Footprints in the Mud

You step outside into the gray morning air. The letter trembles in your hand. Then you see them — small muddy footprints on the garden path!

The prints are fresh. Wet mud still glistens at the edges. Whoever left the letter was here just minutes ago. The footprints lead away from your door, past the old rose bush, and down toward the dark woods at the end of the garden.

Your heart beats fast. Could it really be a message from Mr. Pemberton, after all these years? The woods look quiet and cold. The letter feels heavy in your pocket.