The Rivening

The Bug

James and Ainsley's visit nagged at Connie. Why did Ainsley even come? She barely stayed and feigned only slight interest in seeing the house or listening to anything Connie said.

And James. The James she knew was a nuisance and busy body who took delight in cataloguing and dissecting every glimpse and utterance, and gleefully creating intrigue and drama out of trivialities. Unless he was now also regularly seeing a shrink, she doubted his penchant for meddling and rumormongering had disappeared with his couch potato physique. That he barely said a peep about Arden, or the gate in the fence, was completely out of character. And suspect.

When Grayson arrived, they sat under the oak tree in the back yard. He placed Ida's notebook on the table. "There you go. I'm truly sorry. I'll even get down on my knees if you can forgive me."

"Stop the histrionics. You're worse than James."

"So, he and Ainsley brought the lithograph."

"Yes, they were delightful." Connie raised her eyebrows, "You see a lot of Ainsley?"

"Don't be ridiculous. She's hardly my type."

Connie shrugged, "She left a different impression. But whatever. Right now I want you to tell me what it is that you're so anxiously looking for."

"Sure, I will. But first, I want you to explain the lightening bolt hieroglyphic. I think it's something related to you and the flaming sword in the old lithograph, isn't it?"

Connie paused. Uncertain how to go forward. "Yes. It was sort of a short form Findley used sometimes for me. I don't know why he put it in his notes. I thought if I interpreted the Roman numerals for you, you could take it from there. I'm just so done with Findley's stuff, playing the role of the little scribe. And you haven't helped with your, 'oh sorry, Connie, some of this is privileged information only for us learned archaeologists.' I should have told you about the hieroglyphic earlier. It's just me being petulant. Okay, now your turn."

Connie wondered if her explanation sounded remotely plausible.

Grayson grinned, "Petulant. Bravo, Connie. Good for you."

"Don't patronize me."

"Ah, still testy. But that's good. Coming out of your shell a little."

Connie frowned, "Your turn, Grayson."

"Okay, but all kidding aside, you must promise not to speak to anyone about what I tell you." Those words had a familiar ring to Connie. "Findley was following a hunch he had about an ancient legend. In the last years he was supported handsomely by a wealthy patron to follow that hunch."

"Yeah. The mysterious patron. Findley was quite secretive about him. And a little nervous, it seemed. Is he still funding you?"

"I convinced him to let me keep going for a few more seasons. Findley kept saying odd things that made me think he'd discovered something that last year he was at the site. I thought that once I had complete access to all of Findley's notes, I could uncover what he found."

"You're still not telling me what you're looking for."

"You'll laugh when I tell you. It's a sort of version of the Leprechaun's pot of gold." Grayson smirked. "I think you know more than you're telling me. If you trust me, you could be the beneficiary of considerable wealth. I'm quite serious."

There was something in Grayson's gaze and manner that Connie had never seen before. She couldn't judge what it was and felt caught in some elaborate game of cat and mouse with him that she would be sure to lose.

"What does my mother's notebook have to do with it?"

"You tell me."

Connie stood.