"You Say Monet, I Say Manet"
by J.T. Ellison
The funeral was over. Gran was in the ground. The twins were listless on the chintz sofa.
“Let the light guide you.” The rest of the family received cash, or property. The twins got a cryptic message and a string of numbers. Gran loved riddles. After hours of searching, they couldn’t figure it out.
Matt got excited as a patch of sunlight crept closer and closer to the sofa, but Mark scoffed.
“This isn’t the DaVinci Code, dummy. It’s not that kind of secret.”
“How do you know? Gran might’ve been a spy.”
Mark leaned back into a dusty afghan. They didn’t have much time. The apartment went on the market tomorrow. The treasure was here, he just knew it.
Shadows lengthened. An audible click made them both jump; the lights on Gran’s desk turned on. A timer. Mark glanced at the wall. The painting was a cheap print, yellowed with age. Gran’s favorite.
“Let the light guide you.” He heard the voice in his head, was up in a flash. Matt, his identical twin, had the same thought. Together they approached the framed poster.
Mark touched a finger to the print. Dust rose from the frame. With a quick glance at his brother, he pulled the print off the wall. There was a safe, with a combination lock.
“Get the numbers.” Matt read them off. The safe unlocked. Mark pulled it open.
Inside was a painting and a note. “Monet should take care of you. Love, Gran.”
[J.T. Ellison is a thriller writer based in Nashville, Tennessee. She blogs at Murderati.com. For more information on her work, visit Publisher’s Marketplace.]