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“Well…” Cam continued, carefully pulling a sheaf of papers from her bag. She had practiced her spiel in front of the hazy mirror in Birdie’s attic. “I have here in my hands a letter from one of the world’s foremost authorities on rare documents and manuscripts, as well as leading scholars from the University of Virginia, that states Marshall Merriweather was not, in fact, the book’s author.”

“This is nonsense,” Roxy said. Her cheeks were nearing cranberry.

“Let Cam talk, Rox,” Miles said with a sharp tone that surprised Cam. Good for him, she thought, and nodded at him in approval. Miles winked back.

“It turns out that both Stormy of Silver Cove,” Cam continued, “as well as a sequel whose manuscript was recently discovered, titled Silver Foal, were written by Marshall’s wife, Ada.”

Roxy snorted. Cam passed out copies of the letter.

“Thiiiis,” Marcus said, taking his copy, “is faaar better than those Kardashian girls I had planned on waatching this evening. Now, my deaaahh, tell us all about this new discooovery.”

Cam winced. She had hoped her evening visit to Merriweather House would not come up, although she knew that had been wishful thinking. She shot Francine a glance, and her friend shrugged. There was no way around it. But again, she wasn’t about to mention that Ada’s ghost had led them to it.

“I, ah, discovered evidence in a cookbook of Ada’s I found at the town’s jumble sale that suggested Ada might be the author of Stormy. And I was able to locate some of Ada’s writings in the lower level here at Merriweather House, including the manuscript for the sequel. According to the experts, the existence of the sequel, along with anomalies in the first Stormy manuscript, prove Ada was the one who wrote them both. The papers I came across had been hidden inside a built-in cabinet.”

Roxy was scanning the letter, but at Cam’s words, her head snapped up. “So you’re saying you trespassed here, at Merriweather House? You dug around? Cam Parker, how dare you!”

And with that question, something in Cam cracked like a tree limb. She had planned on staying calm and matter-of-fact for the board, but in that moment, all those plans vanished like a ghost into thin air.

“How dare I?” Cam asked, with heat rising from her chest and finding its way into her voice. “How dare you, Roxy? How dare any of us, now that we have been confronted with the lies Marshall Merriweather told, now that we know how he stole his wife’s book, how could we do nothing? Every second that passes with Marshall Merriweather’s face on our town sign, with his name on this book…” Cam walked over to the museum’s copy of Stormy on its velvet bed and grabbed it, shaking it in disgust. “Every second is a slap in the face to Ada Poulson—and to every other person who has had someone take credit for their work!”

Everyone’s eyes turned from Cam to Roxy, who was sputtering as she reread the letter. “Will someone,” Roxy finally managed as she pointed to Russell again, “please tell me who this man is?”

“May I?” Russell asked, looking to Cam with eyebrows raised.

“By all means,” Cam said, sinking into her seat.

“Hello, all, my name is Russell Paxton, and I’m a literary agent for Biblio Literary in New York,” he said. “I represent some of the most beloved authors in the business, including your very own Cam Parker.”

Cam smiled at him, still sweating.

“I’d like to explain a little bit about how this development could be an enormous boon to the Silver Cove Historical Society,” he said. “And to all of Silver Cove.”

Russell explained how he could arrange for a reissue of Stormy along with the publication of its sequel. Ada’s cookbook, too, would be published on its own.

“Now, I’ve been reading here about the capital campaign to restore Merriweather House,” he said, waving the fundraising brochure the group handed out to visitors. “I think the revenue from all of this combined would likely fund your project with plenty left over. And it could be great for this town. With the right branding, this will put Silver Cove on the map in a way that it never has been before.”

With that, Roxy’s interest was piqued.

Cam bolted out of her chair. “And I have an idea for how the Historical Society could spend the extra money,” she said. “I think we should fund scholarships for promising young writers, so they can someday be the next great author from Silver Cove.”

She had sketched out a plan for how the program would work, and she passed out another sheet detailing it. The members read it, and Cam was pleased to see heads nodding. Roxy looked uncharacteristically dumbfounded.

“I say we put that to a vote,” Birdie piped up. “And we better get to work on the centennial. I think we have a lot of changes to make.”

“But this is a lot to take in,” Roxy protested. “We’re talking about a hundred years of history here, and we can’t just throw it all away. We should wait.”

Cam met her eyes with a forceful gaze, and she practically felt roots under her feet—just like in Avery’s painting—helping her stay strong. “Actually, Roxy, I think we’ve waited long enough.”

Cam called Avery that night to give her the rundown of how the meeting had gone, complete with the vote to proceed with the scholarship program and the talk about overhauling the centennial celebration.

“Listen to you, sounding like a total boss,” Avery said with obvious pride. “You did it.”

“With more than a little help,” Cam said. “Is that live music I hear in the background? Where are you?”

“I’m at a club in the Village,” Avery said, keeping her voice low. “Cam, you’re not going to believe this, but I found Coleman!”

Cam was confused. “Ada’s Coleman? Um, I’m pretty sure he’s long since left this earth.”