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Because the Pudding driveway was blocked by an enormous inflatable bouncy castle, the limousine stopped next to the mailbox. The engine idled as the driver waited for good-byes to be said. Homer didn’t like good-byes. In the treasure-hunting business, you never know when a good-bye might be permanent.

“When will I see you again?” Homer asked.

Ajitabh smiled, though no twinkle lit in his eyes. “Only time knows the answer.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a key. Then he attached it to the chain that hung around Homer’s neck, right next to his membership coin. “This key will open the L.O.S.T. safe-deposit box. You are the sole owner. Keep it close at all times.”

Homer gripped the chain. “I’ll never take this off. Not even when I’m in the shower.”

Ajitabh set his hand on Homer’s shoulder. “When I first saw you, I wasn’t convinced you’d be able to follow in your uncle’s footsteps. You didn’t look like a treasure hunter.”

“That’s because when you first saw me you were hanging upside down from your cloudcopter,” Homer said, remembering that spring day in the orchard. “Everyone looks weird upside down.”

“Quite right,” Ajitabh said. The familiar twinkle appeared in his eyes, like a star waking in the night sky. “If Drake were here, he’d burst with pride. You’ve done him credit and more. Perhaps I should keep calling you Mr. President.”

Was he joking? Homer cringed. “That sounds strange. Please don’t call me that. I’m still Homer.”

Ajitabh chuckled. Then he rapped on the glass partition. The driver walked around and opened the passenger door. Ajitabh stepped out, followed by Homer and Dog. “Your uncle used to talk about how much he missed country air—the scent of grass and goats, the fresh breeze.” He inhaled. “I think it’s even nicer than the scent of cloud cover.”

Homer took his own deep breath. The air filled his lungs in a refreshing way, cleaning out the last remnants of The City.

Ajitabh reached down and patted Dog’s head. Then he ducked back into the limousine. “Enjoy the rest of the summer,” he said. “School will be starting soon enough.”

“When will we—?”

“All in good time,” Ajitabh interrupted. “All in good time.” The driver closed the door, then settled into the driver’s seat. Ajitabh’s window rolled down just enough for his voice to escape. “Cheerio, Mr. President.” The limousine pulled away and headed back down Grinning Goat Road. Homer watched until the license plate, MBIRD18, disappeared from view.

He sighed. All in good time. What kind of answer was that? A week? A month? Twenty years? Maybe it wouldn’t be too long. One thing he’d learned about this whole treasure-hunting thing—it always popped up when he least expected it.

Homer had spent one last night at the Mockingbird Hotel. He collapsed right after the election meeting and didn’t stir until morning, enjoying the deep sleep of victory. And now he and Dog were back home.

A pink balloon floated past, as did a stray streamer. The farm dogs, Max, Gus, and Lulu, bounded down the driveway, their shiny coats rippling with their graceful steps. They sniffed Homer’s legs and Dog’s rump, then circled as herding dogs do. “Hey, there,” Homer said, giving each a long pet.

The goats stuck their noses between fence boards, ever curious about the happenings on the other side. Homer stopped and scratched a few noses. One goat nibbled on his shirtsleeve; another bit off a piece of shoelace. The rest stared at him with inquiring eyes. “I’ll tell you all about it later,” he told them. Goats are the snoopiest of farm animals. The chickens, on the other hand, couldn’t have cared less about where Homer had been or what he’d been up to. They scratched at the dirt, searching for potato bugs and worms.

When Homer and Dog reached the top of the driveway, the bouncy castle was tipping from side to side. “Hello?” Homer called.

“Hi, Homer!” Squeak slid out and landed on the gravel, his cheeks bright red, his hair matted with sweat. “I’ve been bouncing all day. It’s really fun. I threw up two pieces of birthday cake!” Dog licked Squeak’s face, then farted when Squeak squeezed him around the middle.

“Where is everyone?” Homer asked.

“The party’s over. All the girls went home.” Squeak scrambled to his feet. “I’m going to bounce some more. Want to bounce with me?”

“Sure, but first I’m going to tell Mom and Dad I’m home.”

“Okay.” Squeak climbed up the inflated drawbridge. “Whoopee!” he cried as the castle tipped from side to side.

The picnic table was covered with a pink tablecloth. Bouquets of pink balloons floated above the porch railing. Plastic spoons and cups lay strewn about the yard, along with paper crowns. Gwendolyn sat alone at the table, slumped in a chair that had been decorated to look like a throne. “Hi,” Homer said.

She glared at him from beneath her brown bangs. Piles of crumpled wrapping paper circled her throne. A paper crown hung off the side of her head. “You missed it,” she grumbled, her arms tightly folded.

“Sorry,” he said. “Did mom give you a… a princess party?”

“Can you believe it?” Gwendolyn slumped lower. “She thinks I’m still eight years old. I wanted a roadkill theme and she chose princess.”

Homer sat on the bench next to his sister. A ring of pink frosting and sprinkles was all that remained of the birthday cake. He ran his finger through and tasted strawberry. It was pretty good, but Gwendolyn wasn’t a strawberry-flavored, princess-themed kind of girl. “Where’s Mom and Dad?”

“Mom said she needed a nap, and Dad is driving my friends home.”

Homer pulled wrapping paper from Dog’s mouth. “I’m sorry I missed your party.” Then he reached into his backpack. “I got you something.” He pushed aside some paper plates, then set a small bundle on the table. He’d used the Jolly Roger flag to conceal the present.

The crown tumbled off Gwendolyn’s head as she sat upright. “You got me something?” She carefully unfolded the flag and gasped. “What is it?”

“It’s a vampire squid. It’s really old.” Homer waited for her reaction.

She scrunched up her face and poked at the little dried creature. “Vampire?”

“You said you wanted roadkill.” Homer shrugged. “It isn’t technically roadkill. It was killed by a pirate, so I guess it’s pirate-kill. Does that count?”

“Cool.” Gwendolyn pinched the creature between her fingers and held it up for inspection. A huge grin broke across her face. “Really cool. This is the best present ever.” And then she did something she hadn’t done for a very long time. She hugged her brother. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Thanks for doing my chores while I was gone.” He hoped she’d tell him that he didn’t have to do her chores for one month, as he’d promised, but she didn’t. Oh well. That was Gwendolyn.

She grabbed her lab coat off the back of the throne. As she buttoned it over her party dress, she looked sheepishly at Homer. “Uh, I did something that maybe I shouldn’t have done.” She flipped her braids behind her shoulders. “I gave one of your weird books to a girl with pink hair. It was a book about reptiles, and it was under your bed with all your other weird stuff. You’re not mad, are you? It didn’t look like an important book.”

“I’m not mad,” Homer said, holding back a smile. If you hadn’t given her the book, he thought, then Rumpold’s treasure might still be at the bottom of the sea.

“Okay, then. No harm done.” Gwendolyn grabbed the vampire squid and hurried off to her laboratory. “Thanks again!” she called before disappearing inside.

Homer sat at the picnic table amid the remains of the princess party. He gazed around. A few months ago, this had been his whole world—the rolling green hills, the barn with the sagging roof, the goats, chickens, and farm dogs. But now he’d traveled across the sky and beneath the ocean. He’d amassed secrets and treasures with more waiting to be found. The future was brighter than ever for this farm boy.

“Urrrr.”

And the future was brighter than ever for this basset hound.

Homer knelt on the ground and pulled another piece of wrapping paper from Dog’s mouth. “Come on. Let’s go inside and get you some real food.” Dog wagged his tail.

Homer took another long breath. Ajitabh and Uncle Drake were right. There was something special about country air. The sweet notes of mowed grass, the earthiness of dirt, the tanginess of buttercups warmed by the sun. He buried his face in Dog’s fur. And the sour and saltiness of basset hound.

In other words, the beautiful scents of home.