“She minds.” I gesture toward the counter, where the barista is aggressively stirring caramel into the bottom of her cup like it personally wronged her. “Even if only on principle.”
Lili sighs like I’m being impossible, and when our drinks are finally ready, we move to a table outside.
She watches me over the rim of her cup. “You know there are things in this world that you’re wrong about.”
“Not many.” I eye her coffee. “You, on the other hand...”
She pushes it toward me. “Try it then.”
I sip my Americano. “No.”
“Why not?”
“Because you’re supposed to be showing me some huge thing you discovered.”
“Oh, yes!” She pulls her coffee monstrosity back. “Okay, so one of the books I borrowed from the museum was a copy of the Eliza Mitchell diary, because you said she was the earliest source that claimed Kezia had a smuggler’s hole somewhere near Quaise.” She pulls the book from her bag and begins flipping through the pages before sliding it over to me and tapping on one of the paragraphs. “This is the section where she actually claims to have seen inside it.”
I’ve read this before, but I scan it again now to appease her.
Many have wondered whether Kezia Gardner did indeed possess a concealed passage by which she might convey contraband to the water under cover of night. I was very anxious, as well as curious, to find out about there being anything of the kind. One day, I went out a Black Berry Picking alone, as was my usual custom. I managed not to be seen, and I went where the entrance might be found. I crawled in and found just as had been told me quite a storage place, and in the center I could stand nearly straight. All was timeworn and very much decay’d but I saw all that I needed to convince me of the crafty business she had that provate room arranged for. No doubt she was a very capable woman, but lacking very much in principle.
I finish reading, waiting for her to explain how this is supposed to prove anything. “Okay?”
She’s still grinning as she opens her dad’s notebook and hands it to me, leaning to point out a passage on the left page that appears to quote Kezia. It’s difficult to read and Lili is apparently too impatient to wait.
“Never mind, I memorized it. It says: ‘1775 Tuesday, July 18: The blackberry brambles along the south pasture grow thick with fruit, though I dare not go near. One breath of their sickly sweet ripeness and my throat begins to tighten.’” She barely pauses before adding, “And before you ask, I already found the same exact lines in Kezia’s diary. I can’t make out all the words exactly butblackberry,throat, andtightencan’t be anything else.”
She shoves her tablet onto the already-crowded table, the photo of the diary entry pulled up and ready. “Kezia wouldn’t have hidden anything near blackberries because she was allergic to them!” Lili collapses back against her chair, pure satisfaction written all over her face.
I reread all three sources, struggling with her dad’s handwriting and the damaged page in the diary, but eventually I have to concede that she might be right. “I think I see the words too, barely, but yeah.”
“Wren.” She grabs my shoulders and gives me a light shake. “It’s okay to be excited. We just proved she couldn’t have had a smuggler’s hole where everyone else claimed!”
I huff out a laugh before I can stop myself. “Okay, but you’re talking about one account. There are others.”
Her grin doesn’t dim a single watt. “The Mitchell accountpredates the other sources. Isn’t it possible that everybody else took their stories from hers?” She knows she’s right as she holds up her ridiculous coffee for me to cheers. “Come on,” she says when I don’t immediately lift my own cup. “This is good for you too. Think about it: The Whaling Museum cites later accounts for the smuggler’s hole in their Kezia exhibit, and McCleave’s can challenge their sources! Don’t tell me you don’t love the idea of that.”
I do, but even if the smuggler’s hole is a myth, it doesn’t erase the rest of accepted history. If there’s more to find, and that’s an ocean-sizedif, it’s going to take more work and, frankly, a lot of luck. But I still raise my coffee, because she already proved me wrong once and part of me wants to see if she can do it again. “To sticking it to the Whaling Museum.”
I watch as she leans back, eyes bright, completely lost in the thrill of discovery. She owns this moment, like she never doubted for a second that she’d make it happen.
It’s hard not to be impressed.
Lili catches me staring, her smile turning curious. “What?” she asks. “Surprised a Tourist Girl could put something like this together?”
“Yeah,” I say, still watching her. “But I won’t make that mistake again.”
Her teasing expression falters, like she wasn’t expecting me to actually answer. Like she wasn’t expecting me to mean it.
I wasn’t expecting to either, but I can’t take it back. I can, however, put a smile back on her face.
Reaching across the table, I pluck her cup right out of her hands and take a sip. The sugar and caramel hit first, thick and cloying,like someone melted a candy bar straight into a cup. I choke it down, pushing the drink back toward her.
Lili’s surprise turns to laughter. “Well?”
I set the cup down with a shake of my head. “Like I said, a crime.”
Eighteen
