Peach loosened more plaster to reveal a gap in the laths. “I can put out some bait stations, but this is something else.” Reaching deeper, he pulled out a long, flat metal box and set it on the drop cloth. “What do you suppose that is?”

The box was covered in plaster dust and cobwebs. It had latches on each end and rusty hinges along the back. Flaking stenciled letters spelled out WOODRUFF’S CELEBRATED HEALING OINTMENT, and someone had scratched A. Larrabee in one corner of the metal.

“No idea,” Natalie said. “I wonder what a box was doing in the wall.”

“How old is this place, do you know?”

“Dates back to the gold rush days.”

“Maybe it’s buried treasure.”

“That would be nice.”

“Let’s have a look, then.” He pried open the latches and squirted the hinges with oil. The top flipped up, raining flakes of corroding metal and paint and revealing a collection of objects.

They both leaned forward to peer at the odds and ends—faded photos, buttons, a monocle, some keys and old ribbons. “Ancient mementos,” said Natalie. “These look like medals. War medals?” She held one up. It was heavily tarnished, but she could make out a couple of the words. War with Spain. Philippine Insurrection. Then she grabbed her phone and sent a picture to Tess. “One of my friends is an antiquities expert. I bet she can find out more information.”

There was a faded postcard depicting a bay of some sort. A printed description identified it as the Old Gateway. Someone had written a note on the card, but the ink was too washed out to decipher.

“That must be Manila,” said Peach. “The Americans destroyed a Spanish fleet there in 1898.”

She looked at him in surprise. “You just had that on the tip of your tongue?”

He shrugged. “I know stuff. Sometimes.”

She was embarrassingly ignorant of the Spanish-American War, not to mention an insurrection in the Philippines, which she knew was related but didn’t know how. Her phone pinged her. “You were right. Tess says it’s a medal from the Spanish-American War. She wants the serial number on the edge.” Natalie picked up the medal and squinted, trying to make out the tiny numbers. Peach rummaged for something in his tool belt and handed her a polishing cloth. She caught his scent of rain and motor oil, which she found oddly appealing. Unsettled, she moved away from him and used the monocle to magnify the print on the medal.

She sent the numbers to Tess. A brittle, yellowed newspaper clipping lined the bottom of the box—an article from the Examiner. She sat back on her heels. “I wonder why someone would hide these things in the wall.”

“It wasn’t an uncommon practice,” said Grandy, shuffling into the room.