We were nearly done with the pizza—only taking an occasional bite here and there—and were still talking. “What made you decide to leave Chicago?” I asked.
“I needed a fresh start, a change of pace.”
“Does your family live there?”
“Dad lives in Boston and retired a number of years ago after being a police officer for twenty years. His father had made some good investments, so it was easy for Dad to step away from the force when things started to change too much for him. He worked part time at his best friend’s hardware
shop mostly to keep himself busy until recently. Mom lives in Chicago. She and Dad divorced when I was young, and Mom moved us to Chicago to be close to her family. Dad’s been trying to talk my mother into moving back to Boston. They never remarried but stayed the best of friends. Mom’s even mentioned moving back to Boston someday. They worry about each other, but my older sister, Karen, is expecting her first baby, so I doubt Mom will be leaving Chicago anytime soon. Karen’s husband might be getting transferred to New York City, though. We’re keeping our fingers crossed. It would be nice to have her close by. Mom and Dad always told us they were too young when they got married and drifted apart. They both seem pretty happy, though. That’s what counts.”
“It sounds like it all worked out in the end. I bet your dad is happy to have you closer.”
“He is. My brother, Darrin, lives in Boston, he has ever since he graduated college there. He’s married, two kids. Aaron is two, and Lucy is five. Dad gets to spend a lot of time with the kids, which makes him happy and Mom jealous.” Mike took another bite, then asked, “What about you?”
I launched into my childhood history of coming to Salem each summer. My love for history and scavenger hunts. Even if Grandpa had already shared these details with Mike, he seemed thoroughly interested. “I’m sure Grandpa told you… well maybe… I don’t know. But I lost my parents a couple of years ago in a car accident. So it’s only me now.”
“I’m sorry, Sydney. I can’t imagine.”
“Thanks, it’s hard knowing I’ll never practice with Grandpa, but I have a wonderful legacy to carry forward. Today, I got a letter he left for me. There was another letter and a coin for what he called the ultimate scavenger hunt.”
“Can I read it?”
I took out the journal I used for notes from its spot on the bookshelf. The letter was safe between the pages. I handed him the medallion first. “This was with it.”
“Alchemists? What does that mean?”
I shrugged. “I have no idea. I haven’t been able to find anything on the internet.”
“We are united with no beginning and no end,” Mike read from the inscription on the coin then flipped it over to look at the symbol. “It seems handcrafted. From the detailed workmanship, I would say it’s from the 1800s.”
“How’d you know?” I’d planned to stop by the jewelers over the weekend to see if they could help me identify the coin or at least try and determine when it may have been made.
“I had a case in Chicago where rare and exotic coins were stolen. Solid gold coins weren’t made until almost 1800, and this isn’t cast.” He examined it more closely. “There’s no seam. And the die axis looks right for that time frame. I might be wrong, but this coin probably came from the 1800s. A collector might be able to narrow it down more. Of course, it looks like it was a custom order, so that may alter my time frame. I’ve got a history degree, so I love this sort of thing.”
Oh my word. He was super uber sexy when it came to macho-man police stuff. Like “move over, sizzling bacon, and make room for the hot tamale.”
Oh hell, here I go again.
My silence apparently made Mike a little nervous. “Sorry. It’s hard to switch out of cop mode sometimes.” I was still speechless. “Sydney?”
“Something like that requires warning bells. You really need to warn a girl. Like… whoa.”
“Duly noted,” he teased with a full-fledged smile. “What else do you know?”
I handed him the letter so he could read it. “I know that an alchemist is a person or persons who can transform something through some seemingly magical process. I’ve looked up magicians through that time and found none named Alchemist. The woman named Q addresses the letter to Ayana, which means beautiful blossom. I’m sure they’re nicknames for each other. The letter was meant for someone in Massachusetts. Now I just have to find the house—if it’s still standing.”
Mike read the letter again. “What are you going to look for?”
“First, find out if I can isolate the era within the 1800s for the coin. Then look up houses during that time frame and see if any are still standing. Hopefully, the house has been kept up like this one has. The stone fireplace and pecan bookshelves are supposed to be part of the original house.” I paused and reread the letter. “You must go to the stone hearth flanked by the two brass lights Mother received from her father. Start the fire and look to your right, for hidden in the pecan bookcase is what you seek.”