re the guy who knows something about what we’re researching here today.”
“Right you are. I’m originally from Long Island, so I grew up with regional stories and such about the Culpers.” Aaron indicated one of the long wooden tables nearby. “I’ll be just a few moments,” he continued. “You guys go set up.”
Vanessa put her laptop on the table, and caught a few snippets of conversation between Jake, Bryce and the lighting guy before Jake sat down on one of the chairs beside Vanessa.
Aaron returned with a very old-looking leather book of some sort.
“This is it, then?” Jake said.
Vanessa’s heart warmed when she saw the appreciation in Jake’s eyes as he looked at the antique volume. A fellow history lover, for sure. Maybe he was more historian than treasure hunter, after all.
“Sure is.”
“What is it?”
“Sally Townsend’s diary,” Aaron said as he placed it on the polished surface.
Vanessa inhaled sharply. “How does the sister of Robert Townsend end up with her journal at Rivington’s coffeehouse?”
Aaron leaned a hip against the edge of the table. “How does anything get anywhere, over time? Items move, shift, as buildings change hands, so... it’s anyone’s guess. Owners told me these documents were found behind the fireplace mantle when they ripped it out. From what I understand, Sally had a close circle of friends who frequented Rivington’s together.” He spread his arms wide, palms up. “Some people theorize Sally was Agent 355, so maybe behind the mantle was a dead letter drop location. I mean, apparently, Rivington hid pieces of paper in his own books’ bindings to pass messages to Washington. Things he’d heard from Loyalist coffeehouse patrons. So who knows, right? Important thing is, the diary’s here today for us to study.” He chuckled. “So you think you’ll figure out the identity of Agent 355?”
“The question of the day,” Jake replied.
“You know, there’s folklore from long-time families in the Setauket area of Long Island, that says a woman named Anna Smith Strong was Agent 355.”
“I’d heard a little about that.” Vanessa looked up.
“It’s possible she could well have helped the patriots,” Aaron said. “Story goes that she hung pieces of laundry in certain colors on the line in a specific order to signal to ring members about various things.”
“Like what?” Jake said.
“Well, according to some folklore, the way she hung out the clothes could indicate numbers of ships or troops. In other versions of the story, she used her laundry to indicate which coves Caleb Brewster could safely dock his boat, since his role in the ring was to pass the Culpers’ secret messages from New York to Connecticut.”
“Interesting,” Jake said.
“But there’s no real evidence to support it.” Aaron continued. “You know, I’ve always found the Culper spy ring an interesting topic. Read a novel one time about them. In the back, the author’s note said it’s possible the Culper ring still exists. No one knows what happened to the ring after it disbanded. In fact, the CIA made a statement that the Culper ring ‘may or may not still exist’.”
“Classic,” Jake said.
Aaron stood and checked his watch. “Well, I’d better quit jawing and get back to it. Have a meeting with my supervisor here in a minute. But if there’s anything else I can help you with, just let me know.” He left.
Vanessa turned back to her computer screen. “I hadn’t realized that little tidbit of information about Robert’s sister. That’ll fit in nicely with the exhibit.” She made a few more notes on her research document about the female spy exhibit.
Jake slipped on one of two pairs of white cotton preservation gloves Aaron left. He offered Vanessa the other pair of gloves as she shut her laptop’s lid.
“You ready, Vanessa?” His grin flashed, and the second cameraman moved in a bit closer.
“Definitely,” she replied, as she put on the gloves he’d handed her.
They opened the book and began to skim the entries.
But a few hours later, when they’d reached the end, Vanessa rubbed her temples. “This doesn’t really give us any new or useful information.”
Jake frowned as he reshuffled through the last few pages and sat back with a sigh. “Nope. She didn’t put any spy secrets in her diary. Mostly mentioned daily chores, parties she attended, visits to family and friends.”
“But Aaron was right—she did talk about going to Rivington’s more than once,” Vanessa mused.
“Looks like it. With the same group of friends. I wonder if this was the only document—”
“Sorry to interrupt,” Aaron approached their table again, a file folder in hand. “After my meeting, I got to chatting with my supervisor. When she heard what you two were researching, she wanted to show you this.” He opened a manila file folder. Inside lay a sheaf of paper. “She said it was also something donated by the owners of what was once Rivington’s coffee house, but the letter had gotten accidentally misfiled, which is why I didn’t bring it out initially.”
He handed them the folder. “By the way, guys, not to be a party pooper, but we’re going to be closing in about 15 minutes here. You’re welcome to come back tomorrow, though. And the building itself doesn’t close for a few more hours.”
“Okay, good to know,” Jake said.
Vanessa’s heart sped up as she opened the folder. Inside was a single sheet of paper. The handwriting matched the other documents they had uncovered. This had to be from 355.
New York January 2, 1780
Dearest Nathaniel,
Though I am taking a chance in penning this letter to you, I cannot help the call of my heart, despite Father’s insistence I shall follow his wishes for a proper suitor in Lord C—m, whom, as you know, I also met at the Floyd’s Christmas fete a few short weeks ago.
I have thought of little else but you and your words, it seems, these past days, in between our meetings. When you spoke of reason, purpose, I must confess, you inspired me to take up my needle.
I ordered sturdy worsted wool in swatches of red, white and blue from Townsend’s. I am told it shall arrive in port on the Cignet. But with the blockade in place, I fear it shall be months before the goods arrive.
No matter. For my heart can concede nothing less than this act of rebellion. Sometimes the sharpest instruments of change available to a lady are her needle and her pen. I yearn to do more, such as you do. May this start be enough to make a difference.
In light of these recent activities of mine, I dare not sign my name to this missive, so shall conclude with only:
—my heart is yours—
“Now we know who she was writing to—someone named Nathaniel,” Vanessa said, as she typed a few more notes on her laptop then took a snap of the letter, but made sure to turn off her phone’s flash app.
“Right.” Jake nodded. Excitement flashed in his eyes. “Do you think we can use this guy’s name as a starting point to figure out her identity somehow?”
“Mmm. That’s a good thought.” Vanessa pursed her lips. “But it was a pretty popular 18th century name.”
Jake sighed. “You’re right. But hey,” he brightened, “you know what this letter also means? It lines up with what Townsend’s descendant said. We now have actual proof that 355 sewed that flag. She basically says as much right here.” He pointed a finger at the lines then glanced back up at Vanessa. “All it takes is one piece at a time til you get the whole picture. The trick is being persistent enough to find all the pieces.”
“You’re right.” Vanessa smiled then lowered her voice. Leaned closer to Jake. “You know what else...?” She held his gaze
He leaned towards her. “What?”
“...From the letter’s contents, it’s safe to assume this was the very first love letter from 355 to Nathaniel.”
“Which,” Jake grinned, “means it must be the right one the riddle pointed us to.”
Vanessa’s pulse raced at his smile. This was—A flash of movement caught the corner of her eye. It was Bryce adjusting his camera. She blushed. What was she doing, getting all cozy with Jake? She cleared her throat and straightened in her seat.
“Question is,” she said as she looked back down at the document and hoped her embarrassment didn’t show up too much on camera, “what’s hidden in it?”
“And how,” Jake said as he looked around the room, “are we going to find that out?”
*
AS THEY LEFT THE LIBRARY and stepped onto a wide stone patio area behind the building, the film crew followed. Jake saw her dart a glance over her shoulder at the cameras. She seemed a little nervous.
“Well,” Jake said in a light tone, “now that they’ve kicked us out because the room closed, what do you think we should do at the moment?”
“I don’t know, exactly. I need to think.” Vanessa smoothed her hand over her ponytail and scanned the green space.
The large grassy area in front of them—Bryant Park—was dotted with trees, and stretched out beyond clusters of metal tables with umbrellas. Children laughed and shouted as they wove between trees and tables. People sat on the lawn or at tables. On the grass nearby, a couple lay on a large red beach towel and fed each other strawberries.
Jake nudged Vanessa. “Wanna think together? Over a drink? It’s on me.” He nodded in the direction of a smoothie kiosk.
“That sounds...” Her breath caught and a smile curved her lips. “Really nice.”
The light breeze caught a few strands of her dark hair and tumbled them across her cheek. She brushed them aside impatiently as her phone buzzed.
“Sorry,” she looked at Jake then at the cameras again. “I need to take this.” She moved a few paces away.
He nodded. “I’ll grab us a table.”
*
JAKE GLANCED AT HIS crew. They’d stopped filming momentarily to consult about set up and framing for the outdoor table shots. Looked like things were under control.
Jake headed to the smoothie kiosk. He hoped Vanessa liked fresh lemons. But judging from the stock of lemon-lime soda in her fridge, he’d take a chance. He ordered her a frozen lemonade, and got himself a pineapple-mango smoothie.
He set down the drinks at the semi-secluded table the crew had chosen—under the shade of a leafy oak near where the patio met the grass. A few pigeons hopped out of the way as he pulled out his chair.
After he took a seat, he overheard snatches of Vanessa’s conversation.
“No, he’s—” Vanessa laughed. “Melissa, we’ve just...” A pause. “That’s what the analysis said? Okay. I’ll tell him—”
Jake took a sip of the cool, sweet drink. He leaned back in his chair. As much as he’d loved his time in Myanmar, he had to admit, shooting this particular episode was a nice change. Good to take a break from wielding a machete through dense jungle in search of a lost jeweled scepter, while trying to avoid venomous snakes and poisonous spiders, all the while making witty remarks to the camera.
He shuddered. He hated spiders.
He flicked through his calendar app and pressed his lips together. This episode deadline was beginning to remind him of an arachnid as it crept closer and closer. Because if this new information they discovered didn’t lead somewhere...
“Sorry about that,” Vanessa pulled out the other chair and settled onto it.
Jake took a breath and focused his attention on her. “No problem.” His heart missed a beat as Vanessa’s eyes lit up. “How did you know I like their lemonade?” She tilted her head at him as she took a sip and fiddled with the straw.
“I don’t investigate mysteries for nothing.” Jake raised a shoulder.
“That lemon-lime soda from my fridge.”
Jake lifted his brows at her and grinned.
“So.” She cleared her throat. “Down to business. That other love letter I showed you, someone sent it to me in the mail. But there was no return address. No way to identify who sent it. That call I took was an update from my friend Melissa. Her brother works for the FBI. She managed to persuade him to run a few tests on the letter. But—” she shook her head “—no dice.”
“Nothing?” Jake struggled to hide a look of disappointment.
“Nope.” Vanessa took a long drink of her lemonade. “I was hoping if we figured out whoever sent it, they might know more about...” she waved a hand “...all of this.” She sighed. “Maybe sending it to the FBI was too much? I mean, lots of people don’t have that kind of access. But when I get focused on something, I kind of tend to go to extremes.”
“If it makes you feel better,” Jake said. “I do the exact same thing.”
Vanessa blinked. “Really?”
Jake gave a rueful laugh. He jerked his thumb over his shoulder toward the film crew, who sat chatting, nearby. “Go ask my team—they can tell you all kinds of stories.”
She smiled but hesitated for a second, her eyes on his face, before she spoke again. “My ex-boyfriend always told me I spent way too much time obsessing over dumb little details and that I—” she fiddled with a strand of her hair “—was quote unquote too focused on my work.”
Jake leaned his forearms on the table and put a hand on her arm. “Can I be totally frank?”
“...Sure.”
“I think,” Jake held her gaze, his blue-green eyes intent, “that your ex had no idea what he was talking about.”
Vanessa’s cheeks turned pink. “Thank you,” she whispered. “He was a little...self-involved.”
“What did he do, anyway?” Jake picked up his half-empty smoothie glass and twirled the straw between his fingers.
“Uh, he was an actor.”
“Ah, I see.” Jake nodded, his tone mock-serious. “You never know, with those types.”
Vanessa laughed. The sunlight caught the emerald of her eyes; Jake’s breath hitched. The gleam in their depths brought to mind sparkling waters in the South Pacific where he’d first fallen in love with exploration and travel.
“But anyways...” Vanessa’s voice brought him back to the present. “Maybe we should go back over what we do have and know.” She tapped a finger against her chin. “There must be more to that archived love letter. But what?”
Jake pulled out his phone “Let’s start with the obvious.”
“Well.” Vanessa scooted her chair over next to Jake’s as he pulled up the search engine. “It makes logical sense that she’d encode or hide something in this letter using a method the Culper members used,” she continued. “We know by looking it obviously isn’t a number code.” She drummed her fingers on the tabletop.
Jake pointed to the website that had loaded. “Says here the Culpers used not only numeric codes to communicate secret messages, but also something called...a sympathetic stain?”
Vanessa tossed her hands in the air. “Why didn’t I think of that right away? It’s a special type of invisible ink that’s synthetic, actually, and was invented by a doctor named James Jay, before the war—” She laughed and waved a hand. “Sorry, I’m getting a bit carried away.”
“No, no.” Jake propped his chin on his hand. “This is fascinating—really. I hadn’t realized all these details.”
Vanessa sat up straighter. “That first love letter was written on pretty decent paper, and Washington instructed the Culpers to use good quality paper, since the ink wasn’t legible on poor quality stuff.” Her eyes widened. “Wait a minute. That’s exactly what the riddle told us.”
“Told us what?”
“The second phrase: when between those lines. From the reading I’ve been doing, Washington told the Culpers to use invisible ink in a certain way. He said to write a normal letter but put the coded information between the lines of the regular text. So that confirms we need to use the invisible ink to read between the lines—literally.”
Jake nodded.
“You know,” Vanessa added, “some people say Washington coined that phrase ‘read between the lines.’ Maybe now we know why.”
“Impressive.” Jake nudged Vanessa.
She nudged him back. “Apparently, the ring started out with just using the number code. But when the British started to get more suspicious about mail the Colonists carried, the Culpers began to use invisible ink.”
“Man, I love my job.” He shook his head. “This is just like something out of a movie.”
“I know, right?”
They shared a grin.
“But if I remember correctly, you have to have the right re-agent for the invisible ink to show up.” Vanessa pointed at Jake’s phone. “Does the article give the formula?”
“Mmm. No. But—” Jake’s fingers danced across the phone screen ”—here’s a site that does.” He showed her the result.
“Good. So all we need to do now is get the letter, apply the stain and see if there’s anything there.”
“Sounds straightforward enough. Except the part about convincing the archivists here to let us put a possibly damaging substance on a piece of priceless American history.”
“Right, there is that.” Vanessa laughed. “Got a tad carried away with my enthusiasm. Well,” she gestured to the cameras, “you’re the one with the TV cred.”
“And you’re the one with the museum cred,” he replied, and they shared a grin.
Jake leaned his forearms on the tabletop. “Between the two of us,” he said as he slid on his aviator sunglasses, “I think we can figure out something.”
*
IT HAD BEEN A LONG day, and so, after Vanessa left, Jake retraced his steps and headed back into the building, the film crew not far behind. Vanessa would appreciate his doing a bit of extra research. That was the great thing about libraries. So much information at your fingertips.
With the letter situation on pause, his mind returned to the diary entries they’d found in the wall. Why had those few pages from 355’s own journal ended up in the wall?
It stood to reason that doing a little digging on that particular house itself might yield something. Hmm. Blueprints or a city map might be a good place to start.
He pulled open the map room’s heavy oak door. This room was as impressive as the rest of the place. Pale blue walls, with built in bookshelves around the perimeter, and an ornate ceiling. He made a beeline for a staff member, an older woman with a purple streak in her graying hair.
“Hi there. I’m doing research related to the city during the Revolution. Do you have any information on Lower Manhattan from that time period?”
“Anything you’re looking for specifically?”
“Actually, yeah. A wealthy merchant’s house.” Jake gave the address.
“Got a name to go with that?”
Jake shook his head.
“Let’s see what I can come up with...” The keyboard clacked as the staff member conducted a search.
Jake looked around the room as he waited. People worked at long tables, and he noticed framed maps on the walls.
“Not much I can tell you, I’m afraid.”
Jake’s shoulders sagged.
“Looks like the titles and deeds for that particular structure didn’t survive. A big fire in the early 1900s burned a good portion of 18th century documents for that area of Manhattan that were housed in archival storage. You might take a look at our maps from that period. Would be your best bet.”
“Perfect, thanks.”
The staff member nodded. “Let me show you where we keep those.”
She came out from behind the desk, and headed to a long, low cabinet and pulled out a drawer and tapped the glass covering. “Here you go. From around spring of 1779.”
“This is great.”
He turned to the map, and studied the yellowed document, its corners crinkled and frayed. Looked like it’d been hand-drawn.
He scanned it, not exactly sure what he was looking for. He located Townsend’s store, which was labeled. Then moved his finger over to the address of what was now Vanessa’s museum.
He frowned as he made out the words. “Mason’s Teas & Fine Imported Goods,” he murmured to himself. “I thought that Vanessa said they didn’t know who’d owned the place originally.”
Then again, maybe she hadn’t thought to look at a map? But she’d also said they’d only moved to their current location a month ago, and she certainly had enough to do now with the running of the museum itself.
“Mason,” he muttered again. He rubbed a hand across his jaw. Vanessa would like to know this.
His pulse stuttered. Wait a second. Mason. His mind raced. The diary entries from 355 had been in the house—the same house labeled as Mason’s Teas & Fine Imports.
Which meant... had they finally found a last name for Agent 355?