I let out a sharp breath. “Understatementof the year.”
Jack pushed the insurance inventory list aside and thumbed through theAuroraArcherlettersIhad been reading over.Thetiny vial of moonshine, the engraved pen, and the key sat beside them. “Haveyou figured out what they mean yet?”
“Why do you think they mean something?”
He fingered the key. “Thishas to go to something, right?Yousaid it didn’t go to any furniture or locks in the house.Whyelse would it be hidden in a brick at the top of the fireplace?”Hepicked up the pen and inspected it, then clicked the end and scribbled a series of circles on the corner of a junk mail envelope.Theink came out in a barely-there pale yellow.
“That’s weird . . .”
“Probably just old,” he said. “What’sweird is the engraving.There’sno bank around here named that.”
“There’s that island namedShacklefordBanks.Isee advertisements for the ferry everywhere.”
“Yeah, but yourAuntJuniperadded ‘and trust.’Youknow.Bankand trust.”
“Maybe there was a bank by that name a long time ago?”
Jack shook his head. “I’velived here my whole life.There’snever been a bank calledShacklefordBanksandTrust.”
Something about the weird, clear, yellowish ink pricked at the “what if” questionsIalways asked myself whenIwas plotting a book.
“What if it’s invisible ink?”
“What do you mean?”Jacksaid.
I pointed to where he had scribbled on the envelope with a spam credit card offer.Thecircles had almost disappeared.
My gaze darted to the letters we had found in the floor, chimney, and mirror. “Whatif the manuscript pages aren’t the point?Theynever made any sense together, anyway.”
Jack chuckled. “Youthink there’s a hidden message?”
I peered over my shoulder at him. “It’smy aunt we’re talking about.Thewoman was one fry short of a combo meal, but she was clever.”
“You have a point.”Herested his chin on top of my head. “Allright,Sherlock.Howdo we find the treasure map?”
I worked it over in my mind. “There’salways a chance we didn’t find all of them, butI’dbe surprised if there were any left.Wetouched every inch of that house.”Ilooked from the pen to the moonshine to the papers. “Whatif they all go together?”Ipointed to the papers. “Thisis the map.”Ipushed the pen and moonshine together. “Thisis the key.”Ipicked up the actual key. “Andthis opens the treasure.”
“How do the pen and the booze work together?”
A slow smile worked across my face. “Alcohol-soluble inks change color when a high-proof solvent reacts with it.”
Jack picked up the small liquor bottle. “Highproof . . . like moonshine.”
“Looks likeAuntJuniperwasn’t a bootlegger after all.”
He looked at me curiously. “Howdo you know about invisible ink?”
I grinned. “Iresearched it for the bookIjust wrote.”
We divided and conquered.Jackcleared off the table and spread out the manuscript pages whileIgrabbed some cotton makeup pads and rubbing alcohol from the donation pile, just in case we ran out of moonshine.
I soaked one of the cotton pads in moonshine, and studied the pages. “IfIwipe it on the actual ink, it might smear it.”
Jack grabbed his phone and snapped photos of the pages, front and back, for posterity.
I nodded and let out a sharp breath. “Ifthis works, it’s totally going in another book.”
Jack grinned. “Ilike the sound of that.”
