Wilde Thing

by Jannine Gallant

  “Of course they didn’t. They’re teenagers. Do you have something new lined up for the fall?”

  She winced. “No.”

  “What?” Her old friend’s voice rose in a squeak. “Ainslee the Organized doesn’t have a plan of action?”

  She frowned. “I’m tired of always being responsible. I need a break from my straight and narrow life, at least for a few weeks. I want to go a little wild for a change. If worse comes to worst and I can’t get a teaching position in September, I can always wait tables to survive.”

  “You’d do that?”

  “Maybe.” She closed her eyes and pressed fingers to her temples. “I’ve kind of had it with—everything. You know what I’d like?”

  “What?” Devin’s tone was soft. Sympathetic.

  “I’d like to have someone to lean on. Someone to help share the load. You know how it is in the city, constantly surrounded by people, but no one really cares.”

  “Hey, you can always lean on me.”

  A little smile curved her lips. “I know. Goes both ways.”

  “You don’t want to return to Iowa, do you?” Her friend’s tone held a touch of horror.

  “God, no!” She choked on a laugh. “I’m not that desperate for support.”

  “Now, that sounds like the Ainslee I know and love. Crap.” Muffled voices came through the receiver. “Be right there.” Devin’s voice grew louder. “I’ve gotta go. Walton…” A grinding noise. Probably her friend’s teeth. “Keep me posted on your progress, okay? And call anytime you need to vent.”

  “I will. Bye, Devin.”

  She laid down her phone. Practically since they were still in diapers, just talking to her best friend gave her a shot of motivation. Devin had never met a challenge she couldn’t conquer. For once, she’d take a page out of her friend’s book and live life on the edge.

  Ainslee glanced back at the map and frowned at the lines of interconnecting freeways as she considered her options. North to Boston, south to Jamestown or continue on her current path west to immerse herself in the world of the Amish. Now there was life simplified. Right now, a bare-bones environment held infinite appeal.

  Postponing a hard and fast decision, her gaze strayed to the pile of mail, and she flipped through the envelopes. Mostly junk along with a couple of bills and…her brows lowered.

  Odd, who sends handwritten letters these days? She ripped open the flap and pulled out the single sheet of notebook paper filled with nearly illegible scrawl. A key dropped from the envelope into her palm. She closed her fist around it. Fifteen minutes later she finished reading the letter for a second time and gazed out at the cars flashing by on the interstate as she lost herself in memories.

  She sat beside her grandmother on the old, plaid couch in the cozy living room and carefully turned the pages of the family photo album. Grandma Nell proudly pointed to the picture of her father, Ainslee’s great-grandpa Francis dressed in his army uniform, and told her how he’d died a hero in the war.

  Though Grandma had been too young when he was killed to remember him, her mother had made sure Nell knew how funny and charming and brave he’d been, how he’d passed his red hair and his sense of humor along to his daughter.

  Ainslee touched one of the long, spiraling curls hanging over her shoulder. Not firehouse red like her great-grandpa, but the auburn shades were an attribute inherited from her long-dead ancestor. Now this man, Victor Talbot, was giving her the opportunity to earn a second legacy, a priceless Nazi treasure her great-grandfather and the other men in his squad had recovered. She tapped her finger on the letter, wondering what the catch was. No one handed over a fortune to a stranger.

  Except apparently none of those men who’d been Victor’s comrades-in-arms had lived long enough to be the recipient of his bequest. Giving it to one of their descendants seemed like a truly noble gesture, a dying man’s wish to honor his fallen buddies. She would have loved to have met the valiant, old gentleman, but the first line of the letter made it clear she was too late for that.

  Straightening her shoulders, she rubbed a thumb across the key and studied the riddle. Who was she to deny a dying man his final request? She’d play his game and play it well as a tribute to her great-grandfather. A tingle of excitement coursed through her, and her pulse quickened. Any sort of treasure, whether it was a bag filled with uncut gems or an unknown statue by Michelangelo, would be a welcome addition to her meager nest egg. A scavenger hunt following a series of clues sure as hell beat teaching history to bored teens or waiting tables to feed herself and her as yet unclaimed pet.

  But first she had to solve the puzzle. Her brow creased as she read it again.

  Across the river, the brightest learn that jealousy looms if you add an eye. Take liberty’s path to Ben’s wealth to find the year enchantresses dangled.

  Huh? She’d always been good at riddles, but this one made no sense. What did jealousy have to do with liberty and enchantresses? Wait! Liberty Bell and Ben Franklin. Was the next clue in Philadelphia? If so, what did jealousy have to do with Philly?

  Thank God for smartphones. Lifting hers from the table, she typed key words into a search engine and scrolled through the possibilities. Nothing. Zilch. Nada. The most promising was a story about a jealous husband stabbing his wife’s lover near the Delaware River. Ainslee drew in a long breath then let it out slowly. Maybe Philadelphia was too obvious.

  Back to the drawing board. She typed in jealousy and eye and searched the results. Green-eyed monster. Her pulse thrummed. Now she was getting somewhere. The clue referred to jealousy when an eye was added. If she took out the eye that left…a green monster.

  Maybe old Victor had been more than a little crazy, but something about a green monster niggled at the back of her mind. Not fangs and claws and scales but…the recollection slipped away. She’d remember if she didn’t think too hard about it and focused on something else. Liberty’s path. Sounded historic. She typed it in. A nonprofit organization in Texas came up. What did that have to do with green monsters? Nothing.

  “Think, Ainslee.” She frowned and typed liberty into the online thesaurus, then scanned the list of words. Freedom. The word bounced around her brain, searching for a connection. Freedom. Path. The Underground Railroad had been called the path to freedom. Was the green monster slavery? Wait a minute…

  She jumped to her feet, fist-pumped the air and let out a hoot. A woman walking back from the restroom stared then hurried toward her parked car.

  A sheepish grin slipped out as Ainslee reclaimed her seat. If liberty equaled freedom, then a path could be a trail. The Freedom Trail ran through Boston, and the green monster…the memory clicked. Fenway Park, home to the Red Sox. Their baseball stadium’s outfield wall was called the Green Monster. With difficulty, she controlled the urge to jump up and down. The brightest learned across the river. Duh. Harvard was in Cambridge on the other side of the Charles.

  “Oh, yeah!” Ainslee allowed herself one little dance step as she gathered her belongings and headed back to the parking lot. The Amish would have to wait. She’d figure out the rest of the clue once she got to Boston.

  * * * *

  Griff stood in front of the Liberty Bell and swore. When an elderly woman gasped and edged away, he clamped his lips together and retreated to a bench far from the horde of eager history buffs with their clicking cameras.

  What in the name of God was I thinking?

  Had he really expected to find notes stuck to the inside of the bell? Or maybe a clue box with a flag on top like they provided for the participants of those reality TV shows?

  “I’m an idiot.” He dropped his duffel bag on the grass beside him and pulled the creased letter from his pocket to scowl at the crabbed writing he’d come to despise. No way had Victor Talbot left the next clue glued to a national treasure. The words liberty and Ben had led him astray. Probably exactly what the old goat had wanted. Griff imagined the decrepit geezer cackling with gle
e while hellfire leaped and flamed behind him.

  Maybe the freaking riddle wasn’t going to be so easy to solve after all.

  He glanced up as a stunning brunette walked by, phone clamped to her ear. Her voice rose. “No, Tony, it isn’t here. I’m telling you, we were wrong.” Heels tapping and hips swaying, she headed toward the street.

  Griff’s attention returned to the clue. His mistake had been in focusing on a single phrase and thinking he was so damned smart to figure it out in two minutes flat once he put his mind to it. Obviously liberty was a red herring, but the first part of the riddle didn’t make any sense. Jealousy looms if you add an eye. Tilting his head back against the bench, he turned his face to the morning sun and tried to think. There was some expression about jealousy that had to do with an eye. What the hell was it? He snapped his fingers. Didn’t people describe jealousy as a green-eyed monster?

  Jackpot!

  He sat up straight and read the clue again. If he took out the eye, he was left with…green monster. A grin spread. He’d been to Fenway Park with his crew after a salvage expedition up in Maine. Had just missed catching a foul ball. Not Philadelphia. Boston. The next piece of the puzzle was in Boston.

  Jumping up off the bench, he paused as his grandpa’s voice echoed in his head. Don’t go off half-cocked, boy. That’s what he’d done before, and the result had landed him amongst a gaggle of tourists staring at a cracked bell. Boston was a big place. He needed to make sure he was on the right track.

  He sat back down and read the scrawled words for the millionth time. Take liberty’s path to Ben’s wealth to find the year Paul took to the streets. Maybe Ben did refer to Franklin after all. Surely there was a Franklin Street in Boston. And Paul must be Paul Revere. What year had he made his famous midnight ride? Griff frowned, wishing he’d paid more attention in history class. 1776 maybe? He’d look it up to be sure, but he was willing to bet the next clue could be found at 1776 or possibly 1775 Franklin Street in Boston.

  With a whoop, he rose to his feet, scooped up the duffel bag, then hurried across the grass. With any luck, a commuter flight would land in Boston within the next couple of hours. Raising a hand to hail a passing taxi, he jerked open the door when the driver pulled up to the curb, then tossed his bag inside.

  “Take me to the airport.”

  “You got it.” The cabbie snapped his gum as he pulled back into traffic. “Where you headed?”

  Griff glanced down at the letter still clutched in his hand. “I have a date with destiny.”

  “She sounds hot.”

  His laugh echoed around the interior. “Let’s hope so.”

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  Meet the Author

  Write what you know. Jannine Gallant has taken this advice to heart, creating characters from small towns and plots that unfold in the great outdoors. She grew up in a tiny Northern California town and currently lives in beautiful Lake Tahoe with her husband and two daughters. When she isn’t busy writing, Jannine hikes or snowshoes in the woods around her home. Whether she’s writing contemporary, historical or romantic suspense, Jannine brings the beauty of nature to her stories. To find out more about this author and her books, visit her website at JannineGallant.com

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