When he tried one night to purposely walk through his future home in his mind, the way he’d done so many times before, he found it had begun to blur. Furious with himself, he spent long minutes building back the details in his imagination. Seeing the place—his place. He’d been picturing himself turning in a slow circle in the living room of his dream home when an image intruded—Finley looking at him with humor in her eyes—and the Montana house vanished like smoke carried away by wind.

The day of their failed visit to the library, Finley had requested that an announcement about her search for the Brothers book run in the library email. The day after that, she’d tacked a piece of paper to the library bulletin board.

She hadn’t heard back from a single person.

A week later, she’d discussed a new tactic with him.

“It could be that my dad didn’t leave a specific clue in the library book.” She sat in her office with a pug named Clarence on her lap and her hair on top of her head. “Maybe the clue in the Brothers book is like the clue at the train depot. There for all to see, but for me alone to understand. If that’s the case, any copy of the book might do the trick.”

Luke had liked Ed in life. But in death, Ed aggravated him. His old friend had sent Finley to a book that had been sold to someone who could not be found.

Weren’t you smart enough to anticipate, Ed, that the book might not be available at the library eight years after you created this hunt?

Apparently not.

“Or it could be,” Finley continued, “that the decimal number Dad left isn’t actually meant to lead us to the Brothers book at all.”

If that was true, he’d never make it to Montana.

“I think the Brothers book is right, though,” she hurried to add. “I really do think that it’s the next clue. So I’m going to order a copy for myself.”

She found the book for sale at a small bookstore in Maine. Apparently they were sending it by boat because it wasn’t supposed to arrive until February sixteenth.

Another person who wouldn’t leave him alone—Blair.

He’d always had a soft spot for 1970 Pontiacs. Considering how low Blair’s car-buying budget must have been, she and Dad had purchased a great car. However, cars were like houses. You’d rather get one that hadn’t been updated at all than one that had been updated badly. Blair and Dad’s repair efforts had screwed things up worse than they’d been before.