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“You wouldn’t consider coming back, would you?” Clayton asks hopefully.
I almost spit-take my coffee.
He sighs. “Figured. But it was worth a try.”
We’re just digging into another round of pastries and catching up, when one of the production assistants comes rushing over. “Clay! I’ve been looking for you everywhere!” she exclaims, looking frazzled. “Jake needs you, he’s—well, you’ll see. Come on!”
She takes off, and Clayton and I exchange a look. “This can’t be good,” he says.
We follow her down the street. Sure enough, Jake on the steps of the museum—mymuseum—holding court in front of the camera crew, dressed in his trademark khakis and a tight white T-shirt, even though there’s a chilly wind whistling.
“I’ve always said that the key to treasure hunting is tenacity,” he’s saying, sounding warm and sincere, and utterly trustworthy.
What an actor.
“The willingness and grit to keep going when others have given up—” He catches my eye here, looking especially pleased with himself— “or haven’t ever believed in the first place. That’s where the real magic happens. That’s where you find the stuff that’s worth finding. And that’s why I’m thrilled to my bones to stand here and tell you all: I know where Earl Fortune’s lost treasure is hiding.”
“And … cut,” our harried director calls. “Nice work, Jake.”
“Is it true?” I demand, turning to the nearest crew member. Who, unfortunately, turns out to be Jessica. “Did you guys actually find something new in the letters?”
Jessica smirks. “Those dusty old things? You can have them.” She pulls the box of papers from her tote bag and shoves it at me. “We got this genius new tech guy to run AI mapping programs, he predicted all the possible routes Earl could have taken, and narrowed it down to his exact path through the mountains. There’s only one place the treasure could be,” she says smugly. “This field on the outskirts of town. We’ll be wrapped by the end of the day. Thanks for all your help,” she adds, and sashays off to join the rest of the crew. They pile into a motley collection of vans and trucks, then take off – behind Jake’s Jeep rental, of course, so they can film him flying dangerously fast through town, dust billowing.
“You know, you look pretty calm for someone who’s bitter rival is about to beat them to the treasure.”
I turn. Reeve is strolling over, hands wrapped around a steaming coffee cup, and a warm smile on his face.
I feel the now-familiar pull in my stomach, and bite back a sigh. He looks like he just rolled out of bed, all rumpled hair and sleepy eyes; wrapped up in that navy peacoat and what looks like an ugly hand-knit olive scarf.
He’sdelicious.
“Aren’t you worried Jake’s going to find something?” he asks. “He seemed pretty sure about this new secret location of his.”
I am worried, but I’m not about to admit it. “We’ll see,” I declare vaguely. “How about you? What kind of wild vacation plans do you have today? Mountain biking? Trail hiking? Going to go crazy and do a menthol mud wrap at the natural spa?”
Reeve grins. “Not today. Haven’t you heard? There’s supposed to be a big storm coming.”
I look up. The clouds are a little dark, but it’s still breezy. “I know you LA folks think a little drizzle is a category-three emergency,” I say with a smirk, “But it’s actually possible to do things,in the rain.”
He chuckles. “I just shot for three months in England,” Reeve replies with a wry look. “I know rain. But since I’m supposed to be kicking back, I’m going to stock up on snacks, and have myself a movie marathon.”
“Kurosawa and Goddard?” I tease.
“I’m thinking more like Die Hard, all three parts.” Reeve grins. “If you feel like joining me for the cinematic masterpiece …”
He gives me a look that isn’t so much inviting as downright tempting.
I clear my throat. “I have to get to work,” I say quickly. “But you have fun!”
Reeve salutes, and turns to leave. “You know where to find me if you change your mind!”
I hurry into the museum, ready to distract myself with a busy day wrangling grade-schoolers, but when I reach our central office/reception area, I find Dot setting out our "closed for business” sign.
“I thought we had the Jefferson elementary group today,” I say, puzzled.
“They called it off, because of the storm,” Dot replies, rolling up the sleeves of her oversized flannel shirt. “We should batten down the hatches here, too. It’s supposed to get nasty by tonight.”
She catches my confusion.
