Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 70524 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 353(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70524 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 353(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
“Another dead guy I’ve never heard of?”
“We’ll fix that soon. The finale of his second symphony is like opening the gates of heaven.” She unlocks her car with her key fob. “But that’s neither here nor there. Would you like to drive?”
I’ve been driving the Rolls for so long that I’m worried a modern car might feel weird, but I always prefer to drive, even if it’s not my car.
“If you don’t mind.”
“Of course I don’t mind.”
I open the passenger side door for her.
She gets inside. “Always the gentleman.”
I get in her car and start the engine. It takes a second to roar to life—God, this car could use a tune-up—and then I pull out of her narrow parking spot and drive onto the city streets.
“Can you pull up Monument Park on the GPS?” I ask her.
“Already on it.” She places her phone on the hands-free mount above her car’s stereo.
Because it’s late at night, the drive doesn’t take long. Rush-hour traffic to O’Hare is normally brutal, but we make it in a cool twenty minutes. Alissa’s radio plays the local classical station, and she hums along, her eyes closed.
I park at one of the hotels along I-294. We walk across River Road to Monument Park. Even in the chilly winter air, the waterfalls are pouring over the stony structures. It’s pretty loud, and I guide Alissa a few steps away from the falls so we can call the number on the top of the note. I dial the number and put it on speaker so Alissa can hear.
It rings once, twice, three times. I fear it’s about to go to voicemail, revealing that this is indeed some elaborate prank to embarrass the son of the disgraced former Mayor of Chicago, when the call clicks.
It’s an artificially low voice, clearly distorted in the same way it’s done on the news when a person’s identity is being obscured.
“Are you there?” the voice asks.
“I think so,” I say. “Monument Park in Rosemont, right?”
“Yes.”
“Cool. Now what do we do?”
A pause, and I hear the shuffling of papers in the background. Finally the person returns, reciting in a singsong voice. “North on the river, you’ll find a nice clearing. The darker it gets, the closer you’re nearing. Quadruple the instants you’ll say ‘good God damn!’ This won’t be a picnic, you’re likely to scram.”
Alissa leans into the phone. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
Another pause, and then the voice utters three more words. “Bring a spade.”
The call drops.
“Bring a spade?” I ask. “How can we bring May with us? We’re looking for clues about her, just like the riddle indicated.”
Alissa strokes her chin for a moment. “A spade…”
“Are we supposed to go back to the club and grab one of May’s coworkers? Maybe they’ll know where to go.”
She shakes her head. “I don’t think so. I think it’s a play on words. The word spade can have other definitions. I think this guy means to bring a spade as in a shovel.”
I drop my jaw. “You mean we’re supposed to dig for buried treasure or some shit?”
She nods. “Or some shit, I’m assuming. The evidence we’re looking for. The crown that’s interred. Rouge has probably buried it somewhere in the forest preserve.” She gestures to the roaring waterfalls. “The first riddle gave us our starting point, and then this new riddle is directions from here.” She grabs her phone and opens the notes app. “What was it he said again? North on the river…”
“You’ll find a nice clearing,” I finish for her. “The darker it gets, the closer you’re nearing.”
“And then something about good God damn.” She wrinkles her nose. “It was odd.”
“Quadruple the instants you’ll say ‘Good God damn!’”
“Right. And then”—she shivers—“This won’t be a picnic, you’re likely to scram. That last part gives me the heebie-jeebies.”
“If we need to get a shovel, we’ll have to buy one,” I say. “But we might have to wait until morning. I doubt that Menards is open this late.”
She shakes her head. “We don’t have to. I have a couple of shovels in my trunk.”
“You do?” I raise an eyebrow.
She chuckles. “Nothing suspicious, I assure you. I think I told you that I was helping my friend Dinah with some gardening a few weeks back. I brought some shovels to help and never took them out of my trunk.”
I rub at my forehead. Damn. That was my last shot at convincing Alissa to wait until morning for this wild goose chase.
But I paste a smile on. “Okay, let’s get back to the car, and we’ll figure out what the hell the rest of that riddle means.” I rub my hands up and down my arms. I don’t feel any fear. Not exactly. Just…apprehension. Like if we take one more step, we’ll never turn back…and our lives will change forever. “What do you think we’re going to be digging up?”