Page 33 of P.S. It’s Always Been You
“As the elephant,” she adds with hushed excitement.
“And the monkey. His foot. His shoe.”
“Yes, there was some sort of marking on it.”
“Open it,” I whisper, filming her lovely face, then her hands. “I can’t wait any longer.”
She pushes on the circular inset with her thumb, but it doesn’t give.
I groan impatiently. “Now, do we have to find a key too? Is there a hidden door that’s hiding it?”
When I meet her gaze, she’s smiling wickedly, shaking her head. “I think you already found it.”
14
Hunter
I wait for her to explain what she means. “Where’s the secret key? Is it in the xylophone? Do I need to tap out a tune?” I suggest playfully.
“It’s right in front of you. Hidden in plain sight.”
I breathe out hard, the impatient part of me wanting her to speed this up now.
But she loves taking her time. “Sometimes a toy is just a toy, and sometimes it’s more.”
She reaches behind her, plucking the monkey off the desk. She hands it to me, foot first.
I arch a brow. “The monkey’s foot?”
“I could be wrong, but it looks to be exactly the same size, and it’s the opposite—the yin to the yang.”
“Ohhhhh.” It comes out as ten syllables, because buzzers whir in my head and lights blink. “Very clever.”
“See if it works,” she says, then motions for me to give her the camera. “I’ll shoot. You open it.”
We trade off, and I press the shoe of the monkey into the circular opening, turning, turning, until the monkey’s foot catches just right, two puzzle pieces sliding together.
I half expect a click. Some sort of portentous sound, like in a movie when motion sets off a booby trap. Instead, the box simply whines as I push the top open easily with my thumb.
The inside is lined with black velvet. In the middle of the velvet lies a skeleton key. A piece of ribbon hangs from it, and on the end of the ribbon is a note on yellowed paper, worn from the years.
“What does it say?” she asks in a whisper, and I’m thankful for it. You can’t speak at a regular volume in times like this.
She zooms in closer as I reach for the key, turn it over, and read the note.
* * *
Hello, our dear sweet loves!
* * *
You’ve found the treasure. We hope it didn’t take you too long. If you’re ready, all you have to do is look inside.
* * *
With love,
E & G, most affectionately known as Mom and Dad
* * *
P.S. This shouldn’t be too hard. Just look.
* * *
A long squiggly line runs the length of the postscript to the edge of the paper.
Presley stares at me, her face transforming with awe. “Edward and Greta. They left a note for their children.”
Her eyes sparkle. I bet mine glimmer too. Because hello, treasure. “X marks the spot. This man was a great explorer. And we’re going to be the ones to fully understand his impact.”
How foolish of me to think the treasure would have been here in this box. Who would leave treasure in the floorboards? This is a treasure map instead, and in some ways, that’s even better.
Because it gives me a story to tell on my show.
I say it aloud, the weight of it registering. “This is a treasure map, Presley.” I laugh, and I can’t stop laughing. Because holy hell, I’m holding something precious.
“I think it might be,” she says reverently. “But this letter is a treasure too. Do you have any idea how old it likely is?”
“Yeah, really old,” I say eagerly, ready to dive in. “Let’s follow the clues.”
She darts out a hand, pressing it against my chest. “Hold on, eager beaver. We need to save this. Handle it carefully. This could be incredibly valuable in the family’s auction. Let me just put it away safely.”
“Right. Of course, careful beaver.” She’s right. This letter could be a precious memory for the Valentina grandchildren who hired us.
Once she’s slid it into a plastic bag, carefully sealing it up, I resume shooting. “Okay, where do we ‘look inside’? In the box?”
“Maybe under the velvet.”
With those careful fingers, she feels along the edge of the lining, her teeth digging into her lip the whole time. It’s an adorable look, intense and full of concentration. She tugs at the velvet gently, but it doesn’t give.
Her shoulders sag. “It’s not here. There is no secret compartment.”
“Wait, honey. It’s not here we’re supposed to look,” I say, because I’ve got it now.
Her captivating blue eyes meet mine, and I lower the camera briefly, gesturing to the letter she sealed up.
“That squiggly line on the letter. It’s the pink ribbon. The pink ribbon matches the elephant. They’re all connected. The elephant, the ribbon, the monkey. They’re all the same style.”
Now it’s her turn to whisper. “Ohhhh.”
“What if the key opens the mirror?” I ask.
