Page 31 of Summer Rush

“Great tip. Thanks,” Alyssa said, her eyes glinting— again with jealousy. Janine knew her well.

As Barbara breezed back out the large wooden door and closed it with a crunch behind her, Alyssa, Maggie, and Janine remained in the center of the shelves, blinking at one another nervously.

“Alyssa?” Maggie began. “What exactly are we looking for?”

Alyssa shrugged and took a step toward the nearest shelf. “Anything that connects the secret society to the Cacciapaglias. Anything that links that painting from the other museum to Mauricio or Teresa.” She yanked open a cabinet drawer, glowering, then muttered, “Was she prettier than me?”

Both Maggie and Janine jumped into action.

“No way!” Maggie cried.

“No, honey,” Janine assured her.

“And, come on. We saw how Nico looked at you yesterday,” Maggie hurried to add. “He got you into the back room of the museum! It just so happens that she works here. It’s a coincidence. That’s all.”

“They’ve probably been friends since they were kids,” Janine tried. “It seems like everyone’s known each other their entire lives here.”

Alyssa wrinkled her nose, muttering, “I don’t know,” before she dove into her drawer. With a shrug, Janine and Maggie followed her lead, falling into their own drawers of research.

Janine’s particular drawer was filled with diaries from the Gionnocaro family— which wasn’t exactly helpful, as they were written entirely in Italian. Out of curiosity, she parsed through them, amazed at the beautiful handwriting of the 1800s, a lost art. She made a mental note to write more things down.

Maggie was more intelligent in her search, directing herself toward the photographs and putting her head down. “Mom, you have to come see these.”

Janine hurried around the corner to look at the family photographs Maggie pulled out. They were from the late 1800s, early 1900s, creepy in the way old photographs often were, as nobody ever smiled, not even the children. Entire families were lined up near the canals, picnicking in a nearby field, or seated in a parlor somewhere, scowling at whoever had decided to take their photograph.

“Good idea on the photos,” Alyssa said, joining them. “After all my research, I can pick out a few Italian phrases here and there, but I’m not quick. This is easier.”

For the following two hours, the three Potter girls kept up their search as Elena, the seamstress, scowled at them from the back of the room. It wasn’t till Janine thought she might fall over from hunger that Alyssa squealed in recognition.

She’d found something.

Maggie and Janine encircled her, peering down at a photograph of a pre-teenage girl. The photograph wasn’t like the others, as it was still in a frame, the glass shattered over the feet of the girl.

“Look!” Alyssa cried, pointing to the calligraphy in the corner. “It says Teresa Cacciapaglia! Tell me it doesn’t!”

Janine and Maggie squinted at the tiny, tiny writing and shook their heads in disbelief.

“I think you’re right,” Maggie whispered.

“Look at what she’s wearing,” Alyssa continued excitedly. “This crest hanging from her neck is in many, many other photographs and paintings, and, according to my research, it was the crest of the secret society. Which probably means that Teresa’s father was somehow involved!”

Maggie lowered her voice. “I think you should take the photograph.”

Alyssa gave her a look of shock. “Maggie! What’s gotten into you!”

“Come on. She’s our grandmother. Nobody has looked at that photograph in years,” Maggie went on, showing a rare bit of rebellion.

Alyssa glanced back toward Elena, who’d become very focused on her sewing, her eyebrows furrowed.

Impatient, Maggie suddenly took the photograph, unlatched the back of the frame, and painstakingly removed it so that she could easily slip the photograph out. But as she did that, something cold and hard dropped from the back of the frame and smacked against the ground. Immediately, Elena raised her head and scowled at them, saying something in Italian.

“Sorry!” Alyssa piped up. “I dropped my phone.” Alyssa then knelt gently, pretending to fetch her phone, and raised it up to show Elena.

At least for now, Elena was satisfied.

But meanwhile, Janine investigated what had actually fallen from the back of the frame. It had skidded across the floor, headed for the large wooden door that separated the archives from the public museum.

It was a small iron key.

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