Jamie tilts up the writing table for a better view of the three large lower drawers in the desk. He opens them one by one and looks inside. When he gets to the bottom drawer, he stops. “This front piece looks thicker than the other two.”
He uses the brass pulls to try to move the front of the drawer slightly to the left, right, up and down, and it finally loosens. Jamie carefully jiggles it up three inches, revealing a secret drawer.
While he holds up the panel, I pull out the drawer and find a yellowed old envelope in one corner. I take some more photos with my phone and then remove it. Other than that, the little drawer is empty, so I push it in. Jamie lowers the panel while I carefully tear open the envelope.
I hold up a gold coin and Lady Liberty is on one side with a torch in one hand and a branch in the other. I turn it, and the flip side says twenty dollars above an eagle, and the date is 1933.
“The twenty-dollar Double Eagle. I think this looks more promising.” I take pictures of both sides of the coin and then slip it into my jeans pocket along with the penny. “According to the book, there’s one more coin to find.” I stick the envelope in my purse.
“The Liberty Head nickel,” Jamie answers after looking at my list.
Footsteps on the stairs startle us, and Jamie quickly closes the big drawer and lowers the slant-top writing table. We hurriedly sit on the sofa. Jamie puts the large book in his lap, and we flip through its pages.
The librarian walks into one of the other rooms with a patron. We sit quietly and can hear them talking about a specific book they’re trying to find.
Finally, they retrace their steps toward the stairway. The librarian pops her head into our door. “Everything alright here?” she asks in a friendly tone. “Anything I can help you with?”
“We’re learning a little more about Lambertville and New Hope.” I flip to the next page in the book. “These are fabulous old photographs of the area.” Jamie holds it up so the librarian can see the cover.
“Yes, it’s a wonderful book. The author is local.” She smiles and heads for the steps. “I’ll be at the check-out desk if you need anything.”
We wait until we’re sure she’s back downstairs and then put the book aside.
“The final search clues are press button and jiggle drawer,” I say, looking nervously toward the stairs. “They may go together, because there’s a dash after press button.”
We study the pigeon holes, slots, and shelving area of the desk. In the middle are two wooden pilasters, one to each side of the center drawers, which are blocked from opening by those columns. A little further to the left and right are small carved circles in the different corners. They’re about as large as a medium-sized button, and I press them one at a time on the left side.
The top circle near the left side pilaster pushes in, and we hear a clicking noise as the pilaster drops slightly. It’s just enough for me to remove the column. Jamie repeats the same steps on the right side.
We quickly check the drawers, but they’re all empty. Jamie keeps the bottom one open and uses it as leverage to slide out the entire box containing the four small drawers. Pressing all the surfaces inside the opening that held the box of drawers, he discovers a false bottom that snaps up enough to remove.
Underneath it on the right side is a miniscule drawer with a tiny pull. I jiggle it open and feel disappointed when all I see is a nickel in the drawer. Still, I grab some shots before I remove it.
As Jamie rapidly reassembles the parts of this center section of the desk, I examine the coin closely and then take close-ups with my phone. “It’s from 1913, and it has the profile of a woman on one side.”
“Tuck it in that pocket of yours, and let’s get out of here.”
“Wait.” I tug on his arm. “Don’t you think we should tell the librarian that we’ve found these coins?”
“You can do that later, once you figure out who else is after these coins and what they’re worth.” He nudges me toward the stairs. “Someone’s been following us all day, and I think the money be why.”
“You noticed that?” I ask, cringing a little. I noticed because I’m on a case, but what reason would Jamie Gordon have to look over his shoulder, unless it was something he’s used to?
“Yes, I just didn’t want to scare you off your case when you were so close. Besides, we can do a better job protecting these coins than that nice librarian downstairs. Let’s go.”
I remember the painting of this house, and Will’s cautionary words. Maybe what’s in the painting is more important than the painting itself.
This house was already a library when Casey’s father hid the coins in the secretary before going off to war. But Casey didn’t know any of that, which is why he needed the three parts of the book.
While he searched for the pieces of the book that would lead him to the coins, he probably looked at the painting almost every day, but had no idea that the location of the treasure was right under his nose inside that frame.
I stop to thank the librarian and politely take a library card form before Jamie can whisk me out the front door.
Chapter Thirty-Six
“I find it hard to believe that nobody ever checked out—”
“Shhh.” He hurries me down the outside steps.
I throw in quickly, “…all the hiding places in that desk—”
“Don’t say a word,” Jamie instructs, as he marches me down the street and into a sprawling diner.
We sit side-by-side in a high-backed booth next to the window and order coffee. I spot the navy blue SUV parked further down the block. Glancing around the restaurant, I consider whether the driver is sitting in here among the many patrons. On our way to the table, I had observed a lot of people coming and going through a couple of front entrances plus a door out back.
Now my back is to the doors for the most part, which puts me at a disadvantage when someone slides into the booth behind us. Of course, it doesn’t help that Jamie chooses that exact moment to lean over and kiss me. Anyway, there’s a continuous flow of tables turning over to new customers. As the waitress brings our coffee, I finally give up watching for the mysterious driver.
“I feel like a thief with these coins in my pocket,” I say in a stage whisper.
“There is no reason to feel that way, Ronnie. Think of yourself as a treasure hunter who’s finally succeeded. Casey most likely died trying to find these coins, and there are others who want to find them, too—the first one at the top of the list would probably be the person who shot him.”
“You’re right.”
“I like it when you’re so agreeable.” His fingers tenderly stroke the top of my hand, and we look into each other’s eyes and smile. He picks up his coffee, and I do, too.
“So, first things first.” He toasts against my mug as if we were holding wine glasses. “Congratulations on finding the coins. It’s amazing, and you owe it to yourself to see this to the very end. To start with, research their value.”
“Okay.”
“Then decide on the right thing to do with them.”
“Fine.” I pull the coins from my pocket. “Let’s get to work. I’ll take the penny, and you start with this one.”
He takes the nickel. “Let’s save the gold coin for last—”
“—and research it together.” I stop myself before I continue. Embarrassed, I quickly pull my mini-notepad out of my bag.
“Hey, you.” His voice in my ear is quiet and warm.
“Hey.” I glance up at his handsome face.
A smile plays around the corners of his mouth. “Are you always this bossy, Mrs. Lake?”
I sigh. “I’ll try harder not to be so—”
“No, don’t change a thing.” He leans over and kisses my hair affectionately.
I connect online and dig into the available research, while Jamie does the same on his phone. After ten minutes, we pause when the waitress freshens up our coffee.
“It says here that in 1943 the U.S. Mint struck p
ennies out of steel, because copper was rationed for the military.” I show him the website. “But the Mint made a mistake, and a few Lincoln pennies were struck from bronze.”
I flip the penny over to the side that shows the stalks of wheat and give it to Jamie. “So, if it turns out that this is one of those rare 1943 bronze wheat pennies, it could be worth a lot. Some of them have sold at auction for $100,000.”
“We’ll have to find you a reputable coin expert to check this out.” He hands the penny back to me.
I tuck it in my pocket. “Is there anything interesting about the nickel?”
“Actually, the year on this one is what’s critical.” He quickly reads the screen on his phone and then holds up the face side of the coin. “This appears to be a 1913 Liberty Head nickel, the same year the Mint introduced the Indian Head, or Buffalo nickel, to replace the Liberty Head.”
He gives me the nickel and scrolls through a web page. “The Mint’s records don’t list production of any Liberty Head nickels in 1913. By 1920, word spread that there were five 1913 Liberty Head nickels owned by one collector. That collector had been a Mint employee in 1913, and may have fraudulently struck the coins and pocketed them. That’s one theory anyway.”
I turn the coin over and over in my hand. “There are really only five of these? That must make them pretty valuable.”
“You’re not kidding. It says here that a collector bought one at auction for five-million in 2007. And in 2010, another one sold at auction for more than three-point-seven-million.” He scrolls down further on his phone. “And in 2013, another sold for almost three-point-two.”
“Wow.” I insert the nickel way deep in my jeans pocket. “If this should turn out to be one of the original five and not a fake, we’re really talking seven figures? Unbelievable.” I dig around in my pocket for the gold coin.
The waitress appears with menus. “More coffee? Something to eat?”
A man in a hurry passes by and thuds into her. She knocks into Jamie, who in turn bumps into me just as I pull all the coins out of my pocket.
I watch in horror—I swear it feels like slow motion—as the coins fall out of my hand and bounce on the linoleum floor. “Oh, no!” I dive under the table and slam my hand over one that’s spinning. The waitress stomps her foot over another one, while I watch the third gold one roll under a heater, hit the wall, and stop.
I pick up the nickel, stuff it back in my jeans, and look at the waitress’s sneaker-clad foot standing on my coin. “Thank you for stopping my lucky penny,” I say from under the table, looking up at her, my voice dripping with gratitude that she can’t help but get the message that there’s a big tip if she moves her foot. She does move it, and I snatch up the penny.
“Jamie, please hand me my phone.” I turn on its flashlight and recoil slightly. It’s filthy under the heater, and the gold coin sits back in the corner beyond the dust bunnies and dead bugs. I reach up to the table, take my fork, and maneuver the double eagle coin through the mine field of grime. I fumble for a paper napkin and use it to pick up the coin.
“Disaster averted,” Jamie says as he helps me climb back onto the banquette while I brush myself off. He asks, “How about a bite to eat before we hit the road?”
“Sounds perfect.” I’m hungry but not famished. “Want to split a sandwich?”
Jamie says to the waitress, but looks at me. “We’ll have a grilled cheese and tomato on whole wheat, two plates?” I nod. “And we’ll also split a piece of that apple-crumb pie I saw on the way in. Please bring us our check, too.”
She goes off with our order, and I get up to go to the restroom to thoroughly wash the coins and my hands.
When I’ve finished, I scan the crowd for the possible driver as I walk back through the spacious restaurant, but no one seems to fit the job description. I do notice that the booth behind us is now empty, and when I look out on the street, I see the SUV is gone.
“Did you get a look at the guy sitting behind us before he left?”
“No. Hey, are you okay?” Jamie asks as I sit down.
“I’m fine. Let’s get to work on the last coin.” I tap 1933 double eagle gold coin into my phone. We skim through the articles and learn that even though almost a half-million were minted, they weren’t circulated but melted down instead. From what we can tell, twenty-two of them were rescued, avoiding the melt-down, and most of the surviving coins were stolen.
“It looks like the Secret Service recovered and destroyed nine of them,” Jamie says.
“That makes the few that are left pretty rare.” I turn the twenty-dollar coin over in my hand.
“And that affects the price. It says here that one sold at auction a few years back for seven-and-a-half-million dollars.”
“Oh my god.” I jam the coin back in my pocket, as deep as I can push it down. “If these are for real, I’ve got maybe ten-million dollars here,” I whisper. “I’ve got to get them out of my blue jeans and authenticated ASAP.”
The waitress shows up with our food and check. Jamie gives her a generous tip, and she leaves with an appreciative smile.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Jamie drives me to Meadow Farm so that I can pick up the old Toyota, my usual surveillance vehicle. Frank said I could use it until my car is ready at the shop.
While I put my things in the back seat, we talk about making plans for the next day. Jamie grabs my hand as I step toward the driver’s door and pulls me toward him. He sweeps me into an all-enveloping embrace, and I willingly melt into him.
“I really don’t want to let you go.” His dark eyes cut right through me. He lifts me up onto the hood of the car and my legs circle around his hips. He buries his face in my neck, his lips travelling softly up to my mouth. I don’t even perceive the evening chill as our kiss builds from gentle to hungry and deep.
Then his mouth travels to my ear and electricity shoots through my body. Just when I expect him to say “Your place or mine,” he surprises me by pulling apart.
His eyes continue to hold my gaze, and I feel as if he’s coming to some kind of decision.
Then he grins and his dark eyes crinkle at the corners. “Even though every part of me wants to do the opposite, I’m sending you home. You and I…we’ve got lots of time to be together…” He beams his glorious smile. “All the time in the world ahead of us.” He nibbles at my ear. “And going slow is tantalizing and…” He searches for another word.
“Tormenting.” I laugh and softly bite his lower lip.
We kiss one last time and reluctantly part, each going our separate ways.
~~~~~
When I arrive home, I only find Warrior in his crate. There’s no sign of Peachie, and I am in a panic as I search the house calling her name. Once I’m satisfied that she’s nowhere inside, I head out with my German shepherd and continue the search.
“Peachie,” I call out repeatedly, walking the circumference of my house. Warrior stays by my side in the low light of early evening.
Then I hear barking way, way off, in the direction of the stream. I short-cut through the woods with Warrior at heel next to me. This feels a little like a repeat of the first time I heard the little terrier barking and searched for her at the Watsons’ a week-and-a-half ago, but without Warrior. “Peachie,” I continue to call out.
The sound of a noise on my right makes me turn quickly, the same way I did that night of the party, right before someone knocked me out. Later, I’d felt sure I’d seen a face before everything went black but I couldn’t remember who. Once again a feeling of déjà vu comes over me like it did during Aikido class with Will. This time though, I see the face and know who it is.
More barking interrupts my thoughts, and I hurry in the direction of the noise. Then I simultaneously hear and see Peach in the brush up ahead, and I hurry over. Relieved to discover her collar stuck on a broken branch, I crouch down and release her.
“Peachie!” She practically jumps into my arms, but is quickly sidetracked by the sight o
f Warrior, and happily licks his face as he lowers his head to sniff her.
Unnerved, I wonder how the terrier got loose in the first place. The three of us walk home, and I pause before we walk through the door. Is my house even safe? I glance around, but Warrior is calm and quiet at my side, so we go in.
I lock up and fix a cup of tea. While I wait for the water to boil, I take another look at the Casey’s fake brown Birkin bag for Sally. I unzip a large inside pocket, expecting it to be empty. But I pull out an old yellowed envelope. There’s nothing written on the outside and the flap is tucked in. So I open it and carefully pull out a piece of paper folded into thirds.
The kettle whistles, and I pour hot water into my cup. As the tea bag steeps, I read:
June 10, 2005
Dear Casey,
I served with your father during World War II, and I thought you might like to have this. Before you throw it away, read this letter.
Four of us from New Jersey fought together during the last years of the war. We shipped out to Italy in 1944, and then Felix got a letter from home, and Janice tells him he’s going to be a father. Well, he wanted to make sure it was really his son. Bottom line is your dad had hidden away some valuable coins before the war and didn’t want to give them to Janice if the kid wasn’t his.
We were all supposed to meet up after the war if Felix didn’t make it, and if the kid was his, we were supposed to put these three pieces of the books together, go after the coins, and sell them. He wanted each of us to keep a little for ourselves and then give the rest to Janice to raise you.
We never met up after the war was over, and Felix was the only one of us who didn’t make it back. I really did try over the years to find our buddies and get the whole book to you. I even got my granddaughter out there looking. Anyhow, I think you should have my part of the book. Maybe you can find the other two guys from our group, if they’re still alive. Last I heard, they were both somewhere in New Jersey, Joe Watson and Mike Gordon.
Searching for Gatsby: A Ronnie Lake Murder Mystery (An Accidental Lady Detective, A Private Investigator Crime Series Book 3) Page 20
