Maya emerged from the bag with a furrowed brow. “I don’t see how you stand it, Addie. Seriously?”
“It doesn’t smell bad in here, does it?”
Maya sniffed, then shrugged. “Just that usual musty old book odor that you seem to thrive on. You remind me of my grandpa.”
“Maybe I should smoke a pipe too.”
“That might help.” While Maya unloaded dinner onto the wooden crate that served as a coffee table, Adelaide went to the cabinet she’d turned into her minikitchenette and got out two paper plates. Then, as Maya divvied out ribs, corn on the cob, mac and cheese, and coleslaw, she reminded Adelaide that she’d invited her to share her two-bedroom apartment more than once. “But you’d have to get rid of some of your junk.” She gestured toward an overflowing bookshelf.
“I’ve spent years collecting these books,” Adelaide said defensively as she sat down. “Not only are they a valuable investment but they’re also good resources.”
“Information I’m sure you could find online.”
“But these books make me happy.” Adelaide picked up a rib with one hand and used the other to thumb through her mail. She had several pieces of tree-wasting junk mail, as well as an odd-looking legal-size envelope. “Interesting.” She turned it over.
“What’s that?”
Adelaide studied the return address. “I’ve never seen anything like this. It says it’s from the Principality of Montovia.”
“Sounds made up. Probably a scam.” Maya reached for an ear of corn.
“A scam from Montovia?”
“Where on earthisMontovia?”
“Montovia is a European country. I think it’s near Austria or Hungary. But it’s tiny. Even smaller than Liechtenstein.”
“What’s Liechtenstein?”
Adelaide’s mouth dropped open. “Didn’t you takeanygeography in school?”
Maya made a face as she chomped into her corn.
Adelaide wiped her fingers on a napkin, then, using a clean plastic knife, slit open the sturdy envelope. “Who would write to me from Montovia?” She read the first line, then dropped the two-page letter to her lap. “You gotta be kidding!”
“What is it?” Maya leaned forward with interest.
“You were probably right, Maya. Itmustbe a scam.” Even so, Adelaide picked up the letter. “Although it’s surprisingly well done for a scam.” She fingered the embossed paper as she held it out for Maya to see. “Official letterhead, good parchment, and it looks like it was typed on a real typewriter.”
“Read it out loud,” Maya insisted. “If it’s a scam, we’ll have a good laugh.”
Adelaide slowly read from the first page.
Dear Miss Adelaide Katelyn Smith,
With the help of an American investigator, it has come to our attention that you are in all likelihood the direct descendant of Maximillian Konig V, reigning king of Montovia. The agency we employed discovered your identity through an international DNA registry. After consulting with several genetic experts, it has been determined that this match is indeed authentic.
We have also confirmed that your late mother, Susan Marie Smith, was engaged to Maximillian Konig V nearly thirty years ago, but the marriage was not approved by the king. According to the investigative report, the engagement was broken, and Ms. Smith returned to the United States. Approximately eight months later, she gave birth to a baby girl named Adelaide Katelyn Smith.
I am writing to inform you that we believe you to be the daughter of King Maximillian Konig V and, as a result, the true royal heir to the throne and—
“Stop, stop, stop!” Maya yelled. “Read that last line again!”
With slightly trembling hands, Adelaide reread that startling sentence. “Thishasto be a scam.” She held the letter at arm’s length. “Whoever wrote this is seriously twisted.” She skimmed the second page of the letter, which detailed an extravagant invitation to Montovia, before she tossed both pages to the floor.
“No way is this real,” she declared as she stood. She paced across the small room and mostly ignored Maya, who’d scooped up the letter and was poring over the pages like they were the original draft of the Magna Carta. “This is either an elaborate scam that’ll be followed up with a demand for money or someone is playing a prank on me, because there’s no possible way this is for real. It’s just too weird.”
Maya set the pages on the table. “I don’t know ... it seems kind of real to me.”
