Emerald Fire

by Monica McCabe

  Finn circled from the opposite direction, their light beams crossing as they explored the stone exterior. Chloe reached out and touched one of the columns. Once smooth, it was now pitted with age and exposure to the elements. Intrusive vines had wrapped around several of them, their tentacle roots holding fast to the stone. It was all so eerily beautiful in a destructive sort of way.

  Chloe suddenly choked up, her throat tightening with emotion. A dying and intensely private William Desmond built this tribute to the memory of the only woman to ever hold his heart. Two-hundred years later it still stood, its secret safely hidden from prying eyes.

  “It’s incredible,” Finn said as he stepped up next to her.

  It was, but she couldn’t say anything past the lump in her throat.

  Finn turned his spotlight beam to their surroundings. “Looks like the main path would’ve been over there. It’s wide enough for a wagon or all-terrain vehicle, but I don’t think it’s been used in a very long time.”

  She glanced in the direction of his beam but didn’t move off the stone step. “I can almost feel him,” she said quietly. “I half expect him to come walking down that path.”

  “That would be convenient.”

  Chloe smiled. “Why? So he can show us where he’s hidden the emeralds?”

  “It would certainly make things a lot easier.”

  She laughed softly and returned her attention to the folly’s interior. She stepped up under the dome and shined her light upward. The roof appeared solid and under no immediate threat of collapsing. There were also no markings or clues pointing the way—not that she’d expected any.

  Finn walked to the center and scuffed at the floor with his shoe, rubbing at a thick coating of moss. He shined the light straight down and scuffed some more, then dropped to his knees and used his hands to brush away debris.

  “What is it?” she asked as she joined him.

  “An etching in the floor,” he replied. “Help me uncover it.”

  For the next few minutes, they scratched and swept. Finn disappeared long enough to scrounge the woods and bring back a sturdy branch to scrape away the thick layers of green algae. Slowly, a design began to reveal itself.

  “The star,” Chloe said in excitement. “It’s the same one.”

  It took heavy manual labor, but they uncovered the now familiar elongated star. They stood back and stared.

  “It’s outlined,” Finn said.

  “That probably means something.” Chloe dropped to her knees next to one of the outer lines and ran her fingers along the etching. “Hand me your pocket knife.”

  Finn pulled it from his pack, opened it, and passed it over handle first.

  She set to work, painstakingly digging out a century of dirt from the line. “I think the star is a medallion, a separate slab. It can be removed.”

  Finn had already figured that out and had the crowbar in his hand as he joined her on the floor. He jimmied the flat end into the gap and wedged. Nothing moved at first, but he tried again, pushing his weight into it. A grinding of dirt against stone echoed from beneath them.

  “There’s a chamber under that thing,” she exclaimed. She grabbed the branch Finn was using to scrape away the moss and placed the thick end by the line, ready to shove it under an opening. “Do it again.”

  Finn wedged the crowbar in deeper and heaved, his muscles bulging under the strain. But an opening appeared, and Chloe jammed the stick in place. It held the slab open by a couple of inches, and she put her hand next to it, feeling cool air waft across her skin. She tried to shine her spotlight through the tiny opening, but couldn’t see anything.

  “We need more branches,” Finn said. “With enough of them we can roll the slab to the side.”

  They jumped into action, and the woods soon filled with sounds of snapping and rustling underbrush. Within minutes, they had a growing stack and, while Finn kept collecting, Chloe set to work stripping them down so they’d roll.

  Once they had about a dozen good pieces, they carried them back to the slab and got busy. Finn used the crowbar for a little more leverage, and Chloe got another log in place, then Finn traded up to a bigger stick to get more height. It was a slow process, but they eventually succeeded in getting the slab elevated enough to move. Finn sat on the ground and used his feet to shove the heavy granite aside, Chloe adding her strength to the effort. When a three-foot-wide hole appeared, the yawning darkness dared them to descend.

  “You first,” Finn said with a smile.

  She laughed and rolled onto her stomach at the edge, shining her light into the void. “There’s a wooden ladder.”

  Finn did the same thing from the other side and twin beams illuminated a small chamber, roughly fifteen feet square. The walls were made of old brick and mortar, but it was the recess cut into one side that caught Chloe’s eye.

  “This looks like a crypt,” Finn said.

  “Could be,” she said as she scooted toward the ladder. “I’ve never been able to find a record of where Desmond is buried.”

  She sat up and swung her legs over the edge, one foot testing the first rung. It held, so she twisted around and lowered to another, then another, until she reached bottom and stepped aside to give Finn room.

  The underground chamber had a slight chill compared to the warmth above, the air musty and still. She aimed her light upward, using the ceiling to cast a dim shadowy glow over all.

  “William Desmond, I presume?” Finn asked, his light pinpointing the deep burial niche where a simple yet ornate coffin rested. Pale fine-grain wood panels were held together with decorative metal clasps, the handles dulled by age. A thin layer of metal sheeting covered the top and folded down far enough to seal the opening, and Chloe lightly traced her fingers along the rounded studs that secured it in place.

  “It must be him,” she whispered, feeling a sense of reverence over his final resting place. Two centuries separated them, and it felt surreal to stand beside the man she’d made her life’s work, a selfless and faithful servant of a Prussian queen until his last dying breath.

  Finn’s hand rested on her shoulder and squeezed, as though he understood the turbulent emotions and sympathized. What twisted inside her was grief. Someone was missing. She’d started this journey because of her mother, and Chloe fervently wished she was here, too, to share in the discovery.

  “There’s something else,” Finn said quietly.

  He turned her to face the back corner where a four-foot high, exquisitely detailed, onyx and bronze pedestal stood alone. A piece fit for royalty and strangely out of place compared to the simplicity of Desmond’s coffin.

  An equally detailed wooden chest sat on top of the pedestal. Beautifully etched celestial designs, mother-of-pearl, and the glitter of precious gems peeked through the dust of age. Whatever lay inside was protected by a heart-shaped padlock with intertwined initials.

  “L-A-M—Louise Auguste Mecklenburg.” Chloe turned to Finn with a huge smile. “I do believe we are looking at the last resting place of the queen’s royal parure.”

  Her hands were shaking when she reached for the padlock and pulled. It didn’t budge. Time and rust had fastened it tight, and she moaned in dismay. “We can’t break off the lock. It will damage the chest. It’s too beautiful to desecrate like that.”

  “Lucky for us I have this.” Finn held up a small heart-shaped key.

  She gasped, inhaling a breath of musty air. “Where did you find that?”

  “Cleverly hanging in the pedestal design.” He pointed to a tiny hook and rested the key in place, showing her the fit.

  She brought her fingers to her lips. “How ingenious,” she said.

  He lifted the key again and offered it to her. “The honor goes to you.”

  Her heart began to pound. She lifted the heart from his palm and stepped close enough to carefully insert it into the lock. With a long deep breath, she twisted the key, and a soft click sounded as the lock gav
e way.

  Emotion suddenly overwhelmed her. Her hands shook so badly she had to clasp them together and struggle to regain control.

  Finn’s arms instantly came around her and tightened, cradling her against his warmth. “It’s okay, Chloe,” he whispered, “I’ve got you.”

  He’d said that before. Never mind she hated the weakness she currently felt, she knew without a doubt that Finn would do whatever it took to keep her safe. That knowledge wrapped around her heart and squeezed.

  “Want me to help?” Finn asked.

  She took a deep breath, and though she could still feel tremors inside, she stood straight and shook her head. “I’m ready to do this.”

  Together they stepped up close to the chest. At his encouraging nod, Chloe removed the lock, loosened the hasp, and lifted the lid.

  They both leaned forward to peer inside.

  “Nooo!” Chloe moaned.

  The queen’s treasure chest was empty.

  Chapter 26

  Finn couldn’t move, just blankly stared at the empty chest. He hadn’t realized how much hope he’d put into this treasure hunt until this moment when the weight of what he had on the line hit him.

  “This can’t be!” Tears filled Chloe’s eyes as she circled in place, desperately searching the sparse chamber for another possibility and finding none.

  He’d run out of options, and there was nowhere left to turn. They’d been outwitted by a ghost. The clues had seemed so solid, but all Desmond left was a trail of red herrings.

  “It doesn’t make sense,” Chloe said. “Why would he write those things in the journal? Why make this crypt and the heart-shaped lock if he didn’t intend to use it to secure the emeralds?”

  “Maybe someone beat us to the punch long ago.” It was the only thing that made sense to Finn. They weren’t here because they’d already been found.

  Chloe walked over to the ornate coffin and lightly ran her hands along the edge of the sealed top. “This hasn’t been disturbed. The seal is intact.” She tilted her head to one side and traced a wood-grain pattern with a finger, then frowned. “What if the emeralds are inside with him?”

  Grave robbing was a fine line, one he didn’t really want to cross. “If Desmond went to that much effort to keep the jewels, then they should stay with him.”

  Chloe leaned forward with her light, shining it between the coffin and its niche. “I don’t think this casket has been moved in a couple hundred years.” She stepped back and glanced around in desperation. “Let’s go over this place inch by inch. Search every wall, corner, and brick for any sort of anomaly.”

  It was the only thing left to do at that point, so they spent the next half hour poring over the crypt. They touched every surface, kicked at the hard-packed earth, even examined the ladder, but they came up empty handed. The room was just as it appeared. A crypt built of plain brick and mortar to hold a single coffin and a pedestal that once had supported priceless emeralds.

  She gravitated back to the empty wooden chest and stared inside. “There has to be something we are missing,” she said as she traced the inlaid mother-of-pearl with her fingers.

  “We aren’t finding it in here,” Finn replied. “We should to go back to square one, piece this together again, and hopefully find another lead.”

  Her shoulders drooped in defeat, and she leaned back against the wall, closing her eyes. “I don’t understand,” she whispered.

  He didn’t either, but it wasn’t a total bust. He set his light down on the pedestal and stepped close to her before brushing a hand under her chin. Her warm brown eyes opened at the caress, only they were full of shadows. He hated to see it, to know she was hurting.

  “You do realize there are plenty of successes to celebrate here,” he told her.

  She shook her head. “How do you figure?”

  “For one, you actually found William Desmond.”

  Her eyes shifted over to the coffin, but she didn’t say anything.

  “Two, you have proven that the emeralds did exist.”

  She lifted a shoulder in a half shrug.

  “And three, I’m proud of you.”

  That snapped her attention back to him. “I don’t know why you’d say that. You and Uncle Jon…” She sighed heavily. “Both of you have a lot on the line, and I’ve come up with nothing.”

  “We will find a way to survive,” he said adamantly. “I’ll find an investor if I have to, take on a partner.”

  Her lips compressed in dismay, and she shook her head.

  “Look,” Finn said. “We aren’t even close to being done. You’ve gotten us this far, and I have faith there is more. All we have to do is put our heads together. We’ll find another clue.”

  Her eyes grew round, and she stared at him. “There’ll be no guarantees.”

  “I know,” he declared. “Doesn’t change the fact that we are still a team. That won’t dissolve because of one setback.”

  She took a deep breath and lowered her head, but he wasn’t through with her yet. He placed a couple fingers under her chin and lifted until she faced him.

  “Repeat after me,” he said with a smile. “I, Chloe Larson, am a mad historian with skills.”

  She laughed at that one. “Shouldn’t that be a historian with mad skills?”

  “Whatever it takes to light that fire again.”

  Her mouth opened slightly in surprise. Exactly the reaction he was looking for. He leaned in and kissed her, lightly at first but deepened the pressure when her hands slid up his arms and around his shoulders. She still held onto her flashlight and its beam bounced off the walls, but he ignored it and focused on the soft woman in his arms, the way she responded to his touch and the heat that built whenever they came together.

  He’d love nothing more than to kiss her until she forgot all about missing emeralds and cold, dark crypts. But reality said that had to wait. This wasn’t the place or the time. Reluctantly, he broke off the kiss, but did so slowly, relishing her taste, the way her lips fit his, and how easy it was to lose the world when she panted those tiny little breaths against his skin.

  “Let’s go home,” he said quietly, almost hoping she didn’t hear. They had a long walk back with little to no cell service, and it was well past time for another check-in with those waiting at NorthStar.

  But she heard. “Home,” she repeated, and her arms slid from around his neck. When she frowned and turned away from him, he wondered what he’d said wrong. Silently, she took one last long look around and headed for the ladder.

  They climbed out into complete darkness. Finn set his spotlight on the ground, its light shining upward into the dome and reflecting down. Together they wrestled the slab back where it belonged. Desmond’s final resting place needed to remain secret for a while longer.

  While Chloe scattered leaves around to try to hide the star from sight, Finn stashed the logs they’d used just inside the woods. They might need them again in the near future. Then he swept, brushed, and tossed away any evidence of their intrusion.

  When he was done, he glanced back at the folly to see Chloe standing motionless on the steps, staring down at the floor. This failure was a blow for him, but it had to hit her even harder. She’d poured years of her life into this search, only to come up empty-handed at the end. That would be a tough pill to swallow for anyone. But Chloe had tenacity. She wouldn’t give up. He wouldn’t let her. Together they’d figure it out.

  He joined her on the steps and took one last look around. They couldn’t erase every sign of their disturbance—only time would accomplish that—but they’d done a fairly decent job of remediation. Chloe still contemplated the floor, only now she chewed on a fingernail and frowned.

  “You are thinking so hard I can hear the wheels turning,” he said. “What is it?”

  She pointed to the maritime star. It was still visible, and he wondered if they should toss on more forest debris.

  She tilted her head sli
ghtly as she stared at it. “You know,” she said softly, “there’s one other person who knew about the emeralds while Desmond was alive.”

  Finn tried to follow her train of thought. Then the answer hit him. “Reginald Mathis.”

  She turned to face him. “He is the founding father of NorthStar and lifelong friend of William Desmond. He was with him in Prussia. He sailed to America on the same ship. Mathis knew the secret. When his friend’s mental health began to decline, he would’ve helped him build this thing to protect that secret.” She waved her arm out to encompass the folly. “Desmond’s daughter had died. The only heirs to inherit his estate were Emily’s two children. They never knew Desmond, didn’t know the secret. They wouldn’t hesitate to sell the house, the land, every bit of it for the money.”

  Finn began to understand the logic of what she was saying. “Mathis may have feared for the emeralds’ safety when the property sold. But why wouldn’t he tell the heirs? Why continue to keep silent?”

  “I don’t know. Honor, maybe. What if he promised his dying friend to guard the legacy? If so, it makes sense he’d move them if the estate went up for sale.” She went silent and chewed on her bottom lip for a second. “This is a long shot, but could they be hidden somewhere at NorthStar?”

  Finn rubbed at his chin as he thought. “It’s possible, I guess. There are plenty of places to hide a bundle that size.”

  “There aren’t many structures left from that era. Right? Sort of narrows the field.”

  “Not just buildings,” Finn added. “They could be buried on the grounds. The journal, the chalice…underground seemed to be a focus for both.”

  “Let’s hope not. That would be a needle in a haystack.”

  Finn lit the backlight on his watch. “It’s nine-forty, and we’ve done all we can here. How about we head back and see what we can find out?”

  Chloe lifted her backpack in place and grabbed her spotlight. “Lead the way.”

  While they followed the narrow animal trail back toward the wider cart path, Finn mentally went over possible locations. He’d already demolished several old buildings and found nothing, but they probably weren’t candidates anyhow.