While Peter was chewing, he wondered how much he had eaten without saying a word to his wife about why they had lunch. He pushed his full attention to the woman he loved.
"How'd it go at the gallery?"
"Mm. Good," she nodded.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah, they're looking for a consultant. So, I don't know. I was thinking..."
Peter's eyes fell beside his place on the phone.
"Wow."
"'Wow'?" El wondered. With every right.
"No. I-I was wowing your news," Peter lied and removed the message. "I don't need to answer that."
"Sweetie, if it's work..."
"It's nothing," Peter assured her. "So… could you…" Peter fought to find the question she had had before Neal's message. "Could you consult at the gallery and still do Burke events?"
"Yeah, I think I could do both," she said, confident. He loved that about her. "And, besides, I could do my own openings. I don't know."
"You should do this," he beamed at her. "You should do this. Yeah. I know how much you've been wanting to get back in the art world."
"I have." Peter's focus moved to his phone buzzing on the table. "Honey, what does Neal want?"
"Nothing." He turned it off and put it away. "Nothing. He's on this... treasure hunt."
"A real treasure hunt?"
"Yeah," Peter grinned all over his face. "An eccentric millionaire left coded wills to his kids." She chuckled. "Boring."
She chuckled even more. Then her phone pinged, and she glanced at it.
"It's from Neal."
"It is?"
"Yeah. All right, he said he's 'found nothing obvious in the times, but the sun won't shine on the gnomon for four more hours. Thoughts?'" Peter had already pulled the copies of the two wills from his back pocket. He unfolded them to El's amusement. "You just happen to have the will in your back pocket?"
"Yeah. 'Be prepared.' Eagle scout."
"Of course."
"All right, see, there's this little flower right next to the first time on the will." He pointed at the bottom. "What do you think it means?"
"Well, it's a tulip, which is symbolic for rebirth... springtime—"
"That's it! The angle of the sun is gonna be different in the spring rather than the winter or the summer, so the shadow on the sundial is gonna be different. They could re-create it using a couple of mirrors!" Peter could see it, in his mind. Then he returned to reality. "But that doesn't matter. Doesn't matter."
"Honey."
"What?"
"Do you want to grab some mirrors and go play with Neal?"
"Yes!" He loved El.
"Remember when I said that things were getting back to normal between me and Peter?" Neal asked Moz. He was running out of ideas and needed to do something else.
"Yeah, that's sweet," Moz said, hands in his pocket, watching the sundial as if would transform before his eyes. "You know, one sentence in, and I already hate this conversation."
"Well, this morning, he met with someone from D.C. Art Crimes."
"Specialty suits?" Moz's focus has shifted. "Why?"
"I don't know. He didn't tell me."
"Art crimes are your FBI raison d'être. You are art crimes."
Yes, Mozzie was right. Neal could not see any reason why he was not involved in an art crime case. His time was even used outside of the FBI. He had a reputation!
"That's why I'm letting you know. It could be nothing."
"Everything points to something," his friend objected at once. "Who did he meet with?"
"Name's Agent Matthews. She goes back to D.C. on Friday."
"Oh, well, that gives us plenty of time. I already lined up a buyer for the Degas, and—" Neal hushed him as he saw the Burke's come.
"Elizabeth, Peter," he smiled at them. "Couldn't stay away, could you?"
"Well, not after that frantic distress text, you left my wife."
"Neal, Mozzie," El greeted them.
"Good to see you, Mrs. Suit."
"I may have solved the sundial code," Peter said, excited. "There's a symbol for each season next to the time." Neal watched the bottom line of decoration again. The idea was not far-fetched. "Using these mirrors, we can re-create the seasonal offset."
He handed one mirror to his wife and one to Mozzie. Then he unpacked another item.
"Ooh, a sextant," Mozzie said.
"It was a birthday gift from my lovely wife." He kissed her. "And she said I'd never get a chance to use."
"How did I not foresee this?" she asked with a grin.
"What's the first time?"
"Four-thirty," Moz said before Neal had a chance to check.
"In the spring?" Peter asked.
"Yeah, but not the government-forced daylight savings four-thirty. The real four-thirty."
"Hon, if you would stand…" he guided her, "right about here is good. And, Mr. Conspiracy, if you could stand," he guided him a few steps backward, "right about here. And not move. Good. Okay, honey, hold it a little higher and to your right. That's it. Good. Swivel it towards... All right, honey. That's it. Right there."
"It's pointing to the letter 'B,'" Neal said.
"We're onto something," Peter smiled. "What's the next letter?"
Neal checked.
"Two o'clock, and the symbol is the sun."
"Two o'clock in the summer."
"Yeah."
"Mozzie... two steps to your left. Hold your arms up as high as you can."
"Is that a short joke?" Moz asked-
"It is now. And to your right. Honey, swivel left just a little bit more. Almost there. That's it. Right there."
"'S'," Neal read.
"All right, what's the next time?" Neal showed him. "Okay. Mozzie, uh, two steps back. That's - right there. And hold the mirror lower. And lower. Lower. Lower. Swivel it, honey. That's it. Right there. And to your right. There you go. Good. Lower. Right there." Peter glanced at the sundial. "'H'."
"B.S.H." Neal concluded.
"Does that mean anything to you?" Peter asked, baffled.
"No."
"Three-letter acronyms are your specialty, Suit." Moz returned the mirror.
"Back to the drawing board?" Elizabeth asked.
Peter's phone rang, and he handed the sextant over to his wife before going a few steps away to take the call.
Neal puzzled over the letters. BSH. Beesech? Did not mean anything.
"B.S.H." the kid said as if it was apparent.
"Does that mean anything to you?"
"No."
"Three-letter acronyms are your specialty, Suit."
"Back to the drawing board?" El sighed.
Peter's phone buzzed. He handed her the sextant.
"Thanks, honey." He answered the call. "Yeah, Jones?"
"I just got off the phone with James Roland," the young agent said.
"What's going on?"
"The treasure hunt just turned into a kidnapping. Someone's taken Savannah."