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Remi asked, “Do you have a basement?”
While their research into Sergeant Pelletier had uncovered a number of surprises, it had also challenged one of their basic assumptions: that Laurent alone had placed the bottles in their hiding spots.
Having spent so much time consumed by the chase they’d begun to think like Laurent and Pelletier, and so it took them only fifteen minutes to find what they’d come for.
In the northwest corner of the basement beneath a wall next to the root cellar they found a block bearing the cicada stamp. As usual, Sam did the prying, Remi the probing. Louisa stood behind them with a flashlight.
Remi slid her hand out of the hole and got to her knees. “Seven,” she said.
“Oh, my Lord . . . ” Louisa breathed. Remi scooted aside so the girl could kneel down and look for herself. “How long have they been there?”
“A hundred and ninety years, give or take,” Sam replied.
“What happens now?”
Remi smiled. “Louisa, you’re rich. You pay off the farm, go back to school, and live happily ever after.”
Hand in hand Sam and Remi walked out the front door to their car. “We got eleven bottles out of twelve,” Remi said. “Not bad.”
“Better than not bad. Think about it: Those bottles survived a trip around the world, the fall of Napoleon, and two wor
ld wars. I’d call that miraculous.”
“Good point. I have to say, I feel a little let down.”
“About?”
“The end of the adventure,” Remi said wistfully.
“The end? Not on your life. Patty Cannon’s treasure is still out there, and we’ve got most of the Pocomoke Swamp left to search.”
Remi laughed. “And after that?”
“After that, we pick a spot on the map and go.”
