“Leland’s Madeira—if it exists—has a label on the bottles that said it was intended for a special Fourth of July ceremony at the Capitol. Attended by President James Madison.”

“And?”

“I know this is going to sound weird.”

“You’d be surprised how much weird I hear every day. Try me.”

“Prescott claimed he was on the verge of uncovering a four-hundred-year-old secret and somehow the Jefferson Declaration, as he called it, led him to the last clue. He wanted to present what he discovered—or was about to discover—to his brother Masons at a private party the night of the Miranda Foundation holiday gala in two weeks,” I said. “They were going to drink some of the Madeira as a toast.”

“A four-hundred-year-old secret, huh? Any idea what it was?”

I could tell he wasn’t buying this. He still wore that poker face.

“Of course not,” I said. “He also said powerful people didn’t want this … thing … to be found out. And that telling me any more than he already had was dangerous.”

Even to my own ears, my somewhat rambling explanation of a long-hidden secret whose discovery would set in motion dangerous repercussions sounded like something out of National Treasure. Or another Indiana Jones movie. Fascinating and engrossing, but totally made-up.

“Dangerous for who?” Bobby asked.

“Me. And, presumably, him.”

“Do you think he was in a rational state of mind when he was telling you this? How much did you two have to drink when you were downstairs together?”

“A small glass of Madeira. He wasn’t drunk, if that’s what you’re asking. Look, I know it sounds a little out-there, but he was dead serious.”

“Good choice of words.” His face cracked into a small smile.

“You know what I mean.”

“I heard you asked Kit who among the guests yesterday knew that Prescott might have had plans to sell the Washington Tribune,” he said.

Complete change of subject. He thought Prescott’s buried treasure, or whatever it was, wasn’t relevant to his murder. He was definitely looking elsewhere.

“That’s right,” I said. “I did ask her about that.”

“Had you already discussed this subject with Prescott when you were alone with him?”

“No. It was none of my business.”

“Did Prescott bring it up? Did he mention anything about someone in his family being angry or upset about this rumor?”

“No, Prescott didn’t bring it up, but yes, he told me members of his family were upset with him. It wasn’t about selling the Trib, though.”

“What was it about?”

“Buying things like the Declaration of Independence. Collecting rare and beautiful paintings or sculptures or historical items, as he and Rose had always done. He swore me to secrecy about the purchase of the Declaration,” I said. “He especially didn’t want his family finding out.”

“Why not?”