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US $46,500.00

US $75,000.00

US $124,500.00

“Yikes.”

Watson, Ellery’s black-spaniel-mix puppy, stopped gnawing his chew toy to gaze in startled inquiry.

Granted, the coins listed for sale were in mint condition with certificates to prove their provenance, but this answered one question: yes, the items in the collection bag were valuable. In fact, that small mound of metal on his desk probably qualified as treasure.

Pirate’s treasure.

Eight gold coins worth—just taking the low-end figure—two hundred and sixty thousand dollars? People committed murder for less.

Ellery glanced instinctively at the ceiling entrance to the bookshop attic. Little more than a month ago, someone—and he had a pretty good idea who—had broken into the Crow’s Nest, likely searching for this very collection bag.

Alarm coiled down his spine. Never mind the attic. Had he locked the front door? He couldn’t remember.

Ellery rose, left his office, striding past the sales desk, the large oil paintings of pirate galleons battling stormy seas and changing tides, hopping over Watson, who thought this was a terrific new game, down the aisles of towering bookshelves. He reached the front entrance and moved to slide the lock. At the same moment the brass bell chimed as someone started to open the door.

Ellery exclaimed in alarm and slammed shut the door.

On the other side of the divided glass panes, an exasperated Jack called, “You calledme, remember?”

Ellery yanked the door open. “Sorry.”

“What’s going on?” Jack ignored Watson who, wishing to claim his share of the welcome, was jumping up and down. “Why are you so spooked?”

“I— It might be easier if I show you.”

Jack’s dark eyebrows shot up. He said cautiously, “Are you going to show me something living or something…no longer living?”

Ellery laughed shakily. “I’m going to show you an inanimate object.”

“Thank God for that. One more body and people will start to talk.”

Ellery, headed back toward his office, threw over his shoulder, “I’m pretty sure they’re already talking.”

Jack, stopping to pat Watson, replied, “I’m pretty sure you’re right.” He straightened, followed Ellery into his office, stopping short in the doorway. He took a moment to study the litter of water-stained diving bag and coins. “I thought the collection bag was stolen when the bookshop was broken into.”

“I did too. But I decided to finally reorganize the storage closet, and when I started pulling stuff out, I found the bag in the very back.”

“How is that possible?”

Ellery shook his head. “But this explains why Tackle Shandy—or whoever it was— thought it was worth the risk.”

“I’d say so.” Jack sounded grim. “If these coins are genuine, they must be worth a fortune.”

“I did a little comparison shopping on eBay while I was waiting for you to arrive, and this haul could be worth anything from a quarter of a million to more than a million. Depending on where and when the coins were minted.”

Jack’s blue-green gaze held Ellery’s. “A million dollars?”

Ellery nodded.

“That’s a lot of clams.”

“If they’re genuine.”