Secrets of Shakespeare's Grave Read online

  She stared at each detail in the painting.

  She stared at a photograph of the entire painting.

  She turned it upside down and stared at it sideways.

  She hoped something would jump out at her.

  Nothing did.

  She spent another hour rearranging the letters from the type set—R, G, E, N, D, I, R, H, R, E—into numerous configurations.

  DEN HERR RIG

  OK, that made a lot of sense.

  HERD ERR GIN

  Wonderful. She was really getting somewhere now.

  END HERR RIG

  Oh, c’mon.

  GRIND HE ERR

  Definitely no.

  And then after numerous more nonsensical phrases:

  RED HERRING

  You have got to be kidding, Colophon thought. Red herring! She had literally spent an hour chasing a red herring!

  She stared at the words on her pad. Well, at least she knew the clue wasn’t the type set.

  She put the pictures on the seat tray in front of her and sat back in her seat. What was she missing?

  She pushed the button on the side of her seat and eased it back. She stared up at the ceiling of the plane and thought about the poem on the frame of Miles Letterford’s portrait.

  Good friend among the stars be found,

  A treasure—heare the key thus bound.

  Blesed be the man who lays the claime

  To that encloased within this frame.

  ***

  Case took the path along the old railroad bed back to the house and was waiting in the kitchen when his father arrived home from the meeting with Roger Scornsbury. He heard his father enter the house and walk down the hallway to his office. Carefully, Case made his way down the hallway—in his socks so as to avoid any noise—and listened outside the door. Inside, he could hear his father speaking on the phone.

  “Yes, that’s right,” Mull said in a depressed voice. “Balloons. And not just one or two, mind you. It seemed as if there were a thousand.”

  Case crept a little closer to the door.

  “No, the next meeting is scheduled for Wednesday in New York. O’Dally is a pain, that’s for sure, but at least he won’t run screaming from the meeting.”

  There was a pause, and then a short laugh from Mull Letterford.

  “Yes, yes, I will be there fifteen minutes early, perhaps thirty. I know how he feels about punctuality. Anyway, I’ll let you know how it goes. Please give my love to Aunt Judith. Yes, thank you.”

  The receiver clicked down in the phone.

  Case silently made his way back down the hallway to the kitchen, where he proceeded to send a text message to his sister describing the conversation he had just overheard. After sending the message, Case headed for the refrigerator, when almost immediately his phone beeped. It was a message back from Colophon: “Go to NY with dad.”

  Case started to text his sister to tell her that it would be a useless endeavor, even if his father were willing to take him along, which he doubted he would. However, Case quickly realized that such a message would do little good and would result in a never- ending torrent of text messages from across the Atlantic. It would be far easier to simply ask his father if he could go to New York.

  The problem was that he could not think of any reason why his father would feel the need to take him to New York, especially on a trip of such importance.

  Chapter Fifteen

  By the Progress of the Stars

  London

  Monday, December 15

  Colophon arrived at the family’s home in London midafternoon. Although she was exhausted, she set up her laptop and pulled up a photo of the painting. She stared at the photo. She zoomed in. She zoomed out. She rotated it counterclockwise and clockwise.

  Nothing.

  But it must be here somewhere.

  The painting, however, did not speak to Colophon.

  It revealed nothing.

  For the remainder of the afternoon, she Googled every object in the painting in conjunction with the term Letterford to see if any obvious connections turned up.

  Nothing.

  She reversed the image.

  Nothing.

  She converted it to black and white to see if any patterns emerged.

  Nothing.

  She stared at the painting.

  Nothing. Again.

  She recited the poem on the frame to herself:

  “Good friend among the stars be found,

  A treasure—heare the key thus bound.

  Blesed be the man who lays the claime

  To that encloased within this frame.”

  Colophon sat upright.

  What was enclosed within the frame?

  She had not been looking within the frame. She had been looking in the painting.

  C’mon, Colophon thought. It couldn’t be that simple.

  Could it?

  She zoomed in on the medallion on the top right corner of the frame. Inside the medallion was the profile of a man. Under the man’s profile was the name Nestor. Around the outer edge of the medallion was a series of stars.

  Good friend among the stars be found!

  Colophon zoomed over to the medallion on the opposite side of the frame. Another man’s profile. And more stars. The medallion identified this man as Virgil. The third medallion was located at the bottom of the frame. This man had a full beard, was slightly balding, and, to be quite honest, was not particularly handsome. Colophon, however, instantly recognized the name under this medallion: Socrates. Again, the medallion was circled by stars.

  Among the stars be found—a treasure!

  Socrates.

  Nestor.

  Virgil.

  This had to be the clue that Cousin Julian had been looking for all these years. Colophon Googled each name in turn. Nestor, it turned out, was the king of Pylus and considered the wisest of the Greek kings. Virgil was a famous Roman poet. Socrates was a famous Greek philosopher.

  But what’s their connection?

  Colophon stared at the screen of her laptop.

  Great, she thought, I am now officially in over my head.

  Case spent most of the day thinking of how he could convince his father to take him to New York. As he prepared to enter his father’s office to make his pitch, he took a deep breath and knocked.

  “Dad, do you have a second?”

  “Anytime,” replied Mull, “You know that. Come on in.”

  Case entered his father’s office and sat in one of the chairs in front the desk. Again, he took a deep breath.

  “I have a research paper due when I get back to school after the holidays.”

  This was a true statement.

  “I’ve decided to write about a dinosaur from the late Jurassic period—the Apatosaurus.”

  Not true. Plain old lie. His paper was due in social studies.

  “I’ve been doing a lot of research on the Apato­saurus—”

  Absolutely not true. Lightning was sure to strike at any moment.

  “—however, I would really like to see the fossil of an Apatosaurus in person. I think it would help my paper. It turns out that the best specimen in America is located at the American Museum of Natural History in New York City.”

  True, at least according to the museum’s website.

  “Anyway, if you were going to New York City anytime soon I’d like to tag along so that I can go to the museum.”

  Mull Letterford looked across the desk at his son. “I’m leaving for New York first thing in the morning. Audrey was going to come down for a couple of days to watch over things, but if you want to join me, that’s fine. Just remember, I have an important meeting to attend tomorrow, so you’ll need to go to the museum by yourself.”

  Case tried to hide his surprise at how easy it had been to convince his father. “Oh, that’s . . . uh, great. Thanks.”

  “I’m heading out the door at nine-thirty. Don’t be late, or you’ll be stuck here at home.”

&n
bsp; Case was already heading toward the door.

  “Got it—nine-thirty in the morning. I’ll be ready.”

  Case stepped into the hallway, pulled the door shut, and headed for his room. As he walked, he texted his sister: “Going to NYC. I better not be wasting my time.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  A Secret to Reveal

  London

  Tuesday, December 16

  8:45 a.m.

  Colophon ran off several photos of the frame and headed downstairs to the kitchen. As she reached the bottom of the stairs, she heard her mother engaged in conversation with someone whose voice sounded particularly familiar, although the name matching the voice did not immediately come to mind. As she turned in to the kitchen, the familiar voice spoke once more: “Well, of course, Margaret, Tuttlenewt was completely wrong in his assumptions about—Colophon! How are you dear girl?”

  “Julian!” Colophon exclaimed as she rushed forward to greet her recently discovered relative. “What are you doing here?”

  “Now, Coly,” said Meg, “is that any way to speak to Julian?”

  “Meg, its fine, really,” replied Julian, leaping to Colophon’s defense. “The girl was simply taken by surprise. I’m sure that she didn’t expect to see me sitting in her kitchen this morning.” He turned to Colophon. “I am, as usual, chasing yet another clue to the treasure. I understand that there is a wonderful seventeenth-century book on secret codes at the British Library. I thought I would spend some time tomorrow poring over it.”

  “Well,” Meg replied, “that’s for tomorrow. As for today, please see to it that Colophon minds her manners while I am gone.”

  “Gone? Are you going somewhere this morning?” asked Colophon.

  “Not a bit of groceries in the house. I imagine you will want to eat at some point. Anyway, Julian has graciously agreed to hang around and keep you company.”

  “Mom, you know I’m old enough—”

  “I know,” replied Meg, “but—”

  “I’m still your little girl.”

  “And always will be.” Colophon’s mother grabbed her purse and opened the door. “I’ll be back in an hour or so. Call me if you need anything.” The bell over the door to the kitchen jingled as she departed.

  Before Julian could utter a word, Colophon blurted out: “The painting is not the clue!”

  “Excuse me?”

  “The painting is not the clue!”

  “Why, of course it is. I simply haven’t figured out what it means.”

  “No, no, no. Think about the rhyme. The key is in the frame . . . IN THE FRAME. That doesn’t mean in the picture. It means the frame itself.”

  “That’s absurd,” Julian protested. “Why, it doesn’t even—”

  Colophon interrupted, “Think about it. The first line of the poem—‘among the stars are found.’ Each of the medallions on the frame is surrounded by stars. Stars.” She handed Julian a blow-up of each medallion.

  “Well, this certainly doesn’t prove—”

  He paused midsentence and looked down at his coffee.

  “I have to go.”

  “But I thought my mom wanted you to stay with me?”

  He stood up and looked around the kitchen. “I really must go. Have you seen my jacket? I’m afraid I’ve misplaced my jacket.” His voice was uneven.

  “What’s the matter?” Colophon asked.

  “Nothing is the matter,” he replied with a catch in his voice. “Nothing. Nothing at all. I’ll get my coat later. I have to leave.” He opened the door. The bell tingled.

  “Did I do something wrong?” Colophon asked. “Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe it isn’t the frame.”

  Julian stopped with his back to Colophon—the door slightly ajar. “No, you are right. You are precisely correct. It’s just not easy realizing that you spent the majority of your life looking down the wrong path. I simply cannot face that right now.”

  “But you weren’t wasting your time. If you were wasting your time, you never would have shown up at Thanksgiving dinner. We wouldn’t have met that day. We wouldn’t have looked at the painting together. I wouldn’t be sitting here today having this conversation with you.”

  “I’m sorry,” Julian said as he let the door shut behind him.

  “But I can’t figure out what the clue means!” Colophon shouted at the door. “I need your help!”

  There was no response. Colophon sat down and stared at the photos on the table. She felt like she was going to cry. Now she would never be able to find the treasure. And her only other hope rested on her brother—the selfish, inconsiderate jerk who didn’t care about anyone but himself.

  Her father’s business was doomed.

  The bell on the kitchen door tingled again. The door opened, and in walked Julian.

  “Well, let’s hear what you have,” he said as he walked over to the kitchen table. “Wasted enough time as it is. No sense wasting any more.”

  “Julian!” Colophon exclaimed as she stood up and threw her arms around him.

  “C’mon, c’mon, I don’t have time for this touchy-feely stuff,” he responded. “Let’s get to work.”

  “One question before we start.”

  “Very well,” he replied. “If you insist.”

  “Why did you come back inside?”

  Julian wiped his eyes with a handkerchief. “Please don’t misunderstand me. This caught me off guard. I’ve searched for years for this clue, and then in no time at all, you uncover it. A twelve-year-old girl no less. No offense.”

  “None taken,” Colophon said, although it did offend her. She wished people would quit mentioning her age.

  “So there I am—standing outside the kitchen door feeling sorry for myself. And then it hit me.”

  “What?”

  “I realized that you may have just proved everything I believe. After all the years of being the butt of so many jokes among members of our family, my belief in the treasure may finally be validated.”

  “Well then,” Colophon said, “I guess it’s time to figure out what this means.”

  Julian stood up straight and composed himself. “Indeed.”

  Colophon carefully reviewed for Cousin Julian everything she had discovered in the frame. She handed him the research she had run off on each of the figures represented in the frame.

  “Nestor, Virgil, and Socrates,” Julian said to no one in particular.

  “Yes,” Colophon replied, “but I can’t figure out the connection.”

  “Well, let’s try a few more searches and see what turns up,” he suggested.

  She retrieved her laptop and returned to the kitchen.

  “OK,” he said, “let’s start with the search terms Nestor and Letterford.”

  Colophon entered the search terms and pressed enter.

  “Nothing.”

  Undeterred, Julian suggested the terms Socrates and Letterford. Again nothing. Next came the terms Virgil and Letterford. Nothing. Again.

  “See,” Colophon exclaimed, “nothing. I can’t find a connection with Miles Letterford.”

  Cousin Julian stared out the kitchen window in thought. “Perhaps,” he finally said, “the connection is not with Letterford.”

  “What do you mean? It’s a clue, isn’t it?”

  “Of that I am quite sure,” Julian said. “However, the question is what the clue is intended to lead us to. It may not be the treasure at all. It may simply lead to another clue.”

  “OK, then where do we go from here?”

  “Let’s see what the connection is between Nestor, Socrates, and Virgil.”

  Colophon entered the search terms and pressed enter. She and Julian gasped when they saw the search results.

  The first search result simply read: “Nestor-Socrates-Virgil. The first two lines (in Latin) of the inscription on the Shakespeare Monument at Stratford-upon-Avon . . .”

  “Remarkable,” exclaimed Julian as he sat back in his chair.

  “It can’t be a coincidence, can i
t?” asked Colophon.

  “Hardly. That must be the next clue—the monument.”

  “So what do we do now?”

  “Now,” answered Cousin Julian with an energy heretofore lacking in his demeanor, “now, we take a field trip!”

  Manchester, Georgia

  Tuesday, December 16

  9:30 a.m.

  Case was waiting downstairs in the foyer for his father, his bag packed and ready to go. This seemed to catch Mull Letterford off guard.

  “I thought I was going to have to track you down,” he said.

  “I guess I’m just excited about getting to New York,” replied Case.

  Mull Letterford eyed his son suspiciously. Rather than risk further inquiry, Case grabbed his laptop and headed toward the front door.

  “C’mon, Dad. Need to get going. Don’t want to miss our plane.”

  Mull Letterford, who had far greater issues to deal with than his son’s apparent change in attitude (albeit a positive change), simply shrugged, grabbed his leather folder, and followed his son outside to the waiting car.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Snares to Trap Mine Enemies

  Palace Hotel, room 723

  New York City

  Tuesday, December 16

  9:32 p.m.

  Case bit into his hamburger, closed his eyes, and savored the experience.

  Perfect.

  Room service—a hamburger, fries, and a Coke.

  And TV.

  While lying in bed.