Pirate

She started for the front door. Sam reached out and touched her arm. “Actually,” he said, “I’m a little worried that someone might have broken into your house.”

Surprisingly, she laughed, then started forward again, pulling her keys from her purse. “I doubt that. We’re so far out in the country, who would waste their time? It’s not like there’s anything of value in there.”

“Even so, it looks like someone may have gone in through the back door.”

Together, the three walked around to the back, and Sam pointed out the gouges in the wood by the lock.

“Oh dear.”

He reached out, opened the door. “It was locked, I assume.”

She nodded but said nothing.

“I’m sure they’re gone,” he said. “But, frankly, I’d rather not take any chances.”

“It will take forever before the police arrive. We’re so far out.”

“I can check while you call from Remi’s cell phone.”

“Please.”

He pushed the door open, listening a moment before entering. Behind him, he heard Remi saying, “Don’t worry. He’s very good at this.”

Then Grace replying, “Why would anyone break in?”

The back door led into a mud porch, rain boots neatly placed on the floor beneath slickers that hung above them on the wall. He passed through the small kitchen, drawing his gun from its holster. Undoubtedly, they’d come for one thing only, and, sure enough, that’s exactly what he found was missing. Regardless, he checked the rest of the house, then holstered his gun before joining the two outside. “They’re gone.”

Remi said, “The police are on their way.”

Grace, her face pale, asked, “Is anything missing?”

“I’m afraid so,” Sam said, leading them to the front of the house, then pointing to the wall near the front door.

She looked up at the empty space between the two paintings and below the family crest. “The shield? Why on earth would anyone steal that?”

“We believe,” Sam said, “that the symbols on the shield boss were used in creating an old code to decipher a map.”

“A shield boss? I’m not sure what that is.”

“It’s the round brass seal at the center of the shield. It’s a decorative piece used to connect the handle to the shield itself.”

She stared at the wall, then turned toward Sam. “You’re certain it hides a code? It was just a pretty Celtic design.”

“It’s what was around the border of that design on the edge of the circle. Not the Celtic interlacing in the center.”

“That’s…” Grace put her hand on her chest, shaking her head. “I think I need to sit down.”

“Here,” Remi said, stepping forward and taking her by the arm, leading her into the parlor. “Can I get you something to drink?”

“Thank you, no. I’m fine.”

Sam took a seat in the chair across from Grace. “You said something about two men who came by just before we did asking about the artifacts you’d inherited.”

She nodded.

“Would you be able to describe them?”

“I think so… Do you think they…?”

“If it’s the same men we’ve run into, then yes.”

“But why?”

“This code I mentioned. We’re not sure, but it’s possible the map it deciphers is to some treasure.”

Her brows went up. “That old legend?”

“You’ve heard of it?”

“Well, yes. But it was just one of those stories told at bedtime. No one actually believed.”

“This legend,” Sam said, wanting to keep her on point before the police arrived. “Can you tell us the story?”

“It’s been so long…” She leaned back in her seat, her glance straying to the empty space on the wall. “I couldn’t have been more than ten or eleven. It was at my cousins’… They teased me because I was a girl, therefore couldn’t be part of it.”

“Part of what?”

“The protectorship. I remember my oldest cousin teasing me, saying, ‘Don’t you know anything? You have to be a boy. Girls can’t be protectors.’” She gave a slight shrug. “Or something like that.”

“Protector of what?”

“King John’s Treasure, of course.”

Thirty-six

Remi was certain she’d misunderstood Mrs. Herbert. “King John, as in King Richard’s brother?”

“The same,” Grace said.

“That’s supposed to be quite the treasure,” Remi said. “Over seventy million pounds, if I recall correctly.”

“But the stories aren’t real, are they? Why on earth would anyone believe them?”

“Hard to say,” Sam said. “What exactly do you recall from the story you heard?”

“Well…” She looked at Sam. “They were more like fairytales than anything else. King John asked William the Marshal to hide the crown jewels to save England. The treasure being lost in the fens was all a ruse so that the young crown prince wouldn’t be attacked. Or something along those lines. As I said, I never paid much attention. Just stories I heard my uncle telling my cousins when we were children.”

“What happened to your cousins?” Remi asked.

“My older cousin died about ten years ago in a car accident, and his younger brother this last year of a heart attack.”

“No other relatives?” Sam asked. “Anyone else who might have heard the stories?”