A. Colucci - Seeders

“Yeah, that would be super expensive.”

“You can’t put a price on knowledge. George spent every penny he had on scientific discovery. Most women would be appalled, but I find that kind of dedication and curiosity to be very attractive in a man.” She looked at him sideways and pursed her lips.

“Yeah, she wants you,” Monica whispered. “I say you hit that thing.”

Luke lowered his forehead to his fist.

Bonacelli asked everyone to be seated for the reading of the will.

THE LAWYER PEERED DOWN at the desk through small reading glasses on the bridge of his nose, and then looked up at the faces before him. “George’s will is dated the third of March, six years ago. I can assure you he was of sound mind at the time. Since he had renounced his British citizenship, the document has been prepared according to Canadian law.”

“Oh, get to it,” Ginny said, scowling.

Bonacelli gave her a sharp look. He cleared his throat and began reading in a formal manner. “‘This is the last will and testament of me, George Elliot Brookes, a resident of Halifax, in the Province of Nova Scotia, Canada. I hereby revoke all former wills, codicils, and other testamentary dispositions made by me. I nominate, constitute, and appoint my daughter, Isabelle Lydia Maguire, to be the Estate Trustee of this, my will.’”

The lawyer’s tone softened. “‘Before bequeathing my property, I wish to thank everyone for coming to Sparrow Island when I’m sure you would have rather not. However, I know that in retrospect you’ll all agree that the island holds a special place in your hearts and sharing the experience together one last time can only be a good thing. I want you each to remember me, especially Isabelle, during fonder days when all we had was this island, and each other.’”

Ginny gave an impatient sigh, loud enough to make the lawyer take pause. He found his place and continued. “‘To my daughter, Isabelle Brookes Maguire, I give, devise, and bequeath all of my possessions of every nature and kind, including the property known as Sparrow Island, but excluding any and all properties listed hereafter.’

“‘To my friend and associate, Jules Beecher, I leave all of my research, textbooks, and equipment that comprise my laboratory, in hopes he will continue the work to which I’ve devoted most of my life.’

“‘To my dear friend, Ginny Shufflebottom, for all her financial support, I leave my undying gratitude—’”

“ Gratitude? ” Ginny squealed. “Bloody hell.”

“If you please, I’m not finished. ‘For her uncompromising faith in my work, I leave to Ginny my most valuable possession, a red diamond known as the Crimson Star.’”

Right away, Ginny perked up and pulled back her shoulders. “Well… that’s more like it.” She sniffed into a tissue. “Poor, dear George. Please go on, Mr. Bonacelli.”

“That’s it. The entire will.”

Ginny seemed to sober up quite suddenly, her eyes focused and alert. “Well, then, I’d like to see the diamond immediately.”

Bonacelli leaned back in his chair with a deep breath and slow blink of his eyes, as if there were bad news coming. “There’s a slight problem,” he said.

“What do you mean problem ?”

He took off his glasses and folded them neatly. “For the past five years, George had been going on about an important discovery he made; one which he claimed would change the world.”

Jules was instantly alert. “Did he say what kind of discovery?”

“I have no idea what it was.”

“He must have mentioned something.”

“You might find some of his research in the laboratory. I do know he was very excited and said he’d found what he’d been searching for his whole life. However, two years ago, when I came for a visit, he was showing signs of mental illness; rage and confusion. He refused to leave the island.

Then, two months ago, a letter arrived at my office. George wanted to return to the mainland. He wrote something unintelligible about sowing the earth.”

“Sowing the earth?” Jules repeated.

“Yes, starting the world over or some nonsense. I came to pick him up a week later, but as our boat approached the island, George began shooting at us with a rifle. We had to turn back. By the time we returned with police—” Bonacelli stopped and his breath caught. “George had jumped off High Peak to his death.”

Jules looked horrified. Isabelle met his gaze.

“We found him along the rocks, had him buried in the family plot outside of London.”

“What the devil are you going on about?” Ginny shouted. “What’s all that got to do with the diamond?”

Bonacelli sighed. “I’m getting to that. George never mentioned where he kept the diamond, but we found a jewelry case in his laboratory. Inside was a piece of paper torn from a notebook and dated on the morning of his death.” Bonacelli took a slip of paper from the desk and held it out to Ginny. “This appears to be some kind of riddle. It could either be the ramblings of his madness, or a clue to the whereabouts of the Crimson Star.”

Ginny took the paper and read each line aloud.

No one said anything for a long moment.

“The man was daft!” Ginny gasped, breaking the silence.

“I must admit,” Jules said, “the prose seems rather trite. Not like George at all.”

Bonacelli reminded the group that George was not of sound mind when he wrote it. Still, he believed the riddle might be the only clue to finding the diamond.

“My father was very fond of riddles,” Isabelle said. “Perhaps it isn’t about the Crimson Star at all.”

“Well, of course it is,” Ginny spat, holding the paper up to Isabelle. “What other star do we seek?”

“I have to agree,” Bonacelli said. “It was found in a box that could have held the diamond.” He opened the spring lid to show an empty case. It was covered in blue velvet, lined in silk, and obviously made for jewelry.

Isabelle stared at the riddle. “I suppose The Book could be a reference to the Bible.”

Jules snickered. “George certainly believed in God, but he despised religion. He thought that all living things—plants, insects, animals—came from a single consciousness. I’m fairly certain he didn’t own a Bible.”

“You’d be wrong,” Ginny replied. “George spoke about getting married in church. He even picked out a burial site in the woods for the two of us, and engraved a headstone with a cross.”

“Of course, you can’t dismiss the possibility that it’s gibberish,” Bonacelli said. “George was in a terrible state that day, I can attest to that. Regardless, I’ll need your signatures.” He handed the will to Isabelle first and when all three heirs had signed, he made duplicates at a copy machine.

“May I see the riddle?” Luke asked.

Ginny hesitated, but gave it to the boy.

Luke repeated the words, and then pondered them aloud, “For one thing, there’s no proper punctuation and goddess should be capitalized… There’s no Hanus in any mythology I’ve studied—Greek, Roman, Indian, Persian—”

Isabelle asked, “How many goddesses are there?”

“If you go back to the first writings of the Sumerians all the way to the present, historians have recorded about forty-six hundred supernatural beings, of which there are about twenty-nine hundred true deities. From those, about fourteen hundred fall into the category of ‘goddess,’ but that’s not including Hindus, who believe there’s a god for every Hindu, so that’s like half a billion right there.”