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at Reggie, and she gave me a combination shrug-slash-nod that I guessed meant I should go with Mr. Cantor, check out the tapestry, and get the lowdown on his plan.
    As I followed Mr. Cantor down the tight hallway, Melanie burst through her bedroom door, kissed the man on the cheek, and said, “Bye, Grandpa! See you later! Bye, Marcy!”
    Mr. Cantor shook his head. “Always in a rush, that one. Oh, well, it’s good to hurry while you’ve got some hurry left in you, I reckon.” He opened a door at the end of the hall to reveal a small bedroom. The room had a full-sized four-poster bed, an oak dresser and the matching chest of drawers, a navy blue recliner that had seen better days, and a TV that was mounted in the corner of the room across from the bed and the recliner. The room smelled of menthol muscle rub, and I imagined Mr. Cantor spent much of his time in this tiny place. I looked around for the tapestry he’d spoken of, but the walls were bare with the exception of a few framed family photographs.
    He gestured toward the neatly made bed. “Have a seat there on the foot of the bed—or in the recliner if you’d rather—while I get the tapestry.”
    I didn’t want to mess up the bed, so I perched on the edge of the recliner. Mr. Cantor opened the bottom drawer of the dresser, emptied the socks, scarves, and gloves it contained onto the bed, and flipped it over. Taped to the bottom of the drawer was a large manila envelope. He carefully removed the tapestry from the envelope, unfolded and smoothed it out on the bed where I could see it.
    The tapestry appeared to be an ancient map of the Oregon coast. Besides Tallulah Falls, I recognized the names Lincoln City, Coos Bay, and Waldport. Near Tallulah Falls, there was the depiction of a schooner sinking into the ocean. Beneath the ship was the name
Delia
. And beneath the ship’s name was an
X
.
    “It’s gorgeous,” I said. The background was dark brown wool. Dark wools were often indicative of textiles from the Civil War era. “It must be well over a hundred years old.” As I said it I realized Mary would be disappointed I had confirmed it was an antique. Still, I couldn’t deny the truth of that.
    “It sure is.” Mr. Cantor tapped the
X
. “And look here. It’s a treasure map.”
    I was trying to humor him, but I didn’t see how he’d decided that this tapestry was a
real
treasure map. “It does remind you of a treasure map, doesn’t it? May I pick it up?”
    He nodded.
    I took the tapestry and held it closer to the light. There were no holes, little wear and tear on the bindings and edges, and only a couple of tiny stains. I turned the cloth over, but there was nothing on the back except the work that made the beautiful map on the front.
    “You don’t believe it’s a map, do you?” Chester asked. “Let me explain. My great-grandmother was a Ramsay.”
    I nodded slowly, still having no idea where he was going with his story and not sure he had a clue himself. I carefully placed the tapestry back onto the bed.
    He pushed his walker out of the way and sat down beside the tapestry. “The Clatsop Indians used to tell stories about Jack and George Ramsay. Jack had fair skin, red hair, and freckles. They were the children of an English sailor and a Clatsop woman.”
    “And you believe your great-grandmother was related to these people?”
    “Indeed I do,” he said. “Mother said Grandmother Wells—she was born a Ramsay, married a Wells—had the prettiest head of red hair you ever did see. And I believe she made this tapestry after years of hearing her parents talk about this shipwreck off the coast of Tallulah Falls.” He studied the delicate fabric. “They lived up in Vancouver, and I believe Grandmother made this tapestry in the hope that one day she or one of her children would return to the Oregon coast and find that treasure.”
    I reached over and gently placed my hand on his arm. “Mr. Cantor, don’t you think someone would’ve found