She shrugged. “It’s like living in a snake pit. I can’t wait to get back to Leesburg. For the time being I’m staying in a boutique hotel off New Hampshire Avenue during the week so I don’t have to commute every day. Anyway, Bobby’s working flat-out trying to solve Prescott’s murder, so he’s not home much, either.”

“I hope he finds out who did it soon.”

“You and me both.” She bit into her sandwich and closed her eyes. “I’m in heaven. And homesick.” When she finished chewing she said, “What are you doing in town? You didn’t mention why you were coming.”

“I’ve got a meeting on the Hill.” The Folger was only two blocks from the Capitol, so it was mostly true.

“Lobbying on behalf of farm wineries again?”

I hadn’t told Kit anything about Prescott’s claim that he’d found the last clue in the search for a lost treasure and how I’d gotten involved. Not only that, I believed Prescott in spite of all logical evidence to the contrary. And then there was my ransacked office. Kit would give me a fair hearing if I told her what had happened—and I could trust her. But the besieged newsroom of the Washington Tribune was not the place to start spilling information.

“It’s not about farm wineries,” I said. “It’s a story that should be told over a bottle of wine at the Goose Creek Bridge. Not here.”

Her eyes widened. The Goose Creek Bridge had been our private hangout since we were teenagers. Built more than two hundred years ago, it had been abandoned after Mosby’s Highway was widened in the 1950s. Now the local garden club cared for it because it was of historical interest as a Civil War battle site. The two of us liked going there because most of the time it was deserted.

“At least tell me what’s going on.”

I lowered my voice and leaned closer to her. “Prescott claimed he had made an important historical discovery before he died. It’s a long story, but I’m trying to find out if he was right.”

“So you’re going up to the Hill?”

“I’m going to the Folger Library.”

“The Shakespeare Library? Why? What for?” Her voice rose.

“Shh.” I laid a finger over my lips. “More than likely just chasing a unicorn.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’ll explain. Word of honor. But not here.”

She dropped her voice to a whisper. “Does this have something to do with Prescott’s death?”

“It might. And before you ask, I already told Bobby about it. He doesn’t believe there’s a connection.”

She sat back and folded her arms, absorbing that information. “But you do.”

I nodded. “What’s going on with the investigation, anyway? Is he any nearer to finding out who did it?”