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They reclaimed their seats at the table. Bridget could hear Todd cleaning up in the kitchen, singing along loudly with the radio. She grinned at his off-key accompaniment to Lady Gaga’s “Born This Way”. She wasn’t sure where the rest of the guests had gone, but aside from his performance, the house was relatively quiet.

Rodney pointed out the part of the code they’d already broken. “So if the first sentence is every sixth word, then we’re left with Sara and toga. Bridget, remember in college when Sara got totally trashed at the toga party. If you count six more words after toga, it takes us five words into the next sentence.”

Bridget nodded. “We’ve done that. Silly girl swore to God and then on her mother’s grave she would give up alcohol. The next word after toga is God, but counting out six more words leaves us grave. God’s grave.”

She’d repeated that phrase a million times in her head. They’d searched the only churchyard cemetery within the city limits the moment they set foot off the bus. They’d been so certain they would find a clue. Instead, they’d come up with nothing.

“What if it’s not every sixth word? What if in the second sentence it’s every fifth?” Rodney asked.

She glanced at the paper and re-counted. “Godmother’s? Oh my God. What if it is?”

“Do you know if Lyle had a godmother? Who she was?”

Bridget closed her eyes, forcing her memories of Lyle to the foreground. She should have been a better friend. She didn’t have a clue. She racked her brain trying to remember, but nothing came to her.

“Fuck,” she finally admitted. “I have no idea.”

Rodney only looked slightly disappointed. “So go five more words over and you get the word up. I have no idea what that means, but count five to the next sentence and I think Lyle gave us a clue about that the godmother.”

Bridget looked at the third sentence. “Ellen.”

Rodney nodded. “Ring any bells?”

She shook her head. “No, but I suppose we could ask around. What do you think the chances are his godmother has his last name—Turner?”

“Slim to none,” Rodney replied. “And the rest of that sentence doesn’t seem to offer up a surname. I tried highlighting every fourth word, thinking maybe it was a countdown code, but that doesn’t seem to work either.”

Bridget continued reading silently. And then Ellen told her that the key was “drink in moderation first.” “Every fourth word leaves us with the and in. Those are pointless.”

“Yeah. I know. And then the last line is still hanging out there.”

She reread the final sentence of the missive. Always loved that wealth of unhelpful, impractical information. Call me later, Lyle. “What if we just pull out words that look important?” she suggested.

Rodney sighed. “We’ve tried that, remember? Too many words. Too many variables. Plus we still have that damn up hanging out there unexplained, which could mean my godmother Ellen theory is shot to hell.”

“We’re closer now.”

Rodney leaned back in his seat. “Yeah. I guess. But I have to tell you, if Lyle weren’t already dead, I’d probably kill him for leaving us such shitty clues.”

Bridget laughed. “You’d have to get in line. Why he thought I could figure this out is beyond me. He must’ve tried to explain how to work sudoku puzzles to me a thousand times, but I never got it.”

“We still have some time. There’s three weeks until the trial. We’ll just keep plugging along until then. At that point, we’re going back to New York—with or without the flash drive. I’m going to grab the keys to Steven’s truck and go check out the cabins.”

“You know, if the cabins don’t work out, we could always just stay here. We have enough money to cover us for most of the three weeks if we’re careful. It feels safe here.”

Rodney gave her a knowing grin. “You can’t kid a kidder, Bridge. Safety has nothing to do with it. There are two fucking gorgeous cowboys here, and you’re hot to get into their sexy-as-shit, too-tight jeans.”

She narrowed her eyes. Apparently, she hadn’t been the only one checking out the James brothers’ Levis. “Yeah, well, just remember they’re my cowboys, hot stuff. You can look, but no touching.”

“Believe me, those two don’t play for my team.”

She laughed. It had become a pass-the-time game on the bus trip from Oklahoma to Saratoga for her and Rodney to decide whose sexual-orientation team their fellow travelers played for. “Maybe not, but their brother does.”

Rodney closed his eyes and rubbed his temple. “Christ, kitten. We’re running for our lives here. We don’t have time to get laid.”

She stuck out her lower lip in playful pout. “All I’m asking for is a few more days. If we really are looking for a woman named Ellen, we’d have a better chance finding her if we’re closer to town. Besides, imagine if their younger brother is as hot as them. You’ve gotta be feeling the effects of this forced abstinence as much as me.”

“Here comes the persuasion again,” Rodney muttered. “Fine, Bridget. I’ll admit it. I’m horny as shit and tired of sharing a room with you. It’s not like I can take care of my own needs with you snoring across the bedroom.”