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protective envelope. He had liberated it from Mount Vernon during the break-in, but as previously agreed he had waited twenty-four hours before making delivery.
    “And the painting?” Wright arched an eyebrow.
    “Switched out for the fake.”
    Wright nodded and then removed the sheet from the envelope. “This is in George Washington’s hand. I recognize it. Unfortunately, it tells us nothing we don’t already know.”
    “Not entirely,” Jamison said.
    Frowning, Wright cleared her throat and began to read.
     
    “My Dear Marquis,
    I regret that I must forego the warm greetings which I would normally extend to you. I have fallen gravely ill and fear these hours will be my last. You will recall I have previously made reference to a secret which I intended to share with you at the proper time. Should I expire before you again return to these shores, this letter and another item of great import I shall entrust to the most reliable man I know. I pray you may rest your head at Mount Vernon one last time. You guard the secret.
    Yours affectionately,
    G Washington”
    Wright raised her head. “I assume the other item was the journal, but what in this letter do you consider new information?”
    “The last sentence. ‘You guard the secret.’ Present tense, with emphasis on ‘guard’ for some reason.”
    “So?”
    “It occurred to me that the letter could be taken literally, so I went to the place where Lafayette would have rested his head.”
    “The Lafayette bedroom,” Wright said.
    Jamison nodded. “Facing the bed is…”
    “A portrait of Lafayette,” Wright finished.
    “I found these hidden inside, affixed to the back of the painting.” He reached inside his jacket and took out another envelope.
    “You know how I feel about people who waste time on theatrics,” Wright said. “Give me those.”
    Chastened, Jamison handed them over. “I can tell you they are pages from a personal journal, written in a cipher. I decoded them.” He handed her a folded sheet of paper.
    Wright looked it over. “This can’t be all of it.”
    “Not even close. The person to whom Washington entrusted the journal must have only hidden the first two pages behind the painting and kept the remainder for himself. I hope what you’re looking for hasn’t already been found.”
    Wright closed her eyes and took a deep breath before opening them again. “I suppose it’s possible, but I doubt it. Something like that would be difficult to keep hidden. I’m certain it never reached Lafayette. I’ve exhausted the possibilities on that score.” She paused. “Now we need to figure out who, exactly, Washington considered the “most reliable man” he knew.
     
    Outside the window , Maddock and Bones exchanged glances.
    Sneaking onto the grounds of Wright’s home had been child’s play. Dressed in black and following Jamison’s car through the gate had ensured they would remain undetected. Eavesdropping on Wright and Jamison in the study was no challenge, either. Bones’ legendary stealth and the fact that the desk was tucked into a bay window alcove allowed them to creep within a few feet of the woman and hear everything that was said.
    They waited to hear more, but Wright dismissed Jamison. She took a long look at the translation her agent had given her, and then deposited it along with the letter in her desk. She rose to her feet and turned her gaze toward a large painting that dominated the far wall. Joan of Arc!
    “My lady,” she said, “I swear I will find it.” With that, the woman sat down at the center of the floor, assumed a lotus position, and began to meditate.
    “I think,” Maddock whispered to Bones, “we should get busy.”

SEVEN
     
    Melissa was waiting when they arrived back at their motel room. Maddock hadn’t wanted her to go home yet, just in case the Sons of the Republic wanted another go at the Mount Vernon staff. He wasn’t worried about being discovered, as Bones had booked their room under the name