She nodded slowly. “So you’re like an elephant.”
“Something like that.” More like a fool. He cleared his throat. He’d made her a promise about her proverbial shoes, and if he was going to keep that promise, they had to stay on task—even though Elisa’s eyes were asking him a dozen questions he wished he could answer. “First, we need to think of some numerical combinations that might have meaning and correspond with the clue and these instrument numbers, or book and pages.”
Ideally, they needed to figure it out before Cade came back—and before the keyboard melted under Noah’s suddenly heated palms.
“Hmm.” Elisa drummed her fingers again as she focused on the monitor. “Longfellow wrote Paul Revere’s Ride. So what was Longfellow’s birthday?”
“November 1905.”
Her head swiveled to face him, her mouth a perfect O. “You have that memorized?”
Noah tried to keep his expression steady, but failed and chuckled.
“You liar.” She slapped lightly at his arm, and he couldn’t help but flex under her touch. Okay, maybe he should let Cade off the hook.
“I’ll Google it.” He pulled up an internet window, but she was faster with her cell.
“February 27, 1807.” She pursed her lips at him. “You weren’t even close.”
“So for the instrument number, that’d translate to 2271807.” He pecked the number into the search field and hit enter. “That’s a mineral deed for a Mr. Keats.”
Elisa lifted one shoulder in a shrug, her expression crestfallen. “That name doesn’t sound familiar.”
“Agreed. But…” Noah held up his finger. “Grandfather could have tucked the next clue into that book. The actual document details might not matter. I think we’re only looking for the holding place.”
“That’s true.” She brightened again. “I’ll go look.”
“Let’s think of a few more potential hits and then I’ll show you how to find the right book. Every courthouse has its own filing system on the shelves.”
“Sounds good.” She leaned close again, her arm brushing his. “What else?”
“Paul Revere’s birthday?” Noah pulled up the date and typed it in. “That’d be 12211734.” He frowned. “No, that’s too long to be an instrument. Or a book and page.”
“Maybe we’re going about this wrong with the birthdays.” Elisa leaned back in her seat. “The clue read ‘the truth to end a fray.’ What day did the war end?”
There she went again with the brilliance. Noah quickly ran the search. “April 19, 1775.”
Elisa hesitated briefly. “So, 4191775.”
Bingo. “That’s two good leads.”
Hope pitched in her voice. “You think?”
“Absolutely.” He turned to look at her. Mistake. She was much too close. The barely suppressed excitement in her eyes reminded him of standing in line at the Magnolia Bay Festival for a roller coaster ride. Of foot-long corndogs that left a streak of mustard across her dimpled cheek. Of counting to three and jumping off the dock hand-in-hand.
Noah abruptly pushed back his chair. “Let’s give it a try.” And give him a bit of space in the process.
He and Elisa might be in a room surrounded by old documents, but the only history he could think of was theirs.
* * *
Elisa shut the conveyance book, then sneezed into her elbow. Noah had explained to her how the courthouse kept the conveyance records organized on the shelves, but for the life of her, she couldn’t remember anything except for the way his eyes sparkled when he got to teach her something. He’d been pretty business-like since the park, so seeing him in his element brought a hope that maybe her shooting down that near-kiss hadn’t done any lasting damage.
And if she didn’t know better, she’d have thought he was acting jealous of Cade—a concept that had both her mind and heart buzzing.
She shut off her phone flashlight that she’d been using to skim through the pages, since Cade had insisted they not turn on any overhead lights, and lifted the heavy book into her arms. Dust coated her fingers.
“Find anything?” Noah looked up as he slid another book onto the shelf a few rows over. His phone, balanced on the shelf beside him, cast a halo in the dim room.
