Page 52 of Risky Obsession
The owner was either too lazy or too arrogant to join everyone else in the fair. Then again, the entrance was framed by ivy and blooming flowers that hinted at a secret garden beyond the door, so maybe the owner was confident that people would want to venture inside.
Kane pushed open the heavy wooden door, and dust particles danced in sunlight that streamed in from a row of windows high along the back wall.
Inside the shop, ornate chandeliers dangled from the high ceiling, casting a golden glow over the eclectic collection of antiques. The air was tainted with scents of aged wood, leather, and a hint of lavender, creating an impression of timeless elegance. I had a feeling that a woman played an integral role in the shop’s enticing atmosphere.
The walls were lined with shelves that reached the ceiling, each one overflowing with relics from various eras. Gilded mirrors, intricately carved wooden furniture, and porcelain figurines were arranged in artful disarray.
In one corner, an antique gramophone played soft, yet grainy, classical music, adding to the enchanting ambiance.
The shopkeeper was a stout man with a bushy mustache, a bald head, and spectacles that sat low on his nose.
He nodded at us. “Guten tag. Lassen Sie es mich wissen, wenn Sie Hilfe brauchen.”
“Okay,” Kane replied.
“What did he say?” I whispered.
Kane’s hot breath brushed my ear as he dipped closer to me. “I have no idea.”
Giggling, I playfully slapped his chest.
Drifting along the aisles, we reached a dusty display case at the back of the shop. Inside was an assortment of random items: an old leather-bound journal, a tarnished brass compass, a magnifying glass, and an ornate pocket watch.
A framed map of the region hung on the wall behind the cabinet.
“Hey, check out the date.” Kane pointed to the bottom, left corner.
“Nineteenth of March, 1945,” I said.
Seven days after his pops map. Very interesting.
We stepped closer to the framed map. Being taller than me, Kane studied the top portion, while I concentrated on the bottom. Despite the amount of dust covering the glass protecting the map, the detail was incredible.The map was intricately hand-drawn with steepled churches and windmills and winding rivers with arched bridges crossing them.
Near the bottom right-hand corner was a shaded forest with trees sketched in fine detail. I ran my finger across the glass to make a clear spot in the dust so I could read the label.
Der Schwarzwald.
“Do you know Der Schwarzwald?” I asked Kane, pointing at the trees.
He didn’t lift his gaze from the map. “The Black Forest.”
“Is that near here?”
“No.” He shot a frown at me. “It’s closer to Austria than here.”
Damn. A treasure hunter should probably know that. A couple of inches from the edge of the Black Forest on the map was a hand-drawn castle with four flag-bearing turrets. Leading from the castle was a red line. I looked for the map legend but couldn’t find one.
I followed the red line to another castle. My breath hitched. Next to a small arched bridge that crossed a moat around the castle was a tiny, hand-drawn lion head. It wasn’t the same lion that was embossed on the gold bars we were searching for, but it was a coincidence I couldn’t ignore.
“Kane,” I whispered, pointing at the lion drawing.
He lowered his head, so our cheeks were nearly touching, and his breath caught. He glanced over his shoulder, maybe searching for the storekeeper, then he pulled out his phone.
He flicked the camera on, then eased back.
“Kein fotos,” the shopkeeper said, his voice booming.
I jumped and searched behind me, expecting the man to be right there. He wasn’t. Glancing up, I found a camera mounted high on the wall.