Twelve-year-old Colophon Letterford has a serious mystery on her hands. Will she discover the link between her family’s literary legacy and Shakespeare’s tomb before it’s too late? Antique paintings, secret passages, locked mausoleums, a four-hundred-year-old treasure, and a cast of quirky (and some ignoble) characters all add up to a fun original adventure. Readers will revel in a whirlwind journey through literary time and space in real-world locales from Mont St. Michel to Stratford-Upon-Avon to Central Park! "Hicks establishes an aura of old-fashioned mystery in his entertaining debut."  - Publishers Weekly "A fine traditional mystery with a modern sensibility."  - Booklist "The combination of humor and suspense works well to keep readers turning the pages of this modern-day mystery." - Kirkus Reviews "Superbly written, plenty of action, a bright and inquisitive 12-year-old girl protagonist, and lots of literary flair, this book can be recommended to pretty much any kid in the 8-13 range." - Decatur Metro As a lawyer,  Deron R. Hicks  investigates mysteries for a living. He is also the author of several books for young readers, including The Van Gogh Deception ,   which is part of the Lost Art Mysteries series. He lives in Warm Springs, Georgia, with his wife and children. To learn more, visit deronhicks.com. Mark Edward Geyer is best known as the illustrator of two Stephen King novels: Rose Madder and The Green Mile . Mark has worked in a variety of illustration genres, including corporate advertising, editorial, and architectural. He comes from a long line of artists. Visit his website at www.markedwardgeyer.com . Prologue Le Mont Saint-Michel May 1, 1616 Wind, rain, and waves have pounded the rocky coast of Normandy for thousands of years. The forces of nature slowly eroded the vast coastal plains to form a large bay and, in the middle of that bay—apparently oblivious to the onslaught of nature—remained an impossibly large granite rock. According to legend, the archangel Michael appeared to the bishop of Avranches in A.D. 708 and demanded the construction of a church on that rock. The bishop, who apparently had other items on his agenda, ignored the archangel’s demands. The archangel, however, would not be deterred. With a touch of his finger, the archangel burned a hole in the bishop’s skull.    The bishop got the message.    The church was built.    To honor the legend of Archangel Michael, the rock has been known for centuries as Saint Michael’s Mountain—or more commonly, le Mont Saint-Michel. At the highest peak of le Mont Saint-Michel stands the abbey church, hewn from the native granite and surrounded by beautiful gardens maintained by the Benedictine monks who have lived in the adjacent cloister for centuries. A narrow stone road winds its way up the rock, and through a small village that sits below the church. The church, the cloister, and the village are surrounded by a fortified wall—a testament to the rock’s history as a token of war. However, it is the raging tides of the bay that surround and truly protect le Mont Saint-Michel. The tides are not timid—they are said to be the swiftest and deepest in Europe. Many a man has lost his life for failing to pay due respect to the charging waters.    Over the centuries le Mont Saint-Michel had served as a fortress, a prison, and a sanctuary. On this particular evening, however, Miles Letterford hoped that it would offer both a brief respite from his long trek and the answer to his quest. He had set out from England five days prior, but the weather had not been cooperative. On many occasions he had been sorely tempted to turn back from this arduous and unusual journey. Just a week ago he had been sitting by the bed of his dying friend. His friend had placed a ring in the palm of his hand and asked him to swear an oath—an oath to recover and keep safe that which his friend treasured most. Miles now silently cursed his rashness in agreeing to such an undertaking.    The relentless weather of the Norman coast had left him cold, wet, and exhausted as he arrived at the edge of the bay at dusk. In front of him was le Mont Saint-Michel. The massive rock — its village lights flickering in the distance—seemed to float on the low fog that covered the bay. Miles could see the silhouette of the abbey church at the top of le Mont.    His arrival coincided with low tide, and he knew that the sea had retreated far beyond the imposing rock. This was not, as he had been warned, a guarantee of safe passage, and the fading light and fog made the situation particularly dangerous—the bay was not a place to dally. Miles spurred his horse on toward the glittering lights of le Mont.    The ride across the bay took far longer than Miles had anticipated. The lights—so clear from the far shore—were rendered almost nonexistent by the thick fog that now enveloped him and his horse. Miles wondered more than once whether he had rambled off course—whet