Page 75 of Brim Over Boot
Oh, it’s on.
After signing in for the event, I wait where the other couple hundred clue-finders are congregated, near the stone statue of a horse reared up, a rider on its back. There’s an actual padlocked chest near the foot of the statue, presumably holding the winner’s reward.
I’m guessing the final clue leads to a key.
Mr. Yadav from the board, the same man who called the Shoein’, introduces the event. There are twenty clues spread throughout town, he explains, each leading to the next in line. The winner must collectallthe clues before opening the chest, so there’s no jumping ahead.
“Now,” Mr. Yadav continues, “the clues are placed such that it’s possible to finish the event in three hours. That being said, we suspect it may take longer. There will be plenty of refreshments offered for those who wish to stop back for lunch or a snack. If no one has come to collect the prize by six this evening, the event will come to a close and the individual who’s amassed the most clues will win the prize. All clear?”
There’s a bunch of nodding and excited murmuring from the crowd.
“All right, then,” Mr. Yadav says. “Let the Darling Treasure Hunt begin!”
Raising a bullhorn in his hand, he lets out an ear-splitting blast.
“Jesus,” I mutter, rushing to the basket where the first clues are waiting. My ears ring as I unfurl the small scroll, everyone around me doing the same.
The clue is printed in looping typeface, the entire thing no bigger than the palm of my hand. I hold the paper carefully as I read.
A head with no legs.
It hops but doesn’t jump.
What is it?
Hops. A head…of foam?Beer. The distillery.
People all around me are scattering, running every which way. A few take off down the street toward the Darling distillery, but many go in other directions. I hesitate for all of a second before trusting my gut.
I’m not the first one to reach the distillery, but I can’t tell if anyone has found the clues yet. A bunch of people are going through the front doors, so I head around back, hoping to get lucky. My pulse jumps when I see a barrel set beside the back door. A couple of folks run past me in the opposite direction. Did they already find the next clue?
I jog over to the barrel and lift the lid, a grin lighting my face when I spot the small scrolls. I snatch one up and take off before reading it, not wanting to lead anyone else to where they are.
The morning sun casts a hazy glow over my hands as I stop behind the bakery and unroll the paper.
It sees many but owns none.
Once broken now undone.
A mustang is just one.
What is it?
A slow smile curves my lips.
Cars. A mustang is a car. And who fixes broken cars but doesn’t own them? This clue must be for the mechanic’s shop.
Shit. Walter was right.
Thisisfun.
I make my way to my bike, tugging my jacket back on before strapping on my helmet. Daphne purrs to life, and with a twist of my wrist, we’re off.
Ratchet, the mechanic, lives near the border of Darling. His shop is on the same plot of land as his house. I’ve been there a time or two for my own vehicles. When I pull up now, a few other clue-finders are scattered around. I try not to worry too hard about all the people I see, knowing there’s plenty of time still to get ahead.
I pull Daphne to a stop and lean the bike’s weight against the kickstand. I don’t bother taking off my helmet, just look around for an object that might be holding clues. The folks here are all near their own vehicles or leaving, so it takes me a minute, but I finally find the little scrolls inside a massive wheel at the side of the building.
I head back to my bike and read.
