“Sorry,” April said, shaking the pain out of her hand. “Charlie wanted me to read him a bedtime story before I left him with Grandma Rose.”

“Isn’t he a little old for that?”

“I still can talk him into it sometimes,” April said, massaging her knuckles.

“You shouldn’t baby him.”

“I’m his mother. I can do whatever I please.” She walked over to the crypt and peered inside. “Charlie will be happy to hear that we actually found the treasure.”

August joined her. “Shall we?”

The two of them cranked aside the lid of the crypt and listened as it rumbled away. August climbed up, then extended a hand to pull up April. The two of them looked down on a shimmering ripple of gold. There were thousands of coins. Maybe millions. It was hard to imagine all the pains that had taken place to keep the treasure—and its lie—hidden. Wars had been waged. Lives had been lost. The magnitude of the discovery hadn’t even begun to take effect.

August beamed. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

“I think it will look better in a museum,” April said. “The Smithsonian, maybe.”

“But you know,” August said, scooping up a handful of coins, “it may not be a bad idea to keep a few tiny mementos.”

“I don’t think so,” April said, taking his hand and emptying it of the bounty. “If I know you, those would be on eBay in an hour.”

“What are you talking about?” August said. “I’ve changed my ways.”

“Some things never change.”

He smiled. “Some things do.”

Epilogue

epilogue

CHRISTMAS
CHICAGO, ILLINOIS

Dalton Richards heard a knock at the door. “Who could be arriving so early?” he asked his wife. She was too busy to venture a guess. They had guests arriving in thirty minutes—grandparents, aunts, and uncles—pretty much everybody they were related to.

“Just go ahead and answer it!” she said, running by with a plate of cookies.

Dalton opened the door.

“Is there a Clayton Richards at this address?” a deliveryman inquired.

“Yes. That’s my son,” Dalton said. “Don’t you guys take today off?”

“Used to,” the deliveryman said. His name tag announced him as Wilson. “Mind if I come in? It’s getting pretty bad out there.”

Wilson entered. Dalton wasn’t sure whether to offer him something warm to drink. It would mean bothering his wife, and that was the last thing he wanted to do. Her glare was worse than a kick in the shin. “So,” Dalton said, making pointless conversation. “You’re here to deliver something to Clayton?”

“Yep. Sure am. Well, actually, no.”

“No?”

“Well, it’s sort of hard to explain.”

“I don’t follow.”

“What’s going on, Dad?” Clayton bounded down the stairs. “I heard someone say my name.”

Dalton rubbed his son’s head. “This is Wilson. He has a delivery for you.”