Meet Greta. A 30-something single-mom living in Chicago proper, ghostwriting for a man she has never met.  She’s miraculously completed the monthly manuscript deadline and received a new laptop, a crisp $1 bill, and a note saying he’s ready for a public appearance—only Greta has to go on a hunt around the world to find him!  Clue #1 was easy—a note from Clamming on the Omni Hotel letterhead.  And with a quick phone call to an old co-worker, the concierge, we find out Clamming checked in.  And when we arrive, Jen and Nicole know each other—old sorority sisters. And now a peeper in the lobby plants?

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Missed a Chapter? Read Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6| Chapter 7  

From under countless leaves and a pile of fresh potting soil I saw worn black converse tennis shoes. That is, until they turned and started running quickly away from Owen and I sprawled on the floor.

“Wait!” I choked between wide Begonia leaves, “Wait.”  With nothing more that shoving my child aside, I caught a glimpse of worn jeans, a black hoodie, and a zit faced—“

“Arnold,” Nicole sighed and pointed to the now shivering kid by the desk.

“Does he always do creepy things like that?”  I wiped the dirt from my own worn jeans and helped Owen to his feet.  

“Unfortunately, yes.”  

Jen stifled a laugh as Owen pulled up his own shirt to his armpits and smeared more dirt into its fibers instead of actually wiping the soil off. I rolled my eyes in her direction—only to spot a gold envelope on the floor by still toppled plant.

“What’s this?” All eyes turned to me, and I kneeled to find that not only was it an envelope, but it was addressed to me in Clamming’s slanted handwriting.

“It’s from the man at the corner,” a nervous voice came from over my shoulder. 

Creepy Arnold had re-appeared and was pointing across the street at the crosswalk.  Only, it was crowded with at least a half dozen people waiting to cross.

“Which one?” I scanned the crowd over and over looking for anyone that looked curious. Old.  Clamming-like.

“He had on an old hat.   Worn khaki pants.  A blue button down shirt…”

“Which could mean anyone,” Jen had pulled Nicole to the window and they were both on their tippy toes staring and scanning, “It’s lunch hour, there’s at least three men over there in blue shirts and khakis!”

“But a hat…” Nicole murmured and pointed to the man behind all others.

Until the bus blocked our view.  Of course.  And when it moved with the traffic light, there was no man with a hat left. Or any with blue collared shirts and khaki pants. Our luck.  Or should I say, my luck.

“Letter for me Mom?” Owen pulled at the envelope still in my hands.

“It’s for me Owen,” I sat down at the wooden bench just behind the concierge desk, “Let’s see what is inside.”

I turned the envelope over in my hands and found an elegant red wax seal with the initials RC stamped in them.  Slipping my finger under the flap easily, I pulled it open to find another crisp dollar bill, a puzzle piece, and…

What else was in the gold envelope? 

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Bethany Hiitola lives in a far north suburb of Chicago with her husband, son and new daughter.  Throw in the animals, and it is a full house of chaos.  Somehow, Bethany still manages to reach for her dream of writing—all between diaper changes, nap times, fixing meals, and work projects.  Oh and giving her husband the attention he deserves.  More details are at her website:www.bethanyhiitola.com "> www.bethanyhiitola.com