So I grabbed my coat and zoomed downtown. It's cold out today! On my way there, I was thinking how lucky I am, to have this treasure hunt as part of my life. Jim's death was a hideous disaster for me, but he left this gorgeous, exciting and puzzling adventure behind. All I had to do was see past my grief. Which took forty years; luckily I'm not too late.
I scuttled down the street and into the thrift store minutes after it opened the doors. There, against a wall: A giant canvas with newspaper clippings added to the abstract background. The work didn't look like Jim's, but the signature was eerily similar. With the help of two store employees, I looked at the back: wrong Brewton.
With thanks all around, to the kind lady who noticed the paintings and contacted me, and the nice people at the thrift store. And to my father, for being himself. I am so grateful to be playing this treasure hunt game.