The statue might have been of a real person or a mythological figure or an image pulled from the sculptor’s imagination. Her hair was long and wavy and thick, caught in what looked like a slight wind. She wore a dress. The cut of the dress was simple at the top, almost like a shift, but near the base of the statue, the fabric became waves, like the woman was clothed in the ocean itself. Her bare feet were visible where the waves parted, her stance calling to mind a dancer. Three stone necklaces adorned her neck, the shortest a choker, the longest hanging nearly to her waist. Dozens of bracelets marked each wrist; her shoulders and forearms were partially covered by her hair. One hand hung by her side, and the other pointed out into the ocean.
Ladies first. Jameson considered the clue, then turned away from the statue to assess the rest of their surroundings. In the immediate vicinity, he counted five caves.
Smugglers’ caves. But which one held the key?
Forget the caves for a second. Focus on the Lady. Jameson examined the ground beneath the statue, followed the direction she was pointing out to sea. And then, with a paranoia born of Saturday mornings and games where his brothers might swoop in at any second, Jameson looked back to the staircase carved into the cliff.
And he saw a woman in a white pantsuit descending.
“Katharine,” he told Avery. If thoroughly searching the caves one by one had been an option before, it wasn’t now. Moving on instinct, he waded out into the ocean, searching. The Lady’s pointing out here.
Rohan could have weighted down a bag or anchored something to a rock beneath the water’s surface.
Jameson bent to submerge his hands in the shallows and came up empty, again and again. There was no time to second-guess. No time to wait. Katharine had an inside track on this place. She might know if there was a particular cave that was suited for hiding treasure.
Ladies first.
She’s pointing out here.
“But what if she wasn’t?” Jameson asked. Before Avery could respond, he was running through the water back toward the statue. Avery was kneeling in the sand, examining its base. And then, just as Jameson arrived at her side, she looked up.
“I think the statue turns.”
Jameson could hear it in her voice, that thing that whispered we’re the same, that said she’d never back down from a challenge, that there was nothing her mind couldn’t do.
“Together,” Jameson said, and as in sync as they had been with the gate, they threw their weight into turning the Lady. The statue moved, and after a second or two, they reached a point of resistance. The statue came to a stop, as if locked into place, and a chiming sound emanated from the statue.
Bells. Rohan had set the game to start with the ringing of bells.
Jameson’s mind raced. He looked up—to the Lady’s finger. She was still pointing out to the water.
“Five,” Avery said beside him. “There were five bells that time.” And suddenly, Jameson’s knew. Ladies first.
“Keep pushing,” he told Avery. “When we get to a position where only one bell rings, she’ll be pointing us where we need to go.”
First. As in, number one.
Jameson and Avery repeated the process they’d already been through, turning the statue, listening to the bells when it locked, then turning it again.
And finally, just as Katharine hit the beach a hundred yards away, the statue locked into a position where only one bell rang. Jameson looked up. The Lady pointed them onward.
Again, the two of them ran—straight into the smallest of the caves. There was a sharp turn just past the entrance, and when they followed it, the light from outside disappeared almost completely. Jameson reached for his
phone to use it as a flashlight, but then he remembered: No phone.
“There’s no time,” Jameson said fiercely. “We have to keep going.”
He felt along one side of the wall, and Avery felt along the other. A minute in, there was a split. Which way do we go?
“What do you feel?” he asked Avery.
In the darkness, he could hear her breath, and no matter the stakes, he couldn’t shut down the part of his brain that imagined the rise and fall of her chest.
“Water,” Avery said. “The cave on this side, it’s wet.”
Jameson wondered how high the tide got. Were there times of day when this cave, with its shallow ceiling and utter lack of light, was deadly?
The water made Avery’s side of the cave seem that much more treacherous.
“We’ll split up,” Jameson said. “I’ll take your side, you take mine.”
“We’re looking for a key.” Avery didn’t say that as a reminder to him— or even herself. She was steadying herself.
Like she needed it.
Like his Heiress wasn’t always so damn steady.
Jameson made his way forward, aware that Katharine had to be closing in on them, that she had likely seen which way they went.
And she might have thought to bring a flashlight.
Jameson pushed himself forward, feeling his way along the damp cave wall as he went, following the twists and turns of the cave until he saw something.
Light.
The cave dead-ended into a shallow pool. And standing shin-deep in that pool was Branford.
Jameson’s uncle was holding two items: a lantern and a key.
