Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 93002 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 465(@200wpm)___ 372(@250wpm)___ 310(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93002 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 465(@200wpm)___ 372(@250wpm)___ 310(@300wpm)
“I think this goes with the Jefferson cipher wheel, the one I have at home.” Sterling replaced the wax paper and card with the cipher back in the tin. Surging to her feet, she tossed the magnifying glass in her purse along with the tin and grabbed my hand. “Come on, let’s go.”
I let her drag me out of the house, slowing only long enough to lock the door behind us. Sterling gave me a little shove toward the passenger door of her car. I got in without argument, not wanting to waste time. She slid behind the wheel and started the engine, a determined look in her eyes. That cipher had been making her crazy, I could tell. Now that she had a lead on the key, nothing was going to stop her.
I wanted to find the next clue, especially if it felt like another message from my father. But more, I wanted to see her face when she solved it and the one after that. I wanted to see her triumph, needed her to be a part of this journey of my father’s.
Her tires ate up the miles between my house and Heartstone Manor. Sterling didn’t say anything on the drive other than muttering under her breath once or twice that she swore she’d looked at the wax paper already. I was sure she had, too, but as she’d said earlier, the light in her bedroom wasn’t great. In contrast, you could do surgery on my kitchen table. I liked a bright kitchen. Maybe she’d looked under her desk lamp and missed the tiny, pale gray scribbles. It was more than possible.
Sterling didn’t say another word until we were in her room. She went straight to her desk, setting the peppermint tin in front of her. Pulling the Jefferson cipher wheel out of a drawer along with a pad of paper and a pen, she began the painstaking work of deciphering the code.
“This is it,” she said when she was only a few letters in. “It’s an address.”
“Four, five, two, Laurel Lane,” she read aloud, “Right, let me check this again.” She’d written a row and stopped and gone back, checking the cipher wheel and the alphanumeric code again before slowly writing the last two letters: RC.
“I don’t know what that last part means,” she said, “but the first part is definitely an address.”
I read from the screen of my phone. 452 Laurel Lane was an address deep in the mountains, less than an hour from Heartstone Manor. Based on the satellite view of the map, it looked like it was on at least a few acres of forested land. Nothing about the location rang a bell to me. I had no memories of visiting the place I saw on the screen, nor did I recognize any of the town or street names nearby.
“That must be where we find the key to the cipher on the index card,” Sterling said. “Come on, let’s go. It’s not that far.”
“Maybe we should do some research first,” I said.
Sterling shook her head. “What’s there to research? We have an address. We’ll take my car. That’s the one that the Learys aren’t tracking. Hawk already checked it.”
“You don’t want to tell Griffen or Hawk where we’re going?” I asked, following her down the hall to the main stairs.
Sterling slowed, appearing to think about my question before shaking her head and picking up her pace, “No, we’re not going far. We’ll be back by lunch.”
“Sterling,” I started, torn between caution and the same need that drove her. I wanted to follow the lead. I didn’t want to wait and be careful and cautious. I didn’t want to be sensible. What were the odds that this new place, 452 Laurel Lane, would be the end of our search? Unlikely. I had a feeling I’d know when we were at the end, and this wasn’t it. This was just one more piece in the puzzle, and no one had any incentive to hurt either of us until we got to the end.
I closed my mouth, deciding to let it go. For the first time, it felt like Sterling and I were in this together. I felt the same driving beat in my bloodstream, the same need to solve the clue, to know what came next. What would I see when we got there? Would it come to life as a part of my past, the way the boathouse had brought back Sugar Mae and Bob? I wouldn’t know until we got there.
We didn’t talk much on the way, letting the navigation app guide us through winding country roads, up the side of a mountain, and down a weed-infested gravel drive to a small, faded Craftsman bungalow surrounded by trees. There was a real estate lockbox on the door, probably holding the key, but it looked as if it hadn’t been touched in months. The whole place had a faded, sad feel. The curtains were drawn, and old, dusty pollen was thick on the floorboards of the front porch. Whoever had lived here, they were gone. No one had been here for a long time. Sterling strode up the steps, leaving footprints in the dust. She raised her fist to bang against the door.