Page 53 of P.S. It’s Always Been You
“Should be doable, but I’d need to check with Cammi to be sure,” I tell Trevor.
“How about we conference her in right now?”
I glance at Presley again, and her expression is unreadable, so I tell Trevor I’ll do it.
“That would be fantastic. You’re the man,” he says, and I give Presley an I’m sorry and I’ll be off the phone soon shrug, but she’s already busying herself with her phone screen, so I chat with Trevor and Cammi, sorting out the details as Trevor makes the occasional joke with Cammi and she laughs easily with him.
Before I know it, the car pulls up to the house as I’m saying goodbye.
“Hey.” I set a hand on Presley’s thigh. “I had to take that.”
Her small smile erases the tension. Most of it. “Sounds like good stuff is happening. I get it.” But her answer is clipped, a reminder that maybe I should have handled the call differently, so I try to sell her on it.
“Good stuff is definitely happening, but that was great stuff back there in the—”
Jared raps his knuckles on the window. I roll it down and he gesticulates wildly. “Check it out. I was strolling through the yard and found this buried treasure. It has to be worth something.”
He thrusts out his open palm and shows me a penny.
“You’re seriously a dick.”
He laughs. “You ready? ’Cause my crew is raring to go. One of my guys has a preggo wife who’s due any second, so he’s chomping at the bit.”
“Let’s get moving,” Presley says, stepping out of the car, smiling and heading into the home like I didn’t just have my fingers inside her, making her see stars.
Then again, I have to act that way too.
And act I do, all day long, as we run a fine-tooth comb from room to room, sorting through furniture, antiques, and collectibles. I haven’t been able to grab a moment alone with her off camera to discuss what went down in the car, let alone the letter and where to chase our next lead.
When the guys rewind to make sure they captured an expedition map, I snag a second to pull her aside, focusing on the letter as I whisper, “Where do you think the letter takes us next? The next part of the tale might require you to find a curiosity near the boards with the greatest of ease. You know where all the best ones are in a particular district.” I scrub a hand over my jaw, repeating those words in my head. “I keep thinking it’s referring to the theaters the Caribaldis and Valentinas own, ‘the boards’ being slang for a ‘stage,’ and the clue being ‘near the boards.’ But which one? The two families own a handful in the theater district. The Silverlight Theater, the Grand Fountain Theater, the Firelight PlayHouse, and so on. Do we just go to them all?”
She sighs. “I don’t think so, because that’s the issue. It’s broad, rather than clear and specific. Which makes me wonder if it’s a decoy clue, pointing to something else. Something about ‘curiosity,’ like curiosity will take us to a certain district. A district in New York? In the city? Or is it supposed to be one of those hidden in plain sight clues?”
“Like this is where we’re supposed to be? Right here? In this house? Because this house is full of curiosities?” I point to the floor. “Maybe they’re taking us back here. Because the first thing we found was under the boards. So maybe near the boards means the same place?”
“But I doubt it’s near the same place. That’s too easy.”
“We just have to keep working the clues. When the guys go to lunch, let’s put our heads together.”
“Definitely.”
But the crew skips lunch on account of the ticking timer of the bun in the oven. We move at a rapid but thorough pace, highlighting antiques we find upstairs, some maps at last, and a few journals from known expeditions. I tie that into some of the details from the Exploration Society, but as I do, I’m keenly aware that without the letters, I’m missing a part of the story I want to tell.
There’s a nagging sense that I’m missing something else. Some detail that’ll be the key that turns the lock.
And that something might be back at the Exploration Society. Near the end of the day, after we check the floorboards near the desk and come up short, I’m about to ask Presley if she wants to take a detour to the society when she looks at her watch and says, “I should close up shop soon. I’m meeting my friend Francesca at her event.”
“What’s her event?”
“An art exhibit. She curates at a cutting-edge gallery, and she’s showcasing some new wire sculptures as well as”—she stops, rolling her eyes as she slides a map into a tube—“single men.”
