My Daughter's Legacy Page 3

  “Which I did that very night,” he said. “And the night after that, and the night after that…”

  “Finally I said, ‘Lev, it’s time to step up your game. We doing this or what?’ ”

  They smiled at each other and then back at me.

  “So I took her to dinner…”

  “I had the clams casino…”

  “She was, of course, even more lovely than I had expected…”

  “And he was so handsome and debonair…”

  “And we really hit it off…”

  “So, long story short, he hasn’t been able to get rid of me since.”

  “As if I’d ever want to,” he scolded fondly, leaning toward her and, to my surprise—not to mention dismay—actually rubbing noses with her.

  No wonder Maddee hadn’t said anything. This was just one of those things that had to be seen to be believed.

  Still, we ended up having a fun afternoon—though once the food was served and we all dug in, it was kind of hard not to feel like a fifth wheel. Between Lev and Miss Vida making goo-goo eyes at each other, and Greg and Maddee acting like a happy old married couple, I really was the odd man out. Greg had cooked for us on the grill, and when Maddee took the first bite of her burger, she cried, “Oh, Greg! This is marvelous. What would I ever do without you?”

  Of course, I couldn’t resist the urge to tease my sister throughout the meal, saying, “Thanks for passing the ketchup, Greg. Thanks for the napkin. What would I ever do without you?”

  Maddee nudged me in the ribs playfully and tried to hide her blushing face. According to her whiteboard, later this month they would celebrate their year-and-a-half anniversary, and clearly things were going well. I couldn’t have been happier for her, even if I did make fun.

  We called it a night once the mosquitoes came out at dusk, parting on the walkway with a hug from Miss Vida and a handshake from her beau.

  “It’s a real shame, your grandfather’s passing,” he said, growing serious as he looked from Maddee to me. “He was a good man.”

  “You knew him?” I asked.

  He nodded. “He and my dad were hunting buddies. Occasionally they let me tag along. I was even out at that cabin of his a couple of times.” With a glance at his girlfriend, he added, “Sorry, maybe I shouldn’t have mentioned the cabin. Vida told me about what happened out there, and about the investigation and everything. That’s a real shame all the way around.”

  Surging with anxiety, I wrapped up my goodbyes and headed into the house, startled at how strongly I’d just reacted to Lev’s words. My hands were shaking, and I could barely breathe. So much for telling Maddee my big secret tonight. I clearly wasn’t ready yet.

  Greg stuck around to help with the dishes. Before he left, he asked about my old injuries from the accident. Besides two cracked ribs and lots of cuts and bruises, I’d sustained multiple fractures in both legs, with one messed up so badly that it had required surgery. I’d needed tons of physical therapy, starting when my legs were still in casts and continuing for a good while after those casts had come off. Greg had been my PT until I went away to rehab, and he’d done a great job. Nowadays, except for some small residual scars here and there—plus the big one from my surgery—you’d never know by looking at me that the accident had ever happened.

  I told him about volleyball and how it had strengthened me all over but especially in the legs. “My team nicknamed me ‘Rocket,’ because even though I’m the shortest one, I have enough thrusting power in my legs to play attack.”

  “Attack?” Maddee asked.

  “Yeah, you know. The setter sends the ball to the attack, and then she jumps up and smashes it into the opponent’s court.”

  “Wow, impressive,” Maddee said. “Considering that Greg’s gotten me into P90X, maybe you and I can have a Sister Cage Match.”

  We all laughed, and with that, Greg said it was time for him to go. Maddee offered to walk him out—probably so she could give him a big, fat goodbye kiss in private—but before they left, he patted me on the shoulder and said to keep up the good work. “I’m really proud of you, kid.”

  Warmth spread through me at his words and stayed long after he was gone. Besides being my sister’s boyfriend, my former physical therapist, and one of my wisest advisers, Greg was like a brother to me, and I truly valued his opinion.

  Once Maddee came back inside, she served up ice cream for the two of us, and we settled down at the kitchen table so she could bring me up to speed on the case. She began, however, by saying it was really complicated, and she might not get through the entire story tonight. “But at least we can get started, right?”

  “If you say so.”

  With a nod, she launched into her update, sounding like an elementary schoolteacher carefully laying the groundwork to lead her class through a complex concept. “The man we found dead in the cabin, as you know, was named Taavi Koenig, and he was from Cleveland, Ohio.”

  “Right.” I remembered that much. “So do we now know why he was there?”

  “Yes and no. We don’t know why he was in the cabin, but we do know why he was in Richmond. He was trying to track down a valuable family heirloom stolen from his great-great-grandfather.”

  “His great-great…” My voice trailed off as I took a bite of ice cream.

  “Yeah.” Maddee twirled her spoon around in her bowl, just as she did when we were little. “Bottom line, Taavi’s family and our family had a connection, one that began back in 1864.”

  “Get out.”

  “Yep. Do you know what an illuminated manuscript is?”

  “I’m not sure…”

  She put down her spoon to pull up a few images on her phone and then handed it over. I scrolled through photos of old, hand-lettered books decorated with elaborate borders and tiny illustrations—very colorful, some with gold and silver leaf.

  “Those are cool,” I said, returning her phone.

  “I know, right? So back in the 1800s, a Richmond rabbi owned a valuable illuminated manuscript that had been passed down through his family for generations. That rabbi’s name was Elias Koenig, and he was Taavi’s great-great-grandfather.” Her eyes grew serious. “Tragically, in 1864, a con man tricked Elias and managed to steal the manuscript from him.”

  “Tricked him?”

  “Yeah. It’s kind of complicated. Apparently, the guy pretended to be a reporter from a big magazine doing a story about illuminated manuscripts. That’s how he got a foot in the door. Then, in his ‘interview,’ he gathered a bunch of information, including the fact that the rabbi was friends with the owner of a local company, Talbot Paper and Printing. The con man didn’t know the Talbots, but that didn’t matter. He lied and said he did, and then he came back a few days later with a ‘message’ from the Talbots, saying they’d learned of a group of thieves plotting to steal the manuscript. The Talbots supposedly offered to keep it in their company safe, where no one would ever think to look for it.”

  “The rabbi bought his story?”

  Maddee nodded. “It was a well-done con involving an old safe and some faked documents and stuff. But the important thing is that the con man stole the manuscript, and that part of his trickery involved the Talbots through no fault of their own.”

  “So what happened?”

  “The con man took the manuscript to New York City, where he’d already lined up his mark, a merchant from San Francisco who was in town on a buying trip for his store and for a new synagogue that was going up out on the West Coast. That guy purchased the manuscript, which he thought was legit, and then he sent it off to San Francisco with some other cargo aboard a ship called the Tycoon.”

  By now I’d finished my ice cream, but Maddee still had a few bites left.

  “The rabbi didn’t realize right away that the manuscript was gone, but once he and the Talbots figured it out, there wasn’t much they could do. Feeling bad for their friend and how they’d unwittingly been connected to the theft, the Talbots hired a private detective
to recover the manuscript.”

  I was surprised to hear there had even been private detectives back then.

  “The detective did finally track it down, but by then the con man was long gone, the poor merchant was appalled to learn he’d purchased stolen goods, and the Tycoon was out to sea.” Maddee took a last half-melted bite and then kept going. “One of the Talbots’ sons, Michael, was over in France at the time, learning about new methods of papermaking, and not long after this happened, his dad wrote and told him all about the poor rabbi who lost his treasured book and how the Talbot name had been dragged into it and so on. In the letter, he said that he felt sorriest of all for the poor merchant, who was out a bunch of money, because once the Tycoon got to San Francisco and the book was delivered, he would be legally required to ship the manuscript back to its rightful owner in Richmond.”

  “Well,” I said, wondering where this was all going, “except for the merchant, it sounds like everything turned out all right in the end.”

  Maddee shook her head. “Nope. In fact, the real troubles had just begun.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  Nicole

  I dished up a second helping of ice cream as Maddee continued the story of the stolen illuminated manuscript.

  “This all took place during the Civil War, and if you remember your lessons from history class, the Tycoon never made it to San Francisco.”

  I rolled my eyes. Really? She thought I’d remember something as obscure as a ship never making it to its destination in 1864?

  Maddee didn’t seem to notice. “Instead, it was captured by the CSS Alabama, which was the South’s most successful commerce raider.”

  “What’s a commerce raider?” I asked as I put the ice cream away.

  She explained that they roamed the seas during wartime and captured shipments of goods that belonged to the other side in an attempt to impact trade and damage the economy of the enemy. “Whenever they would capture a ship, they’d take on all the passengers and crew, confiscate any valuables they wanted, and then either burn the other ship or sell it for ransom. After that, they would drop off the passengers at the nearest port and sail away to their next conquest, keeping the booty for themselves.”

  I sat back down at the table, cradling my bowl. “Sounds like pirates to me.”

  “Yeah, but legally sanctioned ones.” She folded her hands together. “Anyway, to get from New York City to San Francisco back then, the Tycoon had to sail all the way down and around South America. But a little more than a month into its voyage, when it was off the coast of Brazil, the Tycoon was caught and confiscated by the Alabama. Among the valuables taken from the ship was the illuminated manuscript, although you have to wonder if anyone on board really knew its value. Regardless, one of the officers—we don’t have his name, so let’s just call him Fred—kept it for himself and tucked it away with his things. Whether he was aware of what it really was or not, we’ll never know—”

  “Wait.” I couldn’t help but interrupt. “One question. How do you know any of this? It’s a lot of detail for something that happened a hundred and fifty years ago.”

  Maddie nodded. “I was getting to that. When all was said and done, the Talbots sat down and documented everything, at least to the extent of their own knowledge. It makes it easy to learn the details when it’s all written out for you.”

  “Cool.” I took another bite of ice cream, nodding for her to continue.

  “After the commerce raider finished with the Tycoon, it headed to France, where the plan was to put it in dry dock for a few months so it could undergo extensive repairs by master shipbuilders there. At this point, the Alabama was notorious around the world, and once it reached the port city of Cherbourg, France, in mid-June, word of its arrival was telegraphed to Paris, and that news quickly spread all over Europe. One person who heard the news was Michael Talbot, who was still in Le Chambon at the time.”

  “And Michael was the Talbots’ son, the one who’d gotten the letter from his dad telling him all about what had happened, right?”

  “Right. So Michael learns that the Alabama is in France, and he’s all like, ‘Whaaat?’ ” Maddee’s excitement was palpable. “This thing that was stolen from Richmond got put on the Tycoon, and then the Tycoon was captured by the Alabama, and the Alabama was now in France? If that manuscript was among the items seized from the Tycoon, then it should still be aboard the Alabama.” She paused for a moment as if I might have a question.

  I smiled to encourage her to keep speaking and took another bite of ice cream.

  She continued eagerly. “On the chance he was right, Michael raced to Cherbourg, hoping to reclaim the stolen manuscript for the rabbi. Michael would be heading back to America in about a month, and he could bring it with him.” She explained that, meanwhile, once the Alabama reached the port, anchored in the harbor, and its captain asked permission to come ashore, he was told that permission would have to come from Napoleon III, who was currently out of town and unavailable.

  Maddee leaned toward me. “Thus, the crew was forced to stay aboard, though the captain and some of his officers ventured into town several times over the next few days as they waited for official permission to dock. On one of these trips, the officer who had the manuscript—”

  “Fred.” I smiled, happy to show I was keeping up.

  “Right. Fred connected with a cousin of his who lived in the region. Unfortunately for the Alabama, word of its location reached the Union, which sent a ship to attack it once it headed back out into international waters. Aware of the Union’s intentions, the captain of the Alabama decided to go ahead and fight things out right away while they were still waiting for Napoleon to come back from out of town and give them permission to land.”

  I finished the last of my ice cream as Maddee said, “Everyone on board the Alabama made preparations for battle, including sending their valuables ashore. Fred was able to entrust the manuscript and his other valuables to his cousin before reboarding the Alabama for the battle.”

  Clearly my sister loved all this history. She really had the story down. Her voice rose as she gave me a blow-by-blow of how the situation unraveled from there. “Thousands of spectators watched the battle from the French coast. The fighting lasted about an hour, until the Alabama sank. Although the majority of the crew survived, more than forty died—including poor Fred.”

  “Of course.”

  “Yeah, really, like what else can go wrong? Okay, so Michael reached Cherbourg the day of the battle, late in the afternoon, and was devastated to learn that the Alabama had been sunk off the coast by a Union ship. He thought the manuscript was now at the bottom of the sea, but then he heard that some crewmembers had sent valuables ashore first. Encouraged, he put the word out that he was looking for an old book, an illuminated manuscript, from among those valuables. Eventually, he was approached by Fred’s cousin, who had found one in Fred’s things and was willing to sell it to Michael for the right price.”

  Maddee explained that Michael paid the guy what he asked, which was a fraction of the manuscript’s true value, and then he returned to Le Chambon. When his time in France came to an end a few weeks later, he brought the manuscript home with him, intending to deliver it to the rabbi.

  “That must’ve been one happy mensch.”

  “Yeah, except by the time Michael reached Richmond, the rabbi was off fighting with the 25th Virginia Infantry regiment in the Shenandoah Valley. So Michael and his father hung on to the manuscript for him, tucking it away in a safe with the family’s other valuables.”

  I did my best to stifle a yawn but without success.

  “Still with me?” Maddee asked.

  “Yeah, keep going.” I rose and carried both of our bowls and spoons to the sink. “This is interesting and all, but I’m waiting to hear how any of it ties in with a dead body in a cabin some hundred and thirty years later.”

  Maddee retrieved a clean hand towel and then joined me at the sink, where she stood expectantly.
Taking the hint, I reached for the dish soap and started washing.

  “That will come,” she said. “For now, I’m almost done. Let’s wrap up this first part so you can get to sleep. I’ll tell you the rest tomorrow, after the museum.”

  I wanted to keep going now, but it had been an exhausting day, and there was a sofa bed across the room with my name on it.

  “Just one last thing, and then we’ll stop for the night.” As Maddee continued, she took each clean item from me, dried it, and put it away. “Believe it or not, after all of that, the thing was stolen.”

  “No!”

  “Yes, taken right from their safe—along with other items of their own. So unfair. It wasn’t as though they’d buried their valuables in the ground or something.” Finished with the dishes, my sister pointed toward the stack of linens on the end table.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, theft wasn’t all that unusual during the war. People were starving, desperate, and driven to do terrible things—plus, there was always the threat of Union soldiers coming in and taking stuff.” Together we pulled out the hide-a-bed and began making it. Maddee kept talking. “The poor homeowners didn’t know what to do. A lot of them hid their valuables in the walls or buried them in their yards. But the Talbots used a good, solid safe, and they were still robbed.”

  We finished the bed, and I began gathering my toothbrush and other stuff from my bag. “So that’s how it ends—for now at least?”

  “Pretty much. When all was said and done, the Talbots wrote out a full account of everything that had happened, which they gave to the poor rabbi, once he made it home from the war, along with some related documents and letters just in case it ever turned up. That’s how we know all this, because the rabbi held on to that packet of information and passed it down through his family.” Maddee fluffed the pillows on the bed. “He certainly didn’t blame the Talbots for any of it. In fact, he added a brief note to their account, something about how they’d tried valiantly to help him, but that the manuscript was destined to find some other home. He was sad about the loss, but what could he do?”