I shook my head. “Rory installed a top-of-the-line alarm. I think it should’ve gone off.” Sure, alarms could be skirted, but from the sounds of it, the bomber had been a moron with the dynamite, so how capable could he be?
Franco reached for a pen and scratched something on a notepad. “Tell me about what’s supposed to be in the shop.”
Supposed to be? I stiffened. “Sheriff?—”
“Fiona?” He cut me off.
She glanced at me and then back at him, looking diminutive in the worn guest chair. I’m only about five foot four, and even I dwarf her. “Not any money. The shop’s grand opening is Saturday during the actual St. Paddy’s Day parade, and I haven’t stocked the cash register yet. But my lotions, candles, tarot cards, teas, games, and the rest of my inventory are all in place.” She clasped her hands in her lap. “My lotions are the best, as are my crystals, but I can’t see anybody stealing them. Unless—” She paled.
“Unless what?” Franco asked.
She blinked, her green eyes darkening. “Please tell me they didn’t steal my gold nugget boxes.”
My heart sank. Oh no.
Franco didn’t twitch. “What boxes?”
She took a deep breath. “In the center of the shop, on a pedestal covered in glass. Please tell me the seven boxes were there.”
I studied the sheriff.
He studied my Nana. “The glass was shattered and the pedestal empty.” His gaze flicked to me and then back to her. “Did you say nuggets?”
“Nugget boxes made out of pure silver,” I said before she could. “They once supposedly held large gold nuggets from the Grizzly River, and the boxes are handcrafted, about one pound each, out of silver.”
His eyebrows rose. “No kidding? The melt floor for a pound of silver right now is about five grand.”
Nana reared up. “Melt floor?” Her voice rose. “Those are intricate, well-crafted and beautiful boxes. It’s a collective set, probably worth ten thousand dollars each, and that’s not counting the treasure map on the bottoms when you put them together. That could be priceless.”
Franco sat back, his chin lifting. “Treasure map?” He frowned, studying me. “Is this true?”
I sighed. “Yes. If you put the boxes together, there’s a hand-painted map that features the Grizzly River and some mountain. Could be any mountain. When we were kids, we’d pretend there was really gold out there and would go look. It’s fanciful, Sheriff.”
Nana crossed her arms. “It is not. My great-grandmother painted that, and I’m sure there’s buried treasure out there. Somewhere.” She huffed. “My plan for opening day was to let people take a picture of the map with every purchase over fifty dollars. Darn it. Would’ve made a killing on day one.”
Franco rubbed his chin. “Fiona? Who all knows about the nugget boxes being at your shop?”
I winced.
Nana’s eyes widened. “Everybody. The Timber Gazette featured my new shop in an article just last week, and I told the reporter all about the boxes and map to find the gold nuggets. She even took a picture.” Nana leaned forward. “Didn’t you read my article, Sheriff?”
“No. I just got back to town this morning.” He looked toward the door like he wished he’d have come back tomorrow instead. “Was fishin’ with my nephews up in Alaska.” His tone softened. “I promise I’ll read the article right away.” He focused on me. “What are they worth? I mean, without the map?”
Ah. Good question. “Enough to pawn somewhere,” I affirmed, looking at Nana. “You haven’t taken your good crystals, the big ones worth money, to the shop yet, have you?”
“No,” she replied. “I know I need to take them from my house to the shop, but I haven’t wanted to yet. Good thing, too.”
Very true. “So the most valuable items in the shop were the boxes,” I noted.
Nana pressed her lips together. “My lotions are worth a fortune, Anna. They’re full of magic.”
“Yeah, but magic can’t be pawned,” I said gently.
Franco arched a white eyebrow. “Why would anybody want to blow up the shop?”
“Maybe to hide the theft?” I asked. “It sounds like they didn’t know what they were doing with the dynamite. Like maybe they were goofing off.” This entire thing felt odd—more like a prank than a real danger. Except for that dynamite. “Could this be kids messing around?”
“If it is, they’re gonna regret it,” Bampa boomed from the doorway.
