The Keepsake

“Another what?”

“Another letter addressed to Josephine Sommer. The mailman asked me what you said about the last one, and I told him you took it.”

She glanced through the mail she’d just collected and spotted the envelope. It was the same handwriting. This one, too, bore a Boston postmark.

“It’s kind of confusing for the post office, you know?” said Mr. Goodwin. “You might want to tell the sender to update your name.”

“Right. Thanks.” She started up the stairs.

“Did you find your old key ring yet?” he yelled.

Without answering, she scurried into her apartment and shut the door. Dropping the rest of the mail on the couch, she quickly ripped open the envelope addressed to Josephine Sommer and pulled out a folded sheet of paper. She stared at the wordsBLUE HILLS RESERVATION and wondered why anyone would send her a photocopied map of nearby hiking trails. Then she turned the sheet over and saw what had been handwritten in ink on the other side:

FIND ME.

Beneath that were numbers:

42 13 06.39

71 04 06.48

She sank onto the couch, the two words staring up from her lap. Outside, the rain had intensified to a torrent. Thunder rumbled closer, and a slash of lightning lit the window.

FIND ME.

There was no threat implied in that message, nothing that made her think the sender meant any harm.

She thought of the earlier note she had received a few days ago: The police are not your friends. Again not a threat, but a sensible whisper of advice. The police were not her friends; this was something she already knew, something she’d known since she was fourteen years old.

She focused on the two numbers. It took her only seconds to recognize what they must represent.

With the lightning storm moving closer, it was not a good time to turn on her computer, but she booted it up anyway. She navigated to the site for Google Earth and used the two numbers as latitude and longitude. Magically the screen pa

It was the Blue Hills Reservation.

She had guessed correctly; the two numbers were coordinates, and they pointed to a precise location within the park. Clearly this was the location she was meant to visit, but for what reason? She saw no time or date given for any rendezvous. Certainly no one would patiently wait in a park for the hours or days it might take until she showed up. No, there was something specific she was supposed to find there. Not a person, but a thing.

She made a quick Internet search for Blue Hills Reservation and learned that it was a seven-thousand-acre park south of Milton. It had 125 miles of trails that traversed forest, swamp, meadows, and bogs, and was home to a diversity of wildlife, including the timber rattlesnake. Now, there was an attraction to recommend it. A chance to encounter rattlesnakes. She retrieved a Boston-area map from her bookshelf and spread it open on the coffee table. Gazing at the large area of green that represented the park, she wondered if she’d have to bushwhack her way through trees and swamp in search of…what? Something bigger or smaller than a bread box?

And how will I know when I’ve reached it?

It was time to pay a call on the gadget man.

She went downstairs and knocked on the door to 1A. Mr. Goodwin appeared, his magnifying goggles perched on top of his head like a second pair of eyes.

“I wonder if I could ask you a favor?” she said.

“I’m right in the middle of something. Will it be quick?”

She glanced past him, into the room cluttered with small appliances and electronics waiting to be repaired. “I’m thinking of buying a GPS for my car. You have one, don’t you? Is it easy to figure out?”

Instantly his face lit up. Ask him about a gadget, any gadget, and you could make him a happy man. “Oh my, yes! I don’t know what I’d do without mine. I have three of them. I took one to Frankfurt last year, when I visited my daughter, and just like that I knew the streets like a native. Didn’t have to ask for directions, just plugged in the address and off I went. You should’ve seen the looks of envy I got. There were guys stopping me on the street just so they could get a closer look at it.”

“Is it complicated?”

“You want me to show you? Come in, come in!” He led her into the living room, having forgotten whatever task had been occupying him earlier. From a drawer, he pulled out a sleek little device scarcely larger than a pack of cards. “Here, I’ll turn it on and you can give it a spin. You won’t need my help at all. It’s all intuitive, you see, just a matter of navigating through the menu. If you know the address, it’ll take you right to the door. You can search for restaurants, hotels. You can even make it speak to you in French.”

“I like to hike. What if I’m in the woods and I break my leg? How do I know where I am?”

“You mean if you want to call for help? That’s easy. You just dial nine one one on your phone and tell them your coordinates.” He snatched the device from her and tapped the screen a few times. “See? This is our location. Latitude and longitude. If I were a hiker, I wouldn’t go into the wilds without it. It’s as essential as a first-aid kit.”

“Wow.” She gave him an appropriately impressed smile. “I just don’t know if I’m ready to shell out the money for one of these things.”

“Why don’t you borrow it for a day? Play with it. You’ll see how easy it is.”

“Are you sure? That would be great.”

“Like I said, I have two others. Let me know how you like it.”

“I’ll take good care of it, I promise.”

“You want me to come with you? Give you some operating tips?”

“No, I’ll figure it out.” She gave him a wave and stepped out of his apartment. “I’m just going to take it on a little hike tomorrow.”

TEN

Josephine pulled into the trailhead parking area and turned off the engine. She sat for a moment, studying the entrance to the trail, which was merely a narrow passage carved into the gloom of thick forest. According to Google Earth, this was the closest point she could reach by car to the coordinates written on the map. It was time to get out and walk.

Though the heaviest of the rain had ended last night, gray clouds still hung low in the sky this morning, and the air itself seemed to drip with lingering moisture. She stood at the edge of the woods, staring at a narrow footpath that faded from view into deep shadows. She felt a chill, like a breath of frost on her neck. Suddenly she wanted to climb back into her car and lock the doors. To drive home and forget she’d ever received that map. Apprehensive as she was about venturing into the woods, though, she was even more fearful of the consequences should she ignore the note. Whoever had sent it could turn out to be her best friend.

Or her worst enemy.

She glanced up at the cold kiss of water dripping from the tree branches overhead. Pulling up the hood of her jacket, she started down the trail.

The dirt path was studded with brightly colored toadstools, their caps glistening with rainwater. The fungi were no doubt poisonous; the pretty ones usually were. As the saying went: There are bold mushroom hunters and old mushroom hunters, but there are no old, bold mushroom hunters. The coordinates on the handheld GPS began to change, the numbers readjusting as she hiked deeper into the woods. The device would not be able to give her pinpoint accuracy. The best she could hope for was to be led to within a few dozen yards of what she was supposed to find. If the item she sought was small, how would she locate it among these dense trees?