Page 84 of Smuggler's Cove
“I love you, too.” She returned the kiss on the cheek. “Okay. What’s next?” Olivia asked, knowing she would be in charge of making most of the arrangements.
“We are going to need a car down there,” Lincoln said, as he polished off the last piece of spanakopita.
“Should we rent one for the summer? We are going to need an SUV. Food. Supplies. Beach gear,” Madison said.
“I’ll look into it,” Olivia offered.
“I probably have several thousand credit-card points. See if we can use them. I know I am not planning on going anywhere any time soon. Because she is the senior fashion editor, I already told Liz she will be going to Milan and Paris this fall.”
“She must be thrilled. But aren’t you going to miss it?” Lincoln asked.
“Not one day of it. She is young and ambitious. Let her get pursued by models, writers, stylists, and designers.”
Lincoln looked at his sister with surprise. “Are you sure you are okay?”
“Could not be better.” Madison smiled with a devilish grin. After dinner, they cleared the table and sat in the living room for a nightcap.
Madison poured everyone a glass of port and asked, “So what about that map?”
“I completely forgot,” Lincoln said, and reached into the back pocket of his jeans. He carefully unfolded it and laid it on the coffee table.
“It looks like a kid’s drawing,” Olivia said, squinting.
“Certainly not official,” Madison added.
Olivia took out her laptop and opened a maps site. She typed inSmuggler’s Cove on the Navesink. “Wow. Check it out.” She turned the laptop so Lincoln and Madison could see it.
“They look similar, except is a rudimentary version,” Olivia added.
Lincoln traced the line from Smuggler’s Cove to the Rahway River. Madison quickly looked up Captain William Kidd. “It says that he was a privateer but was eventually considered a pirate and was hanged for murder in London.” She continued to read. “Legend says that he buried his treasure somewhere along the riverbanks of the Rahway, across from Arthur Kill in Staten Island or along the shores of Long Island.”
“Do you supposed this was the map Mr. Farrell was looking for?” Olivia asked.
“According to Detective Burton, when he questioned Farrell’s associates, they made reference to a map.”
“Wow. And this could be the cause of Farrell’s demise,” Madison said thoughtfully.
“Could very well be, but I am sure there are dozens of legends about a secret treasure map, Captain Kidd, and his band of privateers or pirates, depending on who you ask.”
“We should have it framed and put it in the new shed,” Madison suggested.
“I had a feeling you might say something like that. There are a bunch of maps at the house. The ones that were hanging on the fishing line. I figured you would want to take a look and repurpose them.”
“Ah, you know me well, my brother.” She patted him on the back.
“I’ll take this to the framer next week,” Olivia offered. Lincoln folded it and handed it to her.
“Floating plexiglass,” Madison said. “No frame.”
“Got it,” Olivia replied.
It was after eight, and they decided to call it a day. Madison trusted she would finally get a good night’s sleep. But to be sure, she took a long hot shower and popped two ashwagandha gummies into her mouth, a native and ancient remedy for relaxation. By the time she dried her short bob, she was yawning and ready for bed.
* * *
The following weekend, Irene met them at the ferry. She dropped Lincoln at the marina and then took Madison and Olivia to a car-rental agency, where a red Jeep Grand Cherokee was waiting. Irene handed Olivia a list of stores and their locations.
“I made sure there was GPS in the vehicle,” Olivia said.
