Edison's Gold by Geoff Watson Page A

friend.
    Too depressed to continue their conversation, Noodle gave the turnstile of sunglasses a hard, squeaky spin, then wandered off toward the souvenir section, where Lou kept the shelves stocked with New York shot glasses and postcards.
    Alone in the aisle, Tom distracted himself by absent-mindedly inspecting the inside of a cheap FM radio in search of a frequency scanner for Nanny Golightly. Since there was no foreseeable way to continue the treasure hunt, which probably never existed in the first place, he wouldhave to turn all his attention and hope back to her. Even though she was shaping up to be another bust like all the others.
    As he neared the front of the store, he saw his father through the windows of Kreger & Sons Pawnshop across the street. Tom couldn’t make out much, but it looked like his dad was in a deep conversation with Pete Kreger, the shop’s owner.
    Talk to Pete
, his mom had said.
    â€œI’ll meet you back at the car,” Tom yelled to Noodle as he walked out of Lucky Lou’s.
    â€œWait! Tom,” he heard Noodle call back, “you need to see this.”
    But Tom was too distracted. He ducked out of sight, then scrambled across the street toward Kreger’s.

P eering through the front window, Tom saw that Pete was inspecting an item of jewelry through his magnifying glass. It was a green emerald ring. And sitting next to it on the counter was the Firestone negative, which had now been enlarged to a photo!
    Tom pushed through the front doors.
    â€œDad! What’s going on?”
    â€œThought I said to meet me at the car.” Tom saw a flash of gold as his dad quickly shoved something small and metal into his pocket.
    â€œWhen did you have the photo enlarged? And why are you selling it?”
    â€œThis morning, and I’m not selling it. I’m just … getting it appraised.” His dad looked to Pete, who nodded slightly.
    â€œÂ â€˜Fraid the best I could do is seventy-five,” said Pete. “Even if it’s authentic.”
    â€œAnd what about that ring?” Tom asked. His dad was silent for a moment, shifting his weight uncomfortably.
    â€œJust scraping together a little extra cash for the move.” He looked especially uneasy when Pete pulled the ring off the black velvet cloth and handed it over.
    Tom quickly snatched it from Pete’s fingers, and his heart began pounding through his chest as he looked closer. Running along the side of the emerald, formed in gold, he saw the entwined rose, the circle … it was the same symbol that had been stamped beneath the riddle. And the painting of Theodore Roosevelt.
    Tom’s suspicions were right. His father had to know more than he was letting on.
    â€œIt’s a family piece. Your grandpa gave it to me when I was a kid,” Mr. Edison explained.
    â€œWhat is it?”
    â€œHe called it his ring of the Sub Rosa.”
    â€œWhat’s the Sub Rosa?” Tom asked. “And how come you’ve never told me about it?”
    His dad ran a hand through his shaggy salt-and-pepper hair, and Tom could see something was making him nervous.
    â€œIt was nothing. Just some secret club of artists and scientists and people like that.”
    â€œFrom when?”
    â€œI don’t know. It started sometime in the late eighteen hundreds, I think. Lasted for about fifty years.”
    One thing Tom knew about his dad: the man was incapable of lying. Even if he was reluctant to divulge the information, Tom was certain he’d eventually get what he needed out of him.
    â€œWas Thomas Edison in the Sub Rosa?”
    â€œUh-huh.” His dad nodded, relaxing a tiny bit. “And according to your grandpa, who was not the most credible source, mind you, so were all sorts of people along the way: FDR, Henry Ford, even Babe Ruth, at one point.”
    â€œTeddy Roosevelt and Harvey Firestone were part of it, too, I bet.”
    Pete gave Tom’s dad a wink.