“Oh, er. Of course,” Truman said politely. Then he realized Ash was kidding. “I’m going over to the bookstore. I don’t know if you like books, but… Oh! I don’t suppose you ever knew anyone who might’ve lived here named Agatha? Agatha Tark?”

Ash shook his head thoughtfully. “Don’t think so. But I was gone for a few years. And I do.”

It took Truman a moment to realize Ash was saying he liked books.

“Oh, right, okay. Well, any interest in coming along? Maybe the owners would be more forthcoming with a local around.”

Ash raised an eyebrow, but he took off his gloves, pulled on a thick navy-blue pea coat and a wool hat that might have once been maroon but was faded or bleached to a pale pink, and clipped a leash to Bruce’s collar. He scribbled something on the back of an envelope and ushered Truman out in front of him. The envelope he taped to the door read Back soon. If you need flowers, call Ash, then a phone number.

Bruce howled at the falling snow, shook himself off, then seemed delighted to be outside. He sniffed at the icy sidewalk and licked some snow off the curb.

“So who’s Agatha Tark?” Ash asked when Bruce let them start walking.

“She’s the author of my all-time favorite series, the Dead of Zagørjič. It’s just the most amazingly immersive high fantasy series, with wonderful characters and heartbreaking romance and, god, the settings. Her writing is just so descriptive, it makes you feel like you’re inside the story.”

“And you think she lived here?”

“It’s probably silly, but I know she lived in Maine. It’s, like, the only thing I know about her. Her books have a cult following, but she was super private.”

Truman told Ash about finding the ship on the floor in Greta’s house.

“Have you seen that before? Is it some kind of…I don’t know, Maine thing?”

Ash smiled. “Not that I know of. Wood inlays are usually decorative, aren’t they? In the entryway of a house or a fancy parlor or something?”

He made the word parlor sound like Mars.

Truman’s heart sped up. Did that mean it was possible?

Bruce let out a plaintive bark and tried to pull Ash toward the entrance to a restaurant.

“Sorry, buddy. You’ve got a good few months until barbecue season.”

Bruce harrumphed resignedly.