[12: a letter, at a used bookstore, you purchase an old leatherbound volume. At
home while reading it, a letter falls out. What does it say?]
[I'm not terribly satisfied with this. Hm.]

Jamie thumbed through the old journal. It was bound in leather, remarkably
solid for a book that now held mostly loose paper, the binding haven worn
out a good time past. 

She squinted at the cursive, trying to make words out of the twisted scrawls
across the page that had been tucked between the faded leaves. 

	Dear Jacob,

	I won't be joining you at the coast this year. I have a heap of
trouble here at home, and I think I may need to keep my time and energy here
this time around. 

	The county has taken it on to call my farm a "residential parcel",
and is trying to tax it at the rate it would if I had built apartments on it
and sold it.  It's a ploy to get me out of town, I know it, and I think I
know who's behind it. I've got some idea how to fight this thing -- it's
illegal in several ways, but getting someone to side with me in court might
be a trick. I suppose I could have been a bit more diplomatic over the
years, but I think some people just get sore when you try to do the right
thing. That's life.

	My great sorrow for letting you know so late, but with any luck,
I'll join you next year.

	With love,

	Eleanor

She scanned her notes, trying to remember who Jacob was. No mentions. Maybe
this has something to do with why she sold the farm and where she vanished
to.

She leafed through the book, its jumble of notes and addresses, and things
that might well be written in code, obscuring the true meaning of what they
contained, and found three addresses for men named Jacob. She scribbled them
out and decided she would write a letter or two herself, and see if she
could figure it out.

-------------
	
	Dear Jamie,