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sniffed.
    â€œProbably right,” Andrews chimed in. “It’s completely uncharacteristic of him to do it.
    â€œAnd I suppose it could seem strange of me to accept.” Shultz sat back on the sofa. “But that’s the kind of person I am: jump at a free trip to the mountains.”
    â€œSo. What did you two find out?” I was trying to change the subject. “Andrews said you’d made progress.”
    â€œOh, well, there’s something.” Shultz was back to being unbelievably affable. “This thing, the coin, was almost certainly minted in Aberystwyth, or however you pronounce it, in Wales. There was a place, during the 1630s, solely for the purpose of coining locally mined silver. It was owned by a family called Briarwood, who were also owners of the most profitable silver mine in Wales at the time.”
    â€œI was right.” Andrews beamed. “I found out about the mint in a book, I did a bit of the old Internet research, and I got the real stuff. Case closed.”
    â€œâ€˜The real stuff’?” I stared.
    â€œWhat the hell do you think is on the back of the coin, Dr. Igmo?” Andrews shook his head.
    â€œThe giant B, ” Shultz answered, leaning forward on the sofa, barely able to contain himself. “For Briarwood!”
    â€œYes. Why does that name sound familiar to me?” Andrews returned my stare.
    â€œWell,” I began cautiously, “that’s just the thing.”
    To my dismay, I found myself thinking exactly what Hek and June must have thought when they were talking to me: How much should I reveal, and how much should I hide?
    Andrews, somewhat unfortunately, read my face.
    â€œHang on,” he mumbled, obviously scanning his brain.
    I realized I was grinding my teeth; my jaw hurt.
    â€œDon’t break anything, Andrews.” I sighed. “I’ll tell you why you know the name Briarwood.”
    How much to show, how much to shadow? I tried to read Shultz’s eyes, but they only seemed eager and innocent.
    â€œSit down, I think,” I instructed Andrews.
    He took a seat on the sofa beside Shultz; I dropped into the ancient leather chair perpendicular to it.
    â€œMy great-grandfather, Conner,” I began.
    â€œOh my God !” Andrews had remembered.
    â€œWhat is it?” Shultz was a fascinated adolescent.
    â€œIt’s his family !” Andrews blurted out.
    â€œ What’s his family?” Shultz shot a glance from Andrews to me and back.
    â€œConner was born in Wales,” I explained. “As a young man, he left his family, whom he always claimed were a cold lot, and traveled to Ireland. There he apprenticed himself to a silversmith named Jamison. Soon after, Conner had the misfortune of falling in love with a serving girl in the Jamison household. The girl, Molly, promised to marry Conner, but a short while later, she got a better offer from a rich lord. Conner happened on Molly and this other man and thought the man was taking advantage of Molly. He killed the man in a sword fight and was arrested for murder. Only technical flaws in his indictment—and a particularly observant judge who blamed Molly as much as Conner for the murder—set my great-grandfather free temporarily. Before the lawyers could revise the legal papers, Conner jumped a boat to America and settled here. To escape any trouble that might pursue him, he changed his last name to Devilin when he got here.”
    â€œSomething about, I kid you not, having the devil in him,” Andrews revealed.
    â€œWait.” Shultz leaned my way. “He changed his name to Devilin? What was it before?”
    The questions seemed genuine. Shultz did not appear to know my original family name.
    Andrews jumped in, unable to contain himself—or to wait for me to respond.
    â€œIt was Briarwood!”
    Â 
    The rain had stopped and the wind had come up. The temperature outside had dropped twenty degrees since