overseer.”
Archie took the paper and laid it on the coffee table. He leaned forward as he examined it. “It does look like my signature,” he said.
I looked at the paper. It was a numbered deposit receipt. I could read Archibald Morgan’s signature. The items section read “One journal, handwritten.”
Had Archie confused two different events? It had been a long time since the deposit, and he was no spring chicken.
I was thinking of a tactful way to ask him this, but then he stood up, pulled his wallet out of his front pocket, and took out a small zip-top plastic bag. He opened it and withdrew a folded slip of white paper. He carefully pulled on the edges to open it, then laid it next to Ann’s paper. “Mr. Goering asked me to destroy this receipt, but I have carried it with me for over six decades,” he said. “Here are the items: twelve barrels containing seventy-two pure bars of gold, each bar weighing four hundred ounces, and three boxes of personal papers.” He looked up. “Mine does not mention a journal.”
Other than a different list of items, the papers shared the same embossed receipt number, and the signatures lined up perfectly.
“Is the journal still in the collection?” I asked Ann.
She shook her head. “Archibald used his overseer ring to remove it yesterday morning.”
I thought Madame Flora was about to say something, but she must have thought better of it. After a minute of silence, I asked Archie, “May I see the journal?”
Archie walked over to his desk and pulled a hand-sewn brown leather binding encasing only a handful of small sheets of thick paper out of his drawer. He handed it to me.
Madame Flora couldn’t take her eyes off the journal. I looked up, and she turned away, but her eyes darted back to the small book as I opened it.
The writing inside used alien-looking characters. The first page had what looked like three words:
I flipped through the journal and saw that the same writing filled half of the twenty or so bound pages. The other half were blank.
“It looks like a secret code,” Ann said. She stood peeking over my shoulder.
“Have you seen this before?” I asked Madame Flora.
She shrugged. “As I said, I wasn’t there on the night of the deposit.”
Not quite a direct answer, but I nodded and handed the journal back to Archie. I’d have to catch her alone if I wanted to know more.
twelve
Present Day
Sterling, Massachusetts
“Have you solved the great depositary robbery?” Val asked me over our picnic lunch.
I nibbled on our shared “everything” grinder. Val introduced these to me last year, and I had become as hooked as she was to anticipating the flavor of the next bite.
I got a mouthful of grilled eggplant and hummus. Not bad. “I still don’t know if there even was a robbery,” I said.
We sat on top of a rock on the same hill Val had taken me to the previous summer on our very first date. This time, though, it was in daylight, and the golden autumn sun lit up some amazing fall foliage in the valley below. In front of us we could see a reservoir with an old stone church standing on its shore.
Val pointed. “I’ve wondered many times why that church is standing all alone, with no houses around.”
“Would you like to hear the story?” an Indian-accented voice asked from below us.
Val and I looked down, and we saw an elderly Indian man standing at the base of the rock. He had a small pot belly, and the sun gleamed off his thinning white hair. He smiled up at us.
“Hello,” I said. Where did he come from?
The man placed his palms together and made a small head bow. “ Namaste ,” he said. “Do you two come here often?”
“Not lately,” I said. “Do you live around here?”
“I stay with my son and his wife, just like back in my village when my parents once lived with me,” he said. “My son lives nearby, and during the day they work and I go trekking.” He climbed up our rock with surprising agility and sat
Archie took the paper and laid it on the coffee table. He leaned forward as he examined it. “It does look like my signature,” he said.
I looked at the paper. It was a numbered deposit receipt. I could read Archibald Morgan’s signature. The items section read “One journal, handwritten.”
Had Archie confused two different events? It had been a long time since the deposit, and he was no spring chicken.
I was thinking of a tactful way to ask him this, but then he stood up, pulled his wallet out of his front pocket, and took out a small zip-top plastic bag. He opened it and withdrew a folded slip of white paper. He carefully pulled on the edges to open it, then laid it next to Ann’s paper. “Mr. Goering asked me to destroy this receipt, but I have carried it with me for over six decades,” he said. “Here are the items: twelve barrels containing seventy-two pure bars of gold, each bar weighing four hundred ounces, and three boxes of personal papers.” He looked up. “Mine does not mention a journal.”
Other than a different list of items, the papers shared the same embossed receipt number, and the signatures lined up perfectly.
“Is the journal still in the collection?” I asked Ann.
She shook her head. “Archibald used his overseer ring to remove it yesterday morning.”
I thought Madame Flora was about to say something, but she must have thought better of it. After a minute of silence, I asked Archie, “May I see the journal?”
Archie walked over to his desk and pulled a hand-sewn brown leather binding encasing only a handful of small sheets of thick paper out of his drawer. He handed it to me.
Madame Flora couldn’t take her eyes off the journal. I looked up, and she turned away, but her eyes darted back to the small book as I opened it.
The writing inside used alien-looking characters. The first page had what looked like three words:
I flipped through the journal and saw that the same writing filled half of the twenty or so bound pages. The other half were blank.
“It looks like a secret code,” Ann said. She stood peeking over my shoulder.
“Have you seen this before?” I asked Madame Flora.
She shrugged. “As I said, I wasn’t there on the night of the deposit.”
Not quite a direct answer, but I nodded and handed the journal back to Archie. I’d have to catch her alone if I wanted to know more.
twelve
Present Day
Sterling, Massachusetts
“Have you solved the great depositary robbery?” Val asked me over our picnic lunch.
I nibbled on our shared “everything” grinder. Val introduced these to me last year, and I had become as hooked as she was to anticipating the flavor of the next bite.
I got a mouthful of grilled eggplant and hummus. Not bad. “I still don’t know if there even was a robbery,” I said.
We sat on top of a rock on the same hill Val had taken me to the previous summer on our very first date. This time, though, it was in daylight, and the golden autumn sun lit up some amazing fall foliage in the valley below. In front of us we could see a reservoir with an old stone church standing on its shore.
Val pointed. “I’ve wondered many times why that church is standing all alone, with no houses around.”
“Would you like to hear the story?” an Indian-accented voice asked from below us.
Val and I looked down, and we saw an elderly Indian man standing at the base of the rock. He had a small pot belly, and the sun gleamed off his thinning white hair. He smiled up at us.
“Hello,” I said. Where did he come from?
The man placed his palms together and made a small head bow. “ Namaste ,” he said. “Do you two come here often?”
“Not lately,” I said. “Do you live around here?”
“I stay with my son and his wife, just like back in my village when my parents once lived with me,” he said. “My son lives nearby, and during the day they work and I go trekking.” He climbed up our rock with surprising agility and sat
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