"Technically, that was three guesses."

I gave her a playful tap. "What do we do with them?" I asked.

"They're not really ours, but since we found them, I guess it's up to us to figure that out. I'd rather see them go to a museum than a private collector."

"I agree. Neither of us needs the money. In truth though, we did find them in Harry and Edna's house, so they kind of belong to them."

"I think we can convince them to do the right thing," said Sabrina. I was sure she could convince them to do anything. "No matter what they do, they'll end up rich."

We wrapped them back up in the paper and put them back in the box, sans the other bulbs. Then we took them up to show Edna and Harry. Edna made another trip to the bathroom while Harry sat in a chair fanning himself. They informed us immediately that they trusted Sabrina to do the right thing. Meaning they didn't trust me? This invisible thing was getting old.

*****

Needless to say, the art world was set on its ear. Bestselling mystery author Sabrina Spencer and friend solved not one, but two mysteries. The Brooklyn Museum was getting back its stolen paintings and the world now knew the fate of three of the missing Faberge Eggs. Harry and Edna became quite wealthy overnight and were the toast of Fairfield and beyond.

Sabrina's publisher offered her a seven figure advance for the true-life account of our adventures. She insisted that it be co-written by me—we knew who would do the actual writing part of it—and that half the advance would be mine. I decided I didn't have to look for another job. My invisibility was ending, as well.

Sabrina and I moved into my father's house, but I couldn't bear the thought of leaving my apartment in East Boston, so I contacted the owners and convinced them to let me buy the building. Offering them above market value helped clinch the deal. I kept my apartment as our city retreat. Sabrina had developed a nice relationship with Mo, so I had a feeling we would be spending a fair amount of time there. Since I now owned the building and didn't need the money, I informed Mo and Seymour that they could live there rent-free. Seymour actually smiled. Scary.

*****

We were lying in bed in our new house about a month after the announcement of the finding of the eggs and the resulting furor. It was still my father's furniture (except for the bed and the couch in the den, both of which we replaced immediately), as we hadn't had time to shop for anything. Somehow we hadn't been discovered there by the media. Some of the neighbors knew who we were, but being a neighborhood of academics, they had little use for reporters tramping all over their yards, so they kept quiet.

Sabrina had just turned down her 52nd interview request and was quickly developing a reputation as the new J.D. Salinger.