Finley pulled the ball cap she wore low. She’d only met the brothers in person once, at a party her dad and Carla had hosted. They looked a lot alike. Big-boned, hearty men with square faces and thick dark hair. They’d been kind to her at the party, and after Carla’s death, she’d been unable to get them and their poor mother out of her mind. She’d started checking on them every so often via their Facebook feeds, which was how she’d found out about the first memorial fundraiser.

Dennis opened the live auction bidding.

Finley’s gaze centered on the giant photograph of Carla. I’m so sorry.

She extracted an envelope filled with cash from her purse as she made her way toward the exit. A donation box waited at the start of the potluck table. In one quick movement, she deposited two thousand dollars inside.

Late Sunday afternoon, Finley set her hands on her hips and blew a wayward strand of hair out of her eye.

She and Luke had been searching her dad’s house for three hours. The entire time, the tension that existed between them now had been snapping like a downed electrical cable. She’d been much too aware of the scent of his soap. The strength of his movements. The musculature of his torso beneath his shirt.

They’d tackled the garage—examining every inch of her dad’s old bike and the space around it. Nothing.

Then they’d gone through his kitchen. Nothing.

At that point, Luke had suggested that since they’d come all this way for the second time, they search the house in general. Even if the clue that was supposed to be found next after the Brothers book wasn’t here, maybe they’d find a clue her dad had left for later in the hunt. If that occurred, they could leapfrog the clue.

They combed the house room by room. They peered under rugs and furniture. Peeked behind art. Opened every drawer. Ran their hands down the back of the closets.

They worked well as a team. They’d been fast and thorough.

“There are no clues in this house,” Finley stated.

Luke hunched in front of the cupboard beneath the laundry room sink. He shut its door and straightened to his full height. After scrubbing his scalp for a few seconds, he dropped his arms.

She really did think she could make her peace with leaving the treasure hunt unsolved. She could even spin that ending fancifully in her mind. You father will never be completely gone, Finley, because his final treasure hunt clues will always remain at large. Magical. Mythical. An open-ended resolution is sometimes better than a resolution in which every i has been dotted and every t crossed.