“He must have prepared the hunt, hidden the clues, and gotten his will in order after he’d posted bail and before he went to trial.”
Luke held himself with uncommon stillness, his strong hands resting on the ends of the armrests. “Where’s the first clue now?”
“It’s been in a safe-deposit box for the last couple of months. My birthday’s on Saturday, so I just went the day before yesterday and picked it up. At the moment, it’s sitting on my kitchen table.”
“I’d hide it.”
She nodded. “I’m completely stumped as to how or why this hunt could put me in danger.”
“My guess is that he hid something valuable for you this time. So valuable that other people might want it.”
“If so, I can’t fathom what the treasure might be.”
“When on Saturday will you open the clue?”
“In the morning, right after I finish eating breakfast. Just like old times.”
“I’ll meet you then.”
“Thanks for the offer, but I’d like to be alone when I open the envelope.”
He looked displeased. Luke did displeased very well.
“I won’t go in search of the treasure,” she added. “I’d just like time to ... process.” Absently, she stroked the warm head of the dog still snoozing on her lap. “How about you come over for dinner on Sunday night? I’ll show you the letter then.”
Another serving of Displeased Luke.
“If you’re going to be involved with this treasure hunt—” she began.
“Which I am.”
“Then you’re going to have to enter into my life at least a little. And compromise with me. We’ll need to do this on my schedule. Both my literal work schedule and my emotional grieving schedule.”
“How long do you think it will take to finish the hunt?”
“When I was young, the hunts were quick and easy. I could finish one in thirty minutes. During my teenage years, they became more and more elaborate. The last one took me a couple of months to complete. He had me crisscrossing North Georgia on weekends.”
Luke looked like she’d just informed him they’d have to go to the town dump and sort through every item of trash. “In order to protect you, I’ll need you to share all the information you have about the hunt, your dad’s arrest, his career, his family, his friends, his mistakes, his money. Will you do that?”
“I ... guess?” She hadn’t had to answer to anyone in years.
“Finley.”
“Fine.”
“Who else knows about the treasure hunt?”
“Just my dad’s attorney.”
“Name?”
“Rosco Horton.”
“We can’t trust anyone,” he said. “No one other than you, me, and Rosco can know anything about this.”
“I haven’t told anyone. And I won’t.”
“Good.” He moved as if to rise.
