Chapter 1
“C OME on, Trevor! Get the ball!”
Luke Schumaker threw a rubber baseball into the woods. The large, shaggy-haired retriever dove after it with unbounded glee. It must be nice to have one thing in life you were born to do and to do it so whole-heartedly .
Luke loved his early morning hikes in the Pennsylvania woods. The trail up Henneman Hill started at the edge of his apartment complex and was its chief attraction, as far as Luke was concerned. August was not his favorite month in the Northeast, with its damp, close heat. But he’d put up with the summers in exchange for fall and winter. He’d spent ten years after college working in California for computer game companies, and he’d been thrilled when his company had announced a work-from-home policy. It meant he could continue to do the job he loved and move back to Pennsylvania, where weather was weather and men wore flannel shirts—even the gay ones.
Gay men, that is, not gay flannel shirts, though Luke had a few of those in his closet.
Luke was pretty sure he had a serious flannel kink.
Back at his apartment, Luke had his key out before he noticed the newspaper propped against his door. It was a Philadelphia paper, the Examiner . When it was still there after his shower, he decided a little neighborly consideration was in order.
His apartment complex was called The Woodsman, and it had thirty separate units, all emphatically rustic. Each unit housed four apartments. Luke knocked on the door of all three of his neighbors, but none of them took the paper. His lucky day, then. Luke sat down to enjoy his breakfast and the crisp feel of actual newsprint.
The Entertainment section had a crossword puzzle. Luke glanced at the clock guiltily. He usually started work by nine, but it was eight forty-five and he never could resist a puzzle. He picked up a pencil and looked down the clue list, tracing his lips with his tongue in concentration. He finished it in twenty minutes.
At lunchtime, Luke made a sandwich. Something had been tugging at his brain all morning, something about the crossword puzzle. He dragged the completed puzzle across the table and looked at the grid as he chewed his sandwich.
19 across – Gospel writer _ _ _ _
It was a four-letter spot, and the crossing “k” in space three made it Luke, not Mark or John. Luke was not uncommon in crossword puzzles. But there was more….
20 across – If it fits _ _ _ _
21 across – Dying to meet your _ _ _ _ _
2 down – Source for kindling _ _ _ _ _
12 across – Don’t run _ _ _ _
18 down – What silence is _ _ _ _ _ _
22 across – Fetcher _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
[Luke shoe maker woods walk golden retriever]
Luke started at the puzzle in disbelief. What were the odds that Luke and “shoe maker,” the Anglicized version of his last name, would appear in the same crossword puzzle and all in the same horizontal line? Add in “walk,” “woods,” “golden,” and “retriever” and the odds had to be off the charts. And then there was the fact that the paper had been left on his doorstep. He looked at the crossword puzzle byline: A. Ecrivain. The name meant nothing to him.
The rest of the day passed in a daze. Luke was, by his own admission, a geek. Once his brain latched onto a problem, it was hard to tear it away. It made him a strong computer game designer, but work suffered when his brain latched onto something outside the bounds of his daily bits and bytes.
Did A. Ecrivain really send him a hidden message in a crossword puzzle? And if so, why?
He Googled the Philly paper but couldn’t find anything about their crossword puzzles on their website. He Googled “A. Ecrivain” and the results were all in French. The word “écrivain” was French for “writer,” he discovered. “A. Writer”—it had to be a pseudonym. Great. He spent an hour with an old stats textbook trying to figure out the odds of seven key words appearing among seventy random ones. He wasn’t great
“C OME on, Trevor! Get the ball!”
Luke Schumaker threw a rubber baseball into the woods. The large, shaggy-haired retriever dove after it with unbounded glee. It must be nice to have one thing in life you were born to do and to do it so whole-heartedly .
Luke loved his early morning hikes in the Pennsylvania woods. The trail up Henneman Hill started at the edge of his apartment complex and was its chief attraction, as far as Luke was concerned. August was not his favorite month in the Northeast, with its damp, close heat. But he’d put up with the summers in exchange for fall and winter. He’d spent ten years after college working in California for computer game companies, and he’d been thrilled when his company had announced a work-from-home policy. It meant he could continue to do the job he loved and move back to Pennsylvania, where weather was weather and men wore flannel shirts—even the gay ones.
Gay men, that is, not gay flannel shirts, though Luke had a few of those in his closet.
Luke was pretty sure he had a serious flannel kink.
Back at his apartment, Luke had his key out before he noticed the newspaper propped against his door. It was a Philadelphia paper, the Examiner . When it was still there after his shower, he decided a little neighborly consideration was in order.
His apartment complex was called The Woodsman, and it had thirty separate units, all emphatically rustic. Each unit housed four apartments. Luke knocked on the door of all three of his neighbors, but none of them took the paper. His lucky day, then. Luke sat down to enjoy his breakfast and the crisp feel of actual newsprint.
The Entertainment section had a crossword puzzle. Luke glanced at the clock guiltily. He usually started work by nine, but it was eight forty-five and he never could resist a puzzle. He picked up a pencil and looked down the clue list, tracing his lips with his tongue in concentration. He finished it in twenty minutes.
At lunchtime, Luke made a sandwich. Something had been tugging at his brain all morning, something about the crossword puzzle. He dragged the completed puzzle across the table and looked at the grid as he chewed his sandwich.
19 across – Gospel writer _ _ _ _
It was a four-letter spot, and the crossing “k” in space three made it Luke, not Mark or John. Luke was not uncommon in crossword puzzles. But there was more….
20 across – If it fits _ _ _ _
21 across – Dying to meet your _ _ _ _ _
2 down – Source for kindling _ _ _ _ _
12 across – Don’t run _ _ _ _
18 down – What silence is _ _ _ _ _ _
22 across – Fetcher _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
[Luke shoe maker woods walk golden retriever]
Luke started at the puzzle in disbelief. What were the odds that Luke and “shoe maker,” the Anglicized version of his last name, would appear in the same crossword puzzle and all in the same horizontal line? Add in “walk,” “woods,” “golden,” and “retriever” and the odds had to be off the charts. And then there was the fact that the paper had been left on his doorstep. He looked at the crossword puzzle byline: A. Ecrivain. The name meant nothing to him.
The rest of the day passed in a daze. Luke was, by his own admission, a geek. Once his brain latched onto a problem, it was hard to tear it away. It made him a strong computer game designer, but work suffered when his brain latched onto something outside the bounds of his daily bits and bytes.
Did A. Ecrivain really send him a hidden message in a crossword puzzle? And if so, why?
He Googled the Philly paper but couldn’t find anything about their crossword puzzles on their website. He Googled “A. Ecrivain” and the results were all in French. The word “écrivain” was French for “writer,” he discovered. “A. Writer”—it had to be a pseudonym. Great. He spent an hour with an old stats textbook trying to figure out the odds of seven key words appearing among seventy random ones. He wasn’t great
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