Page 14 of Finders Keepers
He scoffs. “What? How would that be fair?”
“Because…” This made a lot more sense when I was thinking about it while scrubbing pans downstairs. “You’d be paying for my expertise.”
“Expertise, huh?”
“Yes. Not only do I have a better sense of where we’ve already searched and what sources we’ve consulted, as you said, but I have an actual degree in this stuff.”
“Oh, did you study treasure hunting in grad school?”
If I thought about it for a while, I could probably make a decent case for how archival research and treasure hunting have quite a few similarities—including the inhalation of a surprising amount of dirt and dust. “Ha ha,” I say sardonically. “I spent years learning how to find information as efficiently as possible. And I’m damn good at it.”
I can hear the smile in his voice as he says, “I don’t doubt it.” There’s a hint of pride, of something like admiration, that feels like a quiet echo of the past. It sends an unwanted warmth to my cheeks.
“I’m just going to be blunt,” I say. “I could use the money, Quentin. And I need the potential payout to be worth enough to make fucking around with you a good use of my time.”
He hasn’t moved from his spot at his own bedroom window, but there’s a distance imbued in his tone when he finally responds. “Seventy percent and eight weeks.”
“What?”
“You can have seven thousand. But only if you commit to ‘fucking around with me’ for at least eight weeks.”
“Eight weeks! You want me to stay here until August?”
“Only if we don’t find the treasure before that.” He continues, “I also want to note that you only asked me for six thousand. I’m upping it to seven. You’re welcome.”
“But it’s double the time commitment!” I protest.
“That’s the offer, Nina,” he says. “Take it or leave it.” There’s a strength and a confidence in his words that make it easy to imagine him at a conference table, wearing that perfectly tailored navy suit, negotiating mergers or whatever the hell it is that international business lawyers do.
Best outcome if I accept? We find the treasure and we get to keep it, it’s worth a bajillion dollars, I never have to work again, and also maybe Quentin and I reconcile. Worst? We don’t find anything, I’ve wasted eight weeks of my life, we wind up hurting each other again, and I walk away with nothing. Most likely? The treasure doesn’t exist but we spend a week or two occupied, at least, while getting on slightly better terms and I find a real job in the meantime.
If I don’t agree to Quentin’s proposal, then the best outcome is that I immediately find employment and this is all moot. The worst is that I spend the entire summer in bed, alternating between refreshing Indeed and sobbing into the too-brightcomforter while my mother tries to set me up with every semi-attractive person she hears about while incessantly inviting me to read high-heat romance books with her and her friends. Most likely? Well, that looks a lot like the worst, but maybe only through, like, the end of July.
Never in a million years would I have guessed that willingly taking part in an eccentric dead guy’s practical joke with someone who completely stomped on my heart when we were teenagers would seem like a smart way to spend my thirty-third summer on the planet. But until I can find Ambitious Nina again, I’m in a sort of holding pattern. And this at least will get me out of the house and away from my mom’s well-meaning smothering.
“Fine. I accept.”
“What was that now?” I know he heard me. He’s just being a shit.
“I saidfine,” I repeat, not bothering to hide my annoyance. He better get used to it because I plan on being very annoyed for the next few weeks. “I accept your terms. We’ll hunt for the stupid treasure.”
“Ah haw, ma chérie,” he says, taking up the Moon’s outrageous accent again. “C’est magnifique!”
FORM B
MID-ATLANTIC INDUSTRY
Personal History of Informant
STATE .............. Maryland
NAME OF WORKER .. Albert Aaron
ADDRESS ........... Sprangbur Estate
DATE ............... June 9, 1937
SUBJECT ........... Life and business of Julius J. Fountain
