“‘Look in the writing table in the deeper secret place.’”
“Yeah,” Alice deadpanned, “now that makes much more sense.”
“So it’s a little odd, but it’s better than ‘no the they,’ isn’t it?”
“Hmm … Did Mary Beth say her great-great-grandmother had left her a writing table?”
“I don’t remember,” Annie admitted. “Maybe we’d better give her a call.”
“First you have to tell me what you found out. You said something about it before we got distracted with solving this.”
“Tell you what,” Annie said, “why don’t we go see Mary Beth? Then I can tell you both at the same time. I’m not sure how much help it will be at this point, but I think it’s something Mary Beth will want to know.”
“Great! We’ll take the Mustang.”
****
Alice’s red Mustang had them at Mary Beth’s house in record time. Annie had called Mary Beth on the way, and she was waiting for them when they pulled up in the driveway.
“Oh, hurry! I can’t wait to hear the news.”
“Which do you want first?” Alice asked, her blue eyes twinkling. “The answer to the puzzle, or what Annie found out about the guy who wrote it?”
“Oh, the puzzle.” Mary Beth hurried them into her living room. “I’ve had so much going on, I haven’t had a chance to really look at it.”
They sat down, and Alice spread her copy of the clue on the table. “It was actually fairly simple. Each word sounds like a letter, and the letters spell out the clue: LOOK IN GOOD BOOK.”
Mary Beth’s eyes lit. “Then the numbers are all Bible references.”
“Exactly,” Annie said. “But only the King James Version.”
Alice laughed. “It makes a difference. Trust me.”
Mary Beth picked up the page, squinting at Annie’s erased and rewritten words. “‘Look in writing table in the deeper secret place’?”
Annie nodded. “Did your great-great-grandmother leave you a writing table or a desk of some kind?”
Mary Beth’s face fell. “Yes. Oh Annie, she did.”
Annie glanced at Alice, seeing the bewilderment on her friend’s face. “Can we see it?”
“I sold it to Bob Kelsey last month.”
7
“Sold it?”
Annie and Alice spoke at the same time, and Mary Beth could only nod, misery etched in every line of her face.
“Bob gave me a good price for it, and it was either that or have my lights and water cut off. Here and at the shop.”
“Call him,” Alice said, thrusting the telephone at her. “He can at least let you see if there’s anything in the table.”
Mary Beth looked at her for a moment and then grabbed her purse. “I kept his card,” she said with a knowing grin, “in case I had something else I needed to sell.”
They all waited, listening to the whirring of the phone ringing on the other end of the line. Finally there was a click. All three of them groaned to hear the recorded message: “You’ve reached Bob Kelsey at Kelsey’s Odds and Ends. I’d love to talk antiques with you. Leave a message, and I’ll get right back to you.”
There was a beep.
“Bob, this is Mary Beth Brock. I need to talk to you right away about the writing desk I sold you last month. Please give me a call as soon as you can.” She gave him her phone number and then repeated her name and number again. “Call me.”
She exhaled loudly as she hung up. “I hope it’s not too late. I mean, he may have already sold it to someone.”
“It’s OK, Mary Beth.” Annie reached over and squeezed her hand. “If he did, he’ll know who it was, and we can call them.”
Mary Beth didn’t seem convinced. “Sure.”
“Do you think he’ll call right back?” Alice looked at Mary Beth and then at Annie. “Maybe we could wait a few minutes and see if he does.”
“Sure,” said Annie. “If you don’t mind, Mary Beth. In the meantime, I can tell you what I found out in my research.”
Mary Beth nodded.
“I did verify that your great-great-grandmother Angeline Morrow was married to James Parish in 1866. It was pretty easy to trace down from them to you. Geoffrey was a little bit harder to find, but I finally did. He was born in Fairfax County, Virginia, in 1839. His family was fairly prominent at the time, very well off and well connected. But everything I found indicates that, by the end of the Civil War, the money was gone and so was the last of the family. His mother, Georgianna Flippin Whyte, was evidently a very strong woman. She ran the family plantation and the other businesses they owned. Her husband died several years before the war, and she put all her hopes into her only son, Geoffrey. He was killed in the first battle of Bull Run in 1861.”