“Who’s Martha?”
“The Fricks’ other daughter. I need to go through the papers in the basement, see if there’s any connection to what we’ve discovered. I have a vague recollection of one, I just can’t put my finger on it.”
“What should we do with the cameo and fob?”
He considered the question. “Put them back into their respective compartments, for now. Better not to move things around too much; we should treat them like we’re like archeologists on a dig. The notes, though, definitely bring along, we’ll need those for reference.”
After the fob and cameo were secured, Joshua motioned to Veronica.
“Follow me.”
* * *
“You weren’t kidding. It’s a real bowling alley.”
Veronica stared at two long, gleaming lanes.
“The wood is pine and maple, and the gravity-fed ball return really works,” said Joshua. “Do you want to try it?”
She looked at him. “Is that allowed?”
“Hold on a minute.”
He placed the lamp near the center of the room and turned the flame all the way up so that almost the entire alley was lit. “Go for it.”
She picked a ball off the feeder and kicked off her shoes. Now that the treasure hunt had fallen short of her expectations, just as Joshua had predicted, she wouldn’t mind throwing something heavy around. “I’ve only watched this in movies. Are you sure it’s all right?”
“As long as the ball lands in the lane, you’re good.”
She lifted the ball under her chin, then let her arm drop back and swing forward, letting go at the apex. The ball landed with a thud and she cringed, then watched as it slowly made its way down the entire lane and, to her surprise, knocked into the very center pin, which knocked all of the ones around it, like dominoes.
“Strike!” called out Joshua. “Well done!”
“Now I know what my next career move will be.”
“Pro bowler slash model. Love it.”
For the past couple of hours, she hadn’t thought once about yesterday’s debacle, but his comment brought it all back. Her modeling career was probably over, and her deep dread for what the future held made her stomach ache like it was full of jagged stones. Polly would be stuck in Kent House forever, with Veronica and her mum toiling away at jobs that hardly paid the bills. God, how she’d bungled it all. In contrast, Joshua appeared so accomplished and smart. She was pathetic, really.
Joshua was looking at her oddly. She fixed her face into a neutral expression. “How does the ball return work?” she asked.
He walked to the very end, where the pins had fallen, and picked the ball up. “Typically, there would be a servant boy here to do this.”
“Typically. Of course.”
He placed it on a narrow runner that ran the length of the lane, and let go. It gently rolled all the way toward her, stopping by her knees, ready to be hefted up and tossed once more.
“Do you want a go as well?” she asked. “We have all night.”
“Maybe after we take a look at those letters, try to figure this out. I’ll let you enjoy your brief moment of victory.”
He led the way to a line of tables set up in the corridor that ran parallel to the bowling alley, separated by grand arched columns.
Boxes stood on one of the tables; the other was cleared as a work space, with a chair pulled up to it. She imagined Joshua asleep on the table, how sweet he must’ve looked with his head lying on his arms, glasses off. Down here, deep underground, it wasn’t surprising he’d crashed and not heard her earlier cries for help. No noise penetrated this far.
“This is what you’ve been working on?” she asked.
“It is. The alarm installers found all these boxes in a cupboard at the very end of this corridor. When Helen Frick started planning her library, she worked out of this space, so it’s not surprising.”
“You said she hasn’t been told of the find yet?”
He gave a quick shake of his head. “She’s very private. But these aren’t just about her, they’re about the entire family, and so the archives department wants the opportunity to study them first.”
“Do you think she’ll be angry? I’d be quite upset if someone found my letters and didn’t tell me.”
“Most likely, yes, which is why I’m stuck down here until they’re ready to approach her.”
“Like a secret mission.”
“Only if you care about sickeningly polite thank-you letters and six-course dinner party menus. I haven’t seen anything of all that much interest.” He gently leafed through a file of delicate, tea-colored paper. “But I remember a letter from Miss Helen to her private secretary about some kind of game. It was sent from their home in Massachusetts back in November 1919.” He pulled it out with a flourish. “Here.”