“You didn’t lock your door. Not smart in this day and age. Anyone can walk in.”
“No kidding.”
“I had a free moment this afternoon, so I thought I’d drop off your contract.”
“In person?”
He looked around. “I was curious to see how you lived. This is small, isn’t it? And your kitchen is quite antiquated. Do you actually cook here?”
“Occasionally.”
He pulled a multipage contract out of a slim briefcase and placed it on the counter with a pen. “You need to initial each page and sign on the back page.”
“I should read this first.”
“If you must,” he said. “It’s standard. Nothing unusual. I give you money, and you give me a cookbook. And also cupcakes. Cupcakes on demand. I trust you won’t mind that. I’m not here year-round.”
I started to read the first page and my eyes glazed over. “Is this written in English?”
“It’s lawyer talk. Perhaps you’ll want to engage a lawyer to translate it for you. Or you could sign with an agent. Most agents take fifteen percent.”
I looked at my decrepit stove and chipped Formica countertop. I didn’t want to give up 15 percent. I needed all the money Ammon was paying me.
“I’m having a fundraiser at my house on Saturday,” Ammon said. “Something to do with the environment, I believe. You’re invited. In fact, I would like you to make the desserts. We’ll have media there, and it will make a good launch opportunity for the Lizzy Tucker brand.” He checked his watch. “I have to run. Rutherford is circling the block. There’s no place to park in this neighborhood. The city should bulldoze some of these dilapidated houses and put in some parking.”
“This is the historic section of town. These houses are hundreds of years old.”
“Obviously.” He tapped his finger on the contract. “Have you finished reading yet?”
I scanned the document and saw that the ultimate payment was circled in red. Five hundred thousand dollars. I signed.
—
Ammon left and Clara called ten minutes later.
“I’ve been thinking about the poem,” Clara said. “I wrote out the version Gramps always repeated, and I looked up the original version. There are several differences. Not sure if the differences are significant, but Glo’s going to bring both versions to you when we close the shop.”
I thanked Clara and disconnected.
“What do you think?” I asked Cat. “Are the clues to the treasure hunt found in Gramps’s poem?”
Cat looked uncertain.
“Here’s a bigger question,” I said to Cat. “Is any of this going to lead us to a SALIGIA Stone?”
Cat stared at me.
“Exactly,” I said. “There’s no guarantee, right? We could be on a big wild goose chase.”
I shared some apple slices with Cat and began a list of repairs I would be able to make on the house. A new roof was the top priority.
“I love my house,” I said to Cat, “but I can’t really afford it. Even without a mortgage payment, the taxes and maintenance bills are killing me.”
Cat’s ear pricked forward, and he gave a low growl. The back door opened, and Carl bounded in, followed by Diesel. Cat looked them over, decided they were no threat, and hunkered down with his half tail tucked in.
“How’d it go with the monkey-napper sleuthing?” I asked.
“The guy’s name was Bernie Weiner, and he happens to be the detective that Ammon hired to find the coin. After some digging I located his ex-wife. I thought we could go talk to her.”