I walked past my truck and down the sidewalk to the small green town park near the library.

The wooden bench by the duck pond was cold under my hands.

I undid the brass clasp on the pocket ledger and opened the small leather cover.

Tucked into the back pocket was a sheet of heavy cream stationery folded in thirds.

The ink was a faded blue, in my father’s steady, slanted cursive.

*Avery,* the letter began. *If Arthur has handed you this paper, it means Victoria has tried to take what doesn’t belong to her.*

I turned the page carefully so the paper wouldn’t tear along the fold.