Shivering inside her coat, she gave him a quick tour. They walked through the kitchen and dining room, the three bedrooms and two bathrooms, the garage Dad had converted into his model train studio. The simplicity of the floorplan and the placement of the large windows whispered of top-notch architectural design.

Back in the living room, she set her hands on her hips. “I’ll begin by searching the rug and coffee table, which shouldn’t take long. Do you want to start with the top shelf of the bookcase?” Dad had neatly arranged a lifetime’s worth of record purchases—all of them still in their original album covers—on the shelves.

“Sure.”

“When I finish with the rug and coffee table, I’ll start with the bottom shelf. We’ll work toward meeting in the middle.”

“What are we looking for?”

“I’m hoping Dad left the second clue in an envelope identical to the first one. He may have placed it inside an album cover or between records or on the base of a shelf. Perhaps even behind the bookcase. There’s a chance, though, that the clue could be more subtle than an envelope.”

“What do you mean?”

“He doesn’t always write out the treasure hunt clues. Sometimes the clue is an item.”

“Explain.”

“On one of the last birthday hunts I completed before going away to college, he sent me to a botanical garden. There were several sculptures there. One of them was a father fishing with his daughter. Which reminded me of all the times I’d fished with my dad. I found the next clue waiting for me at our favorite fishing spot.”

“If this clue is like that, do you think you’ll recognize it when you see it?”

“I hope so, though I admit I haven’t always recognized the object Dad intended as a clue. Once, he sent me to a wing of an art museum, and I failed to comprehend that a painting of a milkshake was supposed to point me to the diner where he and I sometimes stopped for milkshakes after school.”

He did not look amused.

“We need to pay close attention to details,” she plunged on. “Basically, if you notice anything at all—a newspaper clipping, an album with a corner cut off, a sticker—speak up.”

They went to work while the musty scent of a furnace that hadn’t been active in months rose around them.

She placed the coffee table on its side and ran her fingertips around every corner and crevice. She searched the underside of the rug. Nothing there. She scooted over to the bookcase and began making her way through records.

The nearness of his strong body grew more and more impossible to ignore. Over the past several days she’d become . . . aware of him as a man, despite the fact that she hadn’t been aware of anyone in that kind of way in years.