London
Tuesday, December 16
8:45 a.m.
Colophon ran off several photos of the frame and headed downstairs to the kitchen. As she reached the bottom of the stairs, she heard her mother engaged in conversation with someone whose voice sounded particularly familiar, although the name matching the voice did not immediately come to mind. As she turned in to the kitchen, the familiar voice spoke once more: “Well, of course, Margaret, Tuttlenewt was completely wrong in his assumptions about—Colophon! How are you dear girl?”
“Julian!” Colophon exclaimed as she rushed forward to greet her recently discovered relative. “What are you doing here?”
“Now, Coly,” said Meg, “is that any way to speak to Julian?”
“Meg, its fine, really,” replied Julian, leaping to Colophon’s defense. “The girl was simply taken by surprise. I’m sure that she didn’t expect to see me sitting in her kitchen this morning.” He turned to Colophon. “I am, as usual, chasing yet another clue to the treasure. I understand that there is a wonderful seventeenth-century book on secret codes at the British Library. I thought I would spend some time tomorrow poring over it.”
“Well,” Meg replied, “that’s for tomorrow. As for today, please see to it that Colophon minds her manners while I am gone.”
“Gone? Are you going somewhere this morning?” asked Colophon.
“Not a bit of groceries in the house. I imagine you will want to eat at some point. Anyway, Julian has graciously agreed to hang around and keep you company.”
“Mom, you know I’m old enough—”
“I know,” replied Meg, “but—”
“I’m still your little girl.”
“And always will be.” Colophon’s mother grabbed her purse and opened the door. “I’ll be back in an hour or so. Call me if you need anything.” The bell over the door to the kitchen jingled as she departed.
Before Julian could utter a word, Colophon blurted out: “The painting is not the clue!”
“Excuse me?”
“The painting is not the clue!”
“Why, of course it is. I simply haven’t figured out what it means.”
“No, no, no. Think about the rhyme. The key is in the frame . . . IN THE FRAME. That doesn’t mean in the picture. It means the frame itself.”
“That’s absurd,” Julian protested. “Why, it doesn’t even—”
Colophon interrupted, “Think about it. The first line of the poem—‘among the stars are found.’ Each of the medallions on the frame is surrounded by stars. Stars.” She handed Julian a blow-up of each medallion.
“Well, this certainly doesn’t prove—”
He paused midsentence and looked down at his coffee.
“I have to go.”
“But I thought my mom wanted you to stay with me?”
He stood up and looked around the kitchen. “I really must go. Have you seen my jacket? I’m afraid I’ve misplaced my jacket.” His voice was uneven.
“What’s the matter?” Colophon asked.
“Nothing is the matter,” he replied with a catch in his voice. “Nothing. Nothing at all. I’ll get my coat later. I have to leave.” He opened the door. The bell tingled.
“Did I do something wrong?” Colophon asked. “Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe it isn’t the frame.”
Julian stopped with his back to Colophon—the door slightly ajar. “No, you are right. You are precisely correct. It’s just not easy realizing that you spent the majority of your life looking down the wrong path. I simply cannot face that right now.”
“But you weren’t wasting your time. If you were wasting your time, you never would have shown up at Thanksgiving dinner. We wouldn’t have met that day. We wouldn’t have looked at the painting together. I wouldn’t be sitting here today having this conversation with you.”
“I’m sorry,” Julian said as he let the door shut behind him.
“But I can’t figure out what the clue means!” Colophon shouted at the door. “I need your help!”
There was no response. Colophon sat down and stared at the photos on the table. She felt like she was going to cry. Now she would never be able to find the treasure. And her only other hope rested on her brother—the selfish, inconsiderate jerk who didn’t care about anyone but himself.
Her father’s business was doomed.
The bell on the kitchen door tingled again. The door opened, and in walked Julian.
“Well, let’s hear what you have,” he said as he walked over to the kitchen table. “Wasted enough time as it is. No sense wasting any more.”
“Julian!” Colophon exclaimed as she stood up and threw her arms around him.
“C’mon, c’mon, I don’t have time for this touchy-feely stuff,” he responded. “Let’s get to work.”
“One question before we start.”
“Very well,” he replied. “If you insist.”
“Why did you come back inside?”
Julian wiped his eyes with a handkerchief. “Please don’t misunderstand me. This caught me off guard. I’ve searched for years for this clue, and then in no time at all, you uncover it. A twelve-year-old girl no less. No offense.”
“None taken,” Colophon said, although it did offend her. She wished people would quit mentioning her age.
“So there I am—standing outside the kitchen door feeling sorry for myself. And then it hit me.”
“What?”
“I realized that you may have just proved everything I believe. After all the years of being the butt of so many jokes among members of our family, my belief in the treasure may finally be validated.”
“Well then,” Colophon said, “I guess it’s time to figure out what this means.”
Julian stood up straight and composed himself. “Indeed.”
Colophon carefully reviewed for Cousin Julian everything she had discovered in the frame. She handed him the research she had run off on each of the figures represented in the frame.
“Nestor, Virgil, and Socrates,” Julian said to no one in particular.
“Yes,” Colophon replied, “but I can’t figure out the connection.”
“Well, let’s try a few more searches and see what turns up,” he suggested.
She retrieved her laptop and returned to the kitchen.
“OK,” he said, “let’s start with the search terms Nestor and Letterford.”
Colophon entered the search terms and pressed enter.
“Nothing.”
Undeterred, Julian suggested the terms Socrates and Letterford. Again nothing. Next came the terms Virgil and Letterford. Nothing. Again.
“See,” Colophon exclaimed, “nothing. I can’t find a connection with Miles Letterford.”
Cousin Julian stared out the kitchen window in thought. “Perhaps,” he finally said, “the connection is not with Letterford.”
“What do you mean? It’s a clue, isn’t it?”
“Of that I am quite sure,” Julian said. “However, the question is what the clue is intended to lead us to. It may not be the treasure at all. It may simply lead to another clue.”
“OK, then where do we go from here?”
“Let’s see what the connection is between Nestor, Socrates, and Virgil.”
Colophon entered the search terms and pressed enter. She and Julian gasped when they saw the search results.
The first search result simply read: “Nestor-Socrates-Virgil. The first two lines (in Latin) of the inscription on the Shakespeare Monument at Stratford-upon-Avon . . .”
“Remarkable,” exclaimed Julian as he sat back in his chair.
“It can’t be a coincidence, can it?” asked Colophon.
“Hardly. That must be the next clue—the monument.”
“So what do we do now?”
“Now,” answered Cousin Julian with an energy heretofore lacking in his demeanor, “now, we take a field trip!”
Manchester, Georgia
Tuesday, December 16
9:30 a.m.
Case was waiting downstairs in the foyer for his father, his bag packed and ready to go. This seemed to catch Mull Letterford off guard.
“I thought I was going to have to track you down,” he said.
“I guess I’m just excited about getting to New York,” replied Case.
Mull Letterford eyed his son suspiciously. Rather than risk further inquiry, Case grabbed his laptop and headed toward the front door.
“C’mon, Dad. Need to get going. Don’t want to miss our plane.”
Mull Letterford, who had far greater issues to deal with than his son’s apparent change in attitude (albeit a positive change), simply shrugged, grabbed his leather folder, and followed his son outside to the waiting car.