At the mention of my father’s name, Frankie’s expression changed from genuine curiosity to glazed-over polite interest. She had never met Leland, but she had heard plenty about his surefire-get-rich-quick schemes, his gambling, his profligate spending, and the laissez-faire upbringing of his children after my mother died. In short, I could tell she thought whatever I’d come across was probably just more of Leland’s pie in the sky dreaming.

“I know the woman who heads up that research center,” she said in a matter-of-fact way. “Her name is Tana Rossi. If you’d like to look into whatever it is he found, I can give you her email address.” The expression on her face said she thought I was wasting my time—and probably Tana Rossi’s—but I appreciated the gesture.

“That would be great. If you don’t mind, I’d like to contact her.”

“No problem.” She set down her mug, pulled out her phone, and did some tapping and scrolling. After a moment she said, “Here you go. I just texted her information to you.”

“Thanks,” I said as my phone beeped. “I don’t need to mention your name if you’d rather not let her know how I got her email address. I know this must sound like something out of sci-fi Shakespeare, especially if my father is involved.”

She looked chagrined, probably because I’d read her mind, and her mouth curved into a guilty smile. “You’d be surprised the theories people come up with. But if you think you’ve got something, by all means get in touch with Tana.” She picked up her tea and drank. “If anyone’s heard ’em all—and they run the gamut—she has. And feel free to use my name.”

“Okay,” I said. “If you mean it, then I will.”

I sent Tana Rossi an email when I was in the Jeep later that morning just before driving over to the General Store to pick up groceries for Persia. Since Frankie had given me permission, I used her name, hoping it would strengthen my case that I was a sane, rational person with a legitimate query, not some crank or crackpot with a wacky theory. I avoided mentioning the Bruton Vault, since that seemed to have been thoroughly discredited by the results of the two excavations, but I did say that I was interested in discussing the connection between the wreck of the Sea Venture and the plot of The Tempest. I also said I wondered whether the Folger had any information to substantiate whether Thomas Jefferson might have had access to the writings of Sir Francis Bacon, and finally, that I was curious about any information concerning Bacon’s possible influence on Shakespeare’s plays.

I hit send and drove over to Thelma’s.