Later, she noted that one of the songs on the back of an album cover had been circled.

Later still, he discovered a Snoopy bookmark inside an album of kids’ songs that had belonged to her.

By the time they’d completed a thorough investigation of every shelf, and even the bottom, sides, and back of the bookcase, they’d found three more records that either had markings on the outside or something stashed inside.

What they had not unearthed?

An envelope.

“Dad,” she whispered, sitting back on her heels. “You scoundrel. I can’t help but imagine you’re cackling over how hard you made this.”

“I’m still trying to figure out why you and your dad thought this was fun.”

“Didn’t you ever go on a treasure hunt when you were a kid?”

“A few. I don’t like games.”

Shocker. He seemed to have made dissatisfaction into an art form. “I challenge you to name five things you do like.”

“Cars. Food. Solitude. Technology.” Pause. “Not being in prison.”

“I was an imaginative girl. I loved the treasure hunts because they were whimsical. Adventurous. Challenging.”

At the moment, though, she wasn’t sure that she still liked the challenge. What if she couldn’t solve this hunt? What if she’d dragged Luke all the way here for nothing? She could feel his impatience pressing down on her. “That look you’re giving me is adding additional pressure that might stymie my ability to figure out the next clue.”

“What look?”

“That glowering one.”

He shrugged as if to say, I don’t know what you’re talking about. “Thirsty?”

“Yes. I know I left a box of tea bags here.” If he made tea, that would buy her a few minutes to think. “There’s a kettle on the stove.”

He departed, taking away his impatience but also the energy and sizzle that had been charging the room.

She carefully considered each of the albums and objects they’d set aside. She read the song titles, the names of the artists, the lyrics, hunting for even slight points of connection that might guide her to the discovery of the next clue. Nothing jumped out.

She was going back over them yet again when Luke handed her tea. He’d poured it into a Grand Canyon mug Dad had purchased on the road trip they’d taken when she was thirteen. “Thank you.”

“Find anything?”

“Still looking.” She took a sip of peppermint tea and lifted a record called Theatre of the Mind by Mystery. “It occurs to me that the band’s name—Mystery—might be a clue. Dad’s mom grew up in the thick of the Great Depression. She found a lot of joy in the books she checked out from the library. Her favorites were about unsolved real-life mysteries. When she’d tuck her sons into bed at night, she’d tell stories of missing people and artifacts.”