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“I don’t see an ice cream truck anywhere,” Evan says. “Or a guy dressed as a clown.”
“You’re thinking of John Wayne Gacy,” I say. “And I don’t think he was from the Sunshine State.”
“Great, so we know there’s no killer clown.” Evan takes a confident step toward the cabin. “If you want, you can wait here.”
“No way.” But I do let him take the lead as he walks up to the structure and knocks.
No reply.
He pushes the door in.
There’s no way that will just?—
The door opens, and doesn’t even creak or anything, which it would in a horror flick. Then again, maybe it was oiled with the fat of the killer’s last victim?
“This is a bad idea,” I whisper. “We’re trespassing, and the door was unlocked—how sketch is that? Also?—”
I’m not sure if Evan hears me, but he walks in.
I wait a beat but do not hear any screams of pain, so like an idiot, I follow… and gasp.
The place smells like pines and is surprisingly pretty cozy, with plush furniture and floors covered in furs and rugs. But that’s not what I’m fascinated by. There’s a literal treasure chest in the middle of the living room, one straight out of the set of The Pirates of the Caribbean.
Evan points at the chest. “I’m not as good as you when it comes to clues and whatnot, but I think that is what we’ve been searching for.”
I have so many questions I don’t even know where to start. What is this place? Who built it? Why? If this is the treasure, how did it survive all this time with the door unlocked?
Then again: We. Found. The. Treasure. I try not to jump up and down like Reagan would. “Can we just take it? What if it belongs to the serial killer?”
“When you dig up treasure, it’s usually hidden on land that belongs to someone who isn’t you, so you’re talking about a generic issue with treasure hunting.” Evan walks over to the chest and opens the lid.
Inside the chest is a smaller chest.
Evan mutters something and takes that smaller chest out, only to find yet another, smaller chest nested inside, matryoshka style. Not surprisingly, there are more chests in it, and on and on until finally, Evan uncovers a glass box the size of his palm.
Inside this box is a very fancy men’s watch but I barely look at it because all my attention is captured by the most beautiful pair of earrings I’ve ever seen, in real life and in movies. Each piece is made out of white gold or platinum and prominently features a giant sapphire that reminds me of the necklace the old lady dropped into the ocean in Titanic.
“Can I call dibs on the watch?” Evan asks.
I drag my eyes away from the earrings. “Why? All of it belongs to you… or to the serial killer.”
Evan shakes his head. “A deal’s a deal. We agreed to share the treasure.” With that, he takes the watch and clips it on his wrist.
Given that we’re in a cabin in the woods, how likely is it that I’m possessed by the ghost of a crow? My eyes leap back to the shiny earrings just as I mutter, “This isn’t right. These look like they cost a fortune.”
Evan shrugs. “They belonged to my late grandmother. Having gotten to know you, I’m confident she would want you to have them.”
I shouldn’t accept something this expensive, let alone a family heirloom. It’s way too much. All I did to earn this was take Evan on what was basically a fun excursion around Florida. But the earrings are so freaking beautiful. And Evan is a billionaire, so the cost means nothing to him, right? Not to mention?—
No. I’m just rationalizing. I can’t in good conscience?—
“Just try them on,” Evan murmurs.
I take a step back. “If I put them on, I’m not sure I’ll be able to give them back.”
“I won’t take them back,” Evan says. “They either stay here or come with us.”
“Leaving these earrings here in the middle of nowhere would be sacrilege.” Heart hammering in my chest, I put the earnings on.
