“Noah said he had no idea what it was,” I said. “So how did he know Prescott had angered someone enough to make him—or her—commit murder?”

“Prescott must have told Noah he pissed someone off,” Quinn said.

“You’d think Noah would want to know why. Or what. And especially who.”

“Not necessarily. First of all, Noah doesn’t seem like the type of guy who would ask,” Quinn said. “You’re the one who told me he worked in intelligence before he retired. He kept secrets for a living. Second, Prescott might not have made a big deal about it.”

I thought about it. Quinn could be right. Prescott could have just come out with some off-the-cuff remark. Taking risks was part of the thrill of the hunt. Maybe even a prerequisite.

“I guess so,” I said. “Noah is the kind of guy who believes in ‘need-to-know,’ and perhaps he thought this wasn’t one of those times. Maybe Prescott mentioned it in passing because—as Noah said—it’s not the first time he’s alienated someone when he’s been on the trail of whatever it is he wants. Noah probably didn’t think anything of it, either—until Prescott turned up dead.”

“Plus you’ve got Bobby who believes someone murdered Prescott because of money and the fact that he was threatening to sell a big chunk of Avery Communications. Specifically the Washington Tribune,” Quinn said. “Do you think he’s wrong?”

“Who? Bobby or Noah?”

“Take your pick.”

“I don’t know. I wonder who else knew about the lost treasure Prescott was looking for.”

“You do.”

A shiver ran down my spine. I didn’t want to end up like Prescott.

“I have an idea what it might be. Only because Prescott asked me to sell him Ian’s Madeira and then suggested the clue to where I might find it was in Leland’s ‘secret’ safe-deposit box. Without Hobson Banks’s letter and those newspaper photos of Jock and Prescott at Bruton Parish when the graveyard was being excavated, I would have had no idea about any of this,” I said.

“I still think someone else might be looking for the same thing, darling.” Quinn gave me a look that didn’t do anything to quiet my uneasiness.

“Look, the official reason we’re driving down to Jamestown and Williamsburg today is to meet with Josie Wilde. Talk to her about getting her to help us at the vineyard. No one has a clue we’re also going to talk to her about Bruton Vault and whether it exists or not.”

“Fair enough. But depending on what we find out today,” Quinn said, “I think it would be a good idea to talk to Bobby when we get back to Atoka.”