Page 42 of The Secret of Emerald Cottage

Chapter Twenty-Four

“Sweet manna from heaven, are you tweakin’ my tail?” Silver brows shot high, Miss Lilly eyed Herbert Langstrom Jr. through saucer eyes, apparently unable to believe this appraiser knew what the devil he was talking about.

And to be honest, neither could Brec, jaw gaping along with Miss Lilly’s and Molly’s as they stared at the son of one of Uncle Hal’s oldest friends as well as a respected numismatist—rare coin appraiser—in Savannah.

“No, ma’am,” the silver-haired gentleman said with a gentle smile, “I am not ‘tweakin’ your tail,’ Mrs. McGill. My father told me once that your Lake Loon holdings made you a very wealthy woman, but your husband’s amazing collection here?” He nodded toward the coin collection laid out on the dining-room table in two-by-two-inch Mylar® holders. “Well,” he said with a rusty chuckle, “you might say this is the icing on the ‘lake.’”

He reverently picked up the case that held what he’d called a solid gold Brasher Doubloon, a touch of awe in his tone. “This masterpiece alone is probably worth more than your land, Mrs. McGill, because it’s a solid-gold doubloon struck in 1787 by Ephraim Brasher, a respected goldsmith who was George Washington’s neighbor in New York. It is unquestionably one of the most important coins in American history because it’s one of the first gold coins struck for the young United States and one of only a handful that exist.”

“How much did you say it’s worth again?” Brec asked, stunned at the magnitude of Uncle Hal’s collection.

Mr. Langstrom peered up with a smile. “As the Holy Grail of coins, it currently enjoys an asking price of $15 million according to one of the foremost numismatic firms in the world. A firm, I might add, which claims it could eventually reach $100 million in the future.”

Brec sagged back in his chair, mouth gaping as wide as both Molly’s and his aunt’s. “Sweet mother of mercy,” he whispered, borrowing one of his aunt’s favorite phrases as he watched Mr. Langstrom carefully place the doubloon back into its slot of Uncle Hal’s vinyl coin-collector album. Vinyl, for pity’s sake! His head shot up to pin his aunt with a desperate gaze. “This album needs to be in a safe-deposit box, Aunt Lilly, not upstairs in Uncle Hal’s office. It’s no wonder this house has been broken into twice.”

“What?” Mr. Langstrom swung around to stare at Aunt Lilly like she’d lost her mind, and given the circumstances, Brec might be inclined to agree. “You’ve been robbed? Good grief, Mrs. McGill, I just assumed you kept your husband’s collection at the bank, then retrieved it for our luncheon!”

Aunt Lilly patted the sleeve of his suit coat. “Now, now, Herbert, nothing was stolen, so no need to go and get riled”—her gaze shifted to both Brec and Molly with a pursed smile—“already get enough of that from my two prison wardens here.”

Mr. Langstrom could only blink. “But, ma’am, this collection needs to be in a safe-deposit box like your nephew said, so promise me, please, that you will do so.”

“Oh, she’ll do so, all right,” Brec said with a grunt, rather grateful for Molly’s gun at the moment, “because we are not going to sleep another night with that temptation in this house, do you hear, Aunt Lilly?”

“Yes, I hear,” she muttered.

Brec leaned to gently touch her arm, guilty about bullying his aunt. “I’m sorry for snapping, but didn’t Uncle Hal tell you how valuable this collection was?”

Aunt Lilly shrugged. “Shoot, no, least not in so many words. Just said it was a nice nest egg, is all, and he didn’t hide it away in no safe-deposit box neither, so why would I?”

Mr. Langstrom placed his manuals into his brief case and closed it, rising from his chair with a sympathetic smile. “In all fairness, Mrs. McGill, my father’s last appraisal of the Brasher doubloon for your husband was in 1985, when the value was only $625,000. It rose to $2.99 million in 2005, then $7.4 million in 2011, so it’s a skyrocketing investment with time.”

“Thank you, young man,” she said with a thrust of her chin, despite the fact Mr. Langstrom was clearly not young. She gave Brec the evil eye as only she could. “I’m afraid my nephew tends to be a know-it-all.”

“If only.” Brec shook his head, nothing to do but chuckle as he kneaded the bridge of his nose. How he wished he was a “know-it-all,” because then he could have avoided so many stupid mistakes in his life.

“Oh, Mr. Langstrom—wait!” Molly jumped up and hurried over to Aunt Lilly’s catch-all drawer, pulling out a Ziploc bag of coins. “I almost forgot the coins we dug up from Miss Lilly’s garden as well as a few she kept in a coffee can in her shed. We’ve been wanting to have you take a look at them, too, if you don’t mind?” She handed the bag over to the appraiser with an apologetic smile. “They’re probably not worth anything, but better safe than sorry, right?”

“Don’t mind at all, young lady,” Mr. Langstrom said as he laid his briefcase aside and sat back down. Opening the bag, he poured out seven coins onto the table, each of which Molly had washed. “Mmm …” He studied each coin carefully, turning over to inspect both sides. Putting five coins back into the bag, he placed the other two on the table. “Well, the coins in the bag are merely metal, so they’re not worth much at all. But these definitely have value.” He spread both coins out, tapping a finger to the one on the right. “For instance, this one is a 1963 Rex Mardi Gras doubloon that’s worth as much as $300, and this one?”

He lifted a round silver coin about the size of a half dollar and squinted as he studied both sides. “Mmm …”—with a crimp in his brow, he quickly reopened his briefcase to pull out a large manual, flipping through its pages until he finally stopped, holding the coin against a picture in his book—“very interesting.”

“What?” Molly leaned over his shoulder to study the picture in his book, the appraiser’s curiosity obviously igniting hers. “That’s the one a neighbor fished out of the lake.”

“I do believe this is a silver pillar 8 reales, otherwise known as a ‘piece of eight,’ struck under Philip V in 1735.”

“Whoa! What does that mean?” Molly asked, sliding back into her chair next to the appraiser.

“It means, young lady”—he squinted at both sides again— “that although we’re not talking millions like the Brasher Doubloon, Uncle Hal’s collection has now gone up in worth by approximately $600 with these two final coins.”

“Well, glory be,” Miss Lilly said with a chuckle, “Harold was right. He always swore that a good part of his pirate treasure was either buried in my garden or a-layin’ at the bottom of our lake, some in a sewin’ box, no less, not fit to house ’em. Like that one ol’ Cal fished up, I guess.” She sent Brec a wink that reminded him of a silver-haired elf. “Compliments of your father, of course, so no tellin’ how many more valuable coins are a-waitin down there.”

“But I’m not sure what this is …” Mr. Langstrom rubbed a thumb over one side of the coin, grazing an uneven blemish on the back. “Looks to me like somebody tried to mar it for some reason, which will affect the value, of course, but not drastically, I don’t think.” He peered up at Miss Lilly. “This was fished out of the lake, you say?” He laid the coin back on the table.

“Yes, sirree.” Miss Lilly gave a firm nod as she picked the coin up to study it more closely, finally laying it back down. “Ol’ Cal Martin is partial to fishin’ in our cove—Emerald Cove, you know—although given this coin and heaven knows how many more are down there, maybe I should rename it Treasure Cove.”

Molly leaned in to examine it too, turning it over several times. “How on earth could Cal hook this out of the lake? There’s nothing to hook onto.”

Miss Lilly wrinkled her nose. “Seems like he said it was stuck in a clump of chara he hauled in on his best lure, as I recall. Claimed since he reeled it up in my cove and Harold was a collector, I might like to have it.”

“Mmm,” Molly said with that Nancy Drew look in her eyes, muttering under her breath. “I just might have to pay a visit to ol’ Cal because I sure would like a few more details.”

Grinning, Brec shook his head, thinking ol’ Tyler missed it big time. Because Molly may have seemed too soft to be a detective, but the lass had a curiosity that was rock hard.

Mr. Langstrom rose once again, pushing in his chair before he retrieved his briefcase from the floor. “Well, I suppose that completes our business for the day unless you’ve got anymore coins you’ve found hidden away?” A tease threaded his tone.

Miss Lilly’s chair scraped out as she stood to walk her guest to the door. “Nope, not that I know of, Herbert, but I thank ye kindly for making the trip out here today, young man.”

“My pleasure, Mrs. McGill”—he gave a gentle smile, kind eyes now sporting a twinkle— “especially that lunch, topped off by a glimpse of that Brasher Doubloon.” Offering a nod to both Molly and Brec, he shook Aunt Lilly’s hand at the door. “My father spoke of you and your husband highly, ma’am, so I’m grateful I could be of service. Good day.”

“Boy, I’ll say,” Aunt Lilly said with a chuckle after closing the door. She returned to the table with an impish wink. “A ‘good day,’ indeed. ’Cause it shore looks like I’m a whole lot richer than I thought.”